Sundays are hit or miss for rideshare driving.
It largely depends on what kind of week the churchgoers are having. If they’re feeling blessed, the tips are good. If they’re seeking meaning in their lives, then they tend to save their spare dollars for the tithe basket.
In any event, there weren’t many churchgoers out on this particular Sunday.
Instead, everyone I picked up seemed to still be working off their Saturday night. It was the kind of day when everyone had a headache.
I was parked on the “pin”, inside a gated community, waiting for someone named “James” to get into my car. Figuring it was going to be an airport run, I was ready to hop out and help load suitcases at any second.
When I saw the front door of the mansion start to crack open, however, I quickly realized that this was going to be a much different kind of ride.
The woman who walked out was wearing the kind of dress that one doesn’t usually wear at seven o’clock in the morning. Her hair was disheveled, and her heels were in her hand, rather than on her feet.
At first glance, one might think she was making the “walk of shame”. But, when you’ve driven as many strangers around in your car as I have, you get good at reading faces…
Not only was she as sober as a nun, but she was also self-assured; A working girl, and a high-class one at that.
As soon as she got in, I was hit with the aroma of Turkish rose, patchouli and amber. It was almost enough to make me stutter as I went through my regular introductions–
“Hey there… For James, right?”
“Yes,” she answered with a smile that acknowledged she clearly wasn’t James.
With everything seeming legit, I threw the car into gear, and started driving.
Now, I’ve heard that some drivers prefer the company of silence during their rides, but the “Dantian” in me always tries to learn something about the people I encounter. In a way, it helps me to learn something about myself as well.
That being the case, I decided to try striking up a conversation. Just enough to find out if she was in a talkative mood–
“How’s your morning going so far?”
Without breaking her gaze out the window, the mystery woman replied in a somewhat melancholy tenor, “As good as can be expected… You?”
“Oh, I can’t complain,” I replied casually, gesturing to the sunny sky. “Especially on a beautiful day like this.”
She turned to look at me through the rear-view mirror, at which point I realized that she had fire in her eyes… The type of fire that burns cold. Then, she said the last thing I expected to hear–
“Well, imagine waking up today being a trillionaire!”
It took me a few seconds to adjust my thinking to where this conversation was about to lead. When I finally did, I replied, “You know, I’m not even sure I’d know what that means.”
She laughed.
Not because it was funny, but because it was true.
“Well it means something to me,” she said before redirecting the fire of her gaze back out the window.
We were just passing through the community’s front gate; an ornate spectacle to be sure.
“It means the world we live in is even less fair than I thought it was,” she continued.
I quickly swiped my phone to see how far away the next turn was… The highway was a few miles ahead.
Meanwhile, my passenger kept on venting as though I were her therapist, and the clock was running. Quiet, gentle guitar music pouring out of the speakers created the ambiance.
Her voice was sharp, yet delicate, and she had a sophisticated vocabulary. It was obvious she was either highly intelligent or highly educated. Maybe both.
She went on to say, “I mean, for a guy who doesn’t have any charities named after him, or hospital wings, or schools… he really just keeps on winning, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s pretty crazy!”
Suddenly, I felt the beam of her gaze burning a hole in the back of my head.
“Oh no,” she said disappointedly, “you’re one of them, aren’t you?”
I laughed in genuine amusement, “One of them? What do you mean?”
She smiled, although it wasn’t a friendly smile.
It was more like the awkward sort of grin you’d see from someone who just realized that their grandmother is a follower on their “secret” social media page.
A hint of exasperation crept into her voice as she started accusing me of being a supporter of the ultra-wealthy. There was obvious animosity in her tone.
I laughed even harder, “Oh, if you only knew who you were talking to.”
“Oh yeah? Why is that?”
I glanced at my phone to see how much longer this ride was going to last… We were already approaching the industrial section of town. The part that smells like eggs.
There was just enough time left to get into a real conversation.
“Well,” I said, “because if you think about it, how much money does it take before life loses all meaning?”
After a momentary hesitation, she confidently said, “A lot!
“I know quite a few people with quite a bit of money… They’ve flown me across the world on private jets, and taken me on yachts that cost more than some countries make in a year! And they all seem to get plenty of meaning from their lives.”
“Ok,” I said. “I mean, a million dollars… I can spend that pretty easily, too.
“Ten million? A hundred million? I think the most expensive yacht in the world is close to five billion dollars…”
“Yeah! That’s a lot of money,” she declared emphatically.
