When I started driving for Uber, I knew it was a part-time commitment. I also committed to my primary career with the Little Sisters of the Poor. For the next five years, I averaged forty hours per week at the nursing home and twenty-two hours per week with Uber. I’m not complaining. My situation was of my own doing.
However, I’ve noticed a significant disparity among the riders I’ve picked up during my eight years as an Uber driver. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting many young people who are willing to pay the price in their early careers to achieve what they want later. They realize the sacrifice and push through the exhaustion.
Unfortunately, I’ve met many who dread their jobs and are quick to complain about every aspect of their day. I’m still surprised by some who have decided to begin their shift by using a deodorant that smells a lot like weed. Surely they didn’t smoke the stuff before work? I have to drive a few miles with the windows open to rid my car of its smell.
Two weeks ago, I picked up a gentleman who had finished a ten-hour shift at a local restaurant. He was exhausted.
“I guess you’ve had a busy day,” I said. “I’m sure you’re ready to get home and get some rest.”
“I wish,” he said. “I have a twelve-hour shift ahead of me at another restaurant.”
I remained quiet for the rest of the twenty-minute trip. He closed his eyes and did his best to catch a few winks. I turned down the music.
That’s work ethic.
Last week took the cake, though. I picked up a young Hispanic gentleman from one of the most popular bars and restaurants in Destin. He told me that he is the kitchen manager and has held that position for a couple of years. Their business has grown tremendously over the last year. The restaurant had doubled the number of tables.
He asked me if I was retired and driving for Uber for fun.
“No,” I answered.
“Do you have a family,” he asked.
I told him how blessed I felt to have a wife of forty-four years and five children who have married five wonderful spouses and nine grandchildren.
He sighed. “My wife and I have been married for four years. I’m thirty-four. We’ve been trying to have children, but we’ve been unsuccessful so far. She works two jobs.”
(I’m not sure they see each other enough to provide anything other than an immaculate conception.)
We had a productive discussion about life’s priorities. Although they felt that they needed the paychecks, he knew something had to change. Money is essential, but having a wonderful family and a sustainable marriage is a much more effective way to achieve happiness. At this rate, they will never reach that joy. He admitted that they both felt their dreams were slipping away.
(Even if he was exaggerating, I believe he was working entirely too many hours. My mind cannot imagine sustaining that pace.)
“I don’t think you would be unreasonable to ask your boss for some relief. You’ve obviously done a great job, or the business would not be growing so much. I want you to promise me that you will have this discussion with your boss this week. Work hard, but work smart. If he disagrees, it’s time for you to start looking elsewhere.”
We sat for a few minutes after the ride ended.
He reached up and shook my hand. “Thank you for talking to me. It’s time for me to start planning my family. You’ve convinced me to do it now!”
It wasn’t me. He knew it already. The only difference is that he’s put a deadline on himself.
That’s work ethic!
***
(I hope you will stay in touch. I’ll be releasing my book soon. The text and cover are finished. Now, we’re in the formatting process. I’ll let you know as soon as I have the information. I appreciate your support!)
Thanks, and God Bless,
Tommy