Moving Step 1: Close PO Box

Last Night

Me: I would like to cancel my PO box

Website: If you want your key deposit back you have to turn in the keys at the post office you got them from

Today

Me: I would like to cancel my PO box

Them: Hmm, well you get a refund of $45, but that requires a money order and we don't have any money orders

<while on phone to supervisors> we may have to send you to the downtown location.

Me: website said I had to return the keys here.

Them: ok, we're going to take down your info and someone is going to call you with something at some point.

Me: sigh

Granted, this is not the post lady's fault. But why is nothing ever easy?

also: I don't actually know exactly what a money order is. I assume it's like a check.

Rule 4: Bad Directions

 A car arrives at a standard intersection.

It is night time in suburbia and there are no other cars around.

The driver (a remarkably good looking and intelligent man in his mid thirties)

begins to turn right after stopping and signaling.

Lady in the back: No! No! No!

Driver: No, no, no?

Lady: <Pointing> That way.

Driver: <looks in rearview>

The car aborts its right turn to turn left.

Lady: NO!

Driver: ???

Lady: THAT way! <pointing>

The car aborts its left turn and goes straight.

The car travels about half a mile 

before reaching the end of the road as it is a dead end.

Driver: Is this it?

Lady: No. [name of street]

Driver: This isn't [name of street] this is [whatever].

Lady: [name of street]

The car turns around.

The car proceeds back to the original intersection.

The car makes the turn it tried to make the first time.

The car reaches the destination in short order.

I don't mind taking directions.

But if you're giving me directions:

Don't be wrong.

Rule 5: I'm not an Ambulance

 People who request ubers are going all sorts of different places.

To work, to home, to a party, to the airport, to downtown.

This includes a lot of trips to various hospitals.

Mostly this is staff.

Hospitals require a shocking amount of staff.

Doctors and nurses of course,

but also all the cleaning crew people, the facilities guys who keep the lights on,

management and administration.

Hell, just the food department alone has an army of people.

You've got the cafeteria folks who cook the food for the general pop,

you've got the nutritionists who tell you that you can only have food that tastes like cardboard before your heart surgery (if indeed you're allowed to have food at all)

the patient services folks who put together the trays of food for all the patients in the hospital which can be thousands of trays a day,

the people who deliver those trays to the rooms,

as well as the chefs, cooks, porters who do the cooking.

Which doesn't even mention all the managers to keep things on track.

This is all to say that if your destination is listed as a hospital I'm not immediately freaking out.

Because if you're going to the hospital, chances are you're staff, not a patient.

However.

On occassion someone does need to get to the hospital

for pressing medical reasons.

When a young lady climbs into the car on a sunny spring day 

and is a bit brief and weezy in her greeting

I don't think anything of it.

But when she continues to wheez laboriously in the back,

and I see that the destination is the nearest hospital

-specifically the emergency entrance of said hospital-

Now you've got my anxiety up.

I can feel the atmosphere tighten as you silently urge me to catch every green light.

Every second we're stopped in traffic drags on.

Please,

I am not an ambulance.

I do not have any particular medical training.

If you want to get to the hospital,

call 911.

They have a bunch of dudes on standby for just this reason.

With big trucks and flashing lights that let them cut through traffic.

I have a black compact sedan.

I get it,

ambulances are shamefully expensive,

ubers are cheap.

But I can't set a land speed record getting you to the doctors,

I'm just a guy.

And it freaks me out having you pin your hopes of continuing to live

on me and the whims of the traffic gods with no warning.

Uber Observations: Social Media

Just to give you the flavor of the kind of guy I am:

I don't have facebook.

Well, that's not entirely true,

I have an account, 

I just never bother looking at it.

So it stuns me the amount of time 

people spend talking about social media.

I have taken people on 30minute trips where they spend the whole time

discussing, dissecting, and analyzing social media.

And by people,

I mean women.

Based on the conversations I've overheard driving for Uber

Social media is endlessly fascinating to women.

And the most amusing thing is how dismissive women are of men.

I almost never hear women discussing men on social media,

why?

Because as far as I can tell women have figured out 

that there is nothing to figure out about men online.

Why did Steve say X on facebook?

Pretty simple.

It because he was either: Horny, hungry, or sleepy.

Great, 

analysis complete.

Men have been solved.

Really, the only interesting subjects to women on social media are other women.

A single posted picture has an entire universe of questions attached to it.

Why did she post a pic of herself in that outfit at this time? 

Is she trying to flirt with Katie's Ex?

Isn't that top a bit low and that skirt a bit high?

Is she trying to one up Susan for being mean to her last week?

Why didn't she share this photo with Jenn?

Is Jamie being sarcastic, joking, or sincere in the comments?

Wasn't that taken on the night she said she wasn't feeling well enough to go out?

Why did Kira like the post but not comment?

It seems the masculine approach to social media is about as sophisticated as a light switch.

On.

Off.

But women need a technical manual thicker than the spec sheet on NASA's Curiosity Rover. 

Rule 3: Headphone Allergies

There is a disease out there, ravaging the lives of millions.

It attacks their brain, making them incapable of enjoying things they once loved.

I'm speaking, of course, of headphone allergy.

Sure,

it sounds like a joke at first.

