The Uber jingle alerts me of a potential pickup. I was parked downtown San Jose when I receive the call and quickly accept the ride. Currently, Uber doesn't provide a destination when sending the rider's request, I only see 64 minutes (the estimated time of arrival at the destination after the pickup). There are only several places which are an hour away from San Jose. I was hoping it was downtown San Francisco or Santa Cruz. I start my car and drive towards the pickup point at Adobe Inc. headquarters in downtown San Jose.
The Uber app tells me the rider's name is Renee. As I approach the pick up location, I search for my rider. I spot her, we make eye contact and I look for a safe place to pull over. She approaches the car. She is tall, at least 5 foot 10 inches. She's thin and well dressed, with blond hair and green eyes. She is physically attractive from a distance and more so close up. Her beauty was uber feminine and unchallenged by any application of makeup. I admire her looks and think the ride will be pleasant. I regard myself as a professional, so my observations are kept to myself.In an attempt to verify I have the correct rider, I greet her as she enters the car, "Good afternoon Renee". She responds, "Bon jour David, comment ca va?". I reply, "Ca va bien, toi? She answers, "Tre bon, merci". She's excited, "Parle Francais!?" I probably let her down a little when I said, "No, no I just spent a lot of time in Montreal". Her smile is inspiring and I think it's a polite gesture to reciprocate by asking how her day is progressing. Her accent is intoxicating and dare I admit, a bit stimulating. She is not defiant or contrary, as so many conversations can be. Her words flow, she is unabashed. Immediately, she starts to ask questions. With the help of her accent, her words gently fall through the air, soft rose pedals being tossed upon a foot path