Shit Happens

If the title is what gets you to read the story, then okay.

A number of years back, toying with the idea of being a writer, I lacked imagination, confidence too, needed fodder. My solution, drive Uber. There had to be a story or two just waiting to unfold, not to mention an opportunity for me to master my skills as a communicator.

I was not disappointed, stories abounded. Attempts to document them, however, met with stiff resistance. Well, even worse, I couldn’t get any of them down. Fast forward and here we are, one has been triggered.

The trigger, watching a movie, St. Vincent, starring Bill Murray, a touching tale, one of his perceived vices, a gambler. The gentleman in this story once was a professional, made his living from the trade.

A quick tutorial on Uber. You, the driver, get an alert, someone unknown to you wants to be taken to an unknown spot (I believe this might have changed).

Click the button, accept, all quite random.

After my squash game, depending on my mood, I’d turn on my app, take some lucky person to wherever it was they desired to go. No sooner did I leave the gym, yes I showered and got cleaned up, and I’m summoned to a medical office nearby. A bearded gentleman climbs in, chatting ensues.

‘I gave my kid the car for the day’ the reason he needed a ride. ‘My son went to ND.’

I mention, no it was the first thing out of my mouth. ‘Oh, my son has a friend there’. No need to guess, it’s my son who’d, last summer, taken a two-week trip with their family to the UK. For whatever reason we’d not met, guessing the moms made the arrangements.

We have now met.