But when you can no longer wear headphones and want,

nay,

need to blast all audio out of your phone at maximum volume

the suffering begins.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Lets start with: what are headphones?

Headphones are those miracles of modern technology that allow you to transmit,

through a cable or beam through bluetooth, 

the sound from your phone directly to your ears.

This means not everyone in the world has to hear what is going on;

just you.

Headphone allergy totally prevents that.

It causes a <medical science> in the <brain part> that <medical science> and <medical science>.

Now that we understand what it is and how it works, 

it is important to note their are different flavors of the disease.

Drama

In this flavor of headphone allergy the sufferer will get into the uber car

and immediately start calling everyone on their contacts list.

On speaker phone.

When they get ahold of someone they then start chatting

about who is sleeping with who, 

or 

my recent medical conditions with in depth descriptions, 

or 

what would happen if I really lost my temper with this gal, 

or whatever other highschool drama

everyone gets to hear both sides of the conversation.

It also means if I turn the music up to try and block you out,

you just talk louder and all we get to hear is discordant mess,

or you tell me with varying levels of exasperation to turn the music down,

because can't I see you're on the phone?

Rap

The second flavor of headphone allergy makes the sufferer crave bad rap.

The kind that drops the N-bomb multiple times in the opening lines

has the lyrical sophistication of a brick,

and was written (and performed) by a guy 

who sounds like he dropped out of grade school 

after flunking a vocabulary quiz.

Man! I'm just so impressed with this guy assuring me that he's awesome I'm now convinced hes awesome!

I mean when he says:

These <N-bomb> can't handle me, 

I slept with all their <B-ladies>, 

these <N-bomb> want to be me, 

<N-bomb>, I drive a <fast car>

<N-bomb> I smoke, I drink, I drug

<responsible authorities> try to stop me

<N-bomb> I tell them <F-bird>

I'm so glad you introduced me to this amazing lyricist, 

I'm going to look this guy up when I get home!

TIK TOK

The third flavor of headphone allergy causes the afflicted to start trawling through tik tok.

I'm sure the video of an infant wailing 

after being startled by the crash of falling pots and pans

while some donkey brays laughter was entertaining the first time,

but it only gets really good after the sixth time 

when you've read all the text that flashes onscreen.

JUMPING to that next one 

where the female robot tik tok voice reads out raunchy garbage

JUMPING to the next untold number of clips 

which were mostly warmed over memes everyone has heard 1,000 times already 

all with zero context for any of it.

Da Club

The only thing better than going to a party

is watching clips from the party filmed by your drunk friends.

Its basically like being at the club.

a club that is playing music that I've never heard of

and isn't very good

while sloshed girls shout incoherently

all mashed together and played out of tiny blown out speakers.

And if you thought the part where they were shouting "yeeaaahh!" was exciting,

just wait till you see the part were they start screaming "OOHHHH!".

Now,

the good news is,

there does seem to be a cure for this horrific condition:

Education.

Highschool and above your chances of falling prey 

to this vicious disease is significantly reduced.

But what is the rule here?

Well there are a few of rules:

Rule 3: Don't suffer from headphone allergy.

Rule 4: If you do suffer from headphone allergies, don't take uber.

Rule 5: Stay in school.

Uber Rules: Rule 2 You're Not Going to Starve

I don't mind people eating.
In fact, I'm willing to take the bold stance that people should in fact eat.
I do not think people should starve.

However there is a time and a place for eating.
The time is generally not while we're together
and the place is not in my car.

And yet there are countless times I've pulled up to the pickup spot,
the person is already standing on the curb ready to go -great start-
And as soon as the door shuts behind them I hear the crashing static of a Funions bag being opened.

Why?

I've been making my way here for 10 minutes.
By the looks of it you've been standing there with nothing to do the entire time.
You could have finished that bag of snacks off 10 times over.
But you waited until we were crammed together in my car.

So that I too can enjoy the smell of food I can't have and don't like?
Or the soothing sound of screaming plastic baggies 
and the chomping of your jaws that is somehow louder than the background music I have going?
Or is it so that you can leave a trail of crumbs, 
each dusted with that neon orange cheeto cheese, on my dark seats? 
Mementos of our time together that, doubtless, I will cherish forever.

Why?

If you are hungry: eat.
If you are hungry and jumping in a 20 minute Uber: wait.
Chances are you are not so calorie depleted as to expire in that 20 minutes.

Uber Rules: Rule 1 Don't Be Stinky

 Don't Be Stinky.

There are many things you could do before you jump in an Uber.

You could frolic through a field of lilacs.

You could use mortar and pestle to grind cinnamon.

You could finish a long spa day washed, showered, and delicately perfumed.

OR

You could have had me waiting long enough to where I wonder if you're going to show
finally ambling over to the car reeking from every pore of weed.

It's a small space in my car.

I do A LOT of cleaning to make sure that its clean and smells nice.

I don't smoke.

So when you clamber in after stubbing out your last Marlboro Red on my tire,
you can't smell the depths of your stench but boy, I sure can.

In fact, in obliterating all but the last necessary few brain cells you have in a THC laced fog, you have also totally overpowered the scent of clean in my car.

Now you sit oblivious to the fact that I can smell nothing but the funk of someone who hasn't showered in weeks.

Rule 1:
Don't Be Stinky