I agreed.
“But how many five-billion-dollar yachts does someone really need?” I asked.
She started rubbing her earlobe, at which point I could see that the fire in her eyes was starting to warm.
“Does anyone even need one?” she asked rhetorically.
“I don’t know,” I chuckled. “I have a kayak and I’m happy with that…
“But seriously, after you’ve bought everything you can possibly think of – the houses and yachts – the private jets and islands – as much sex as you can possibly handle – what’s left?”
Again, the mystery woman turned to look out her window, twirling her black hair with her finger. The wheels in her head were spinning like the inside of a swiss watch.
We kept driving.
The factories and warehouses were beginning to fade into the distance behind us. They were quickly replaced by liquor stores, pawn shops and payday loan sharks, lining the streets like back-alley merchants selling jewelry from inside their trenchcoats.
At that point, she turned back to the rear-view mirror, and said, “I guess when you have everything money can buy, you start buying things it shouldn’t be able to buy… Like governments… and escape pods to other planets.”
This time it was me who laughed.
“Or maybe you implant a brain chip so you can have AI create a virtual reality of your choosing. Like living in the matrix… and you claim it’s for the betterment of humanity.”
I felt the energy from the back seat start to relax as we navigated the next intersection.
There was a man wearing tattered clothes, weaving in between the cars at the stoplight. He had a water bottle and squeegee in hand.
I waved him off.
“But here’s the thing; are you even human anymore at that point,” I asked out loud, “or have you become something different altogether?”
“Oh, I think the human part of you dies as soon as you turn yourself into a robot,” she replied with the sound of realization in her voice.
“The human part of us needs something to struggle for.”
I continued following the blue line through the right-hand turn, past a row of “section-eight” apartments. All the while, I noticed that the further we got from the façade of money, the more my passenger’s mood seemed to lighten.
Maybe it was just the conversation…
“I think so too,” I said.
“I think we also strive to find meaning in life, and if you have a trillion dollars, it just doesn’t mean anything anymore. It’s like saying you have a bajillion dollars, you know?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she agreed. “None of it means anything! Not the money… Not the ai slop… None of it!”
Then, with a completely different quality of smile from what she started the ride with, my mystery passenger said that she’d rather live in a cave, as long as it meant she could be fulfilled.
“I don’t want to become some brain-dead zombie letting ai make all my decisions for me,” she said. “I want to live my own life!”
By then, the GPS was showing that we were almost at our destination. The drop-off point was only a few blocks ahead.
As we drove around the block, I started seeing sneakers hanging from overhead power lines. Between those and the cars painted in various colors of primer, I got the impression that working streetlights were a commodity in this neighborhood…
A stark contrast from where our trip had begun.
In the last few seconds of the ride, I said, “I guess that’s where the whole ‘blessed be the poor in spirit’ thing comes from, isn’t it? It’s easier to find fulfillment when you live a simple life.”
With the sound of a raised eyebrow, the mystery woman pensively sighed. Then, she said, “Maybe… It would be nice if that were true.”
As I brought the car to a slow stop on top of the pin, I said, “Well, we’re here.”
For the first time, I saw the glimmer of shame in her eyes as she looked through the window at her own house. She glanced down at her feet, in contemplation.
Just before she opened the door to get out, I said, “But, who knows, you know? Maybe I’m wrong about everything. I’ve never had a trillion dollars… I’ll let you know if I ever do.”
At that, she put her hand on my shoulder, and looked directly into my eyes through the rear-view mirror. With her most sincere smile yet, she said, “I hope that never happens to you.”
I gave her a smile of my own, and replied, “I hope the same for you.”
She got out, closed the door, and started making her way up the broken sidewalk to her home.
Granted, it was missing a few shingles, and the cracked, white paint was hanging onto warped siding like the “never give up” cat. Still, it was a place where something as simple as a little grass seed might lead to fulfillment.
I swiped the ‘complete ride’ button on my phone, and pulled away, toward my next pickup, knowing I’d never see her again. But before making it out of the neighborhood, I saw the notification appear on my phone…
“James” had left me a tip…
It ended up being the best one of the day.
I was left wondering who had the biggest blessing in their life… The trillionaire struggling to find meaning in his wealth, or the mystery passenger struggling to find fulfillment in her her poverty?
Maybe the biggest joke life plays is convincing us that there’s always greener grass in the other person’s yard.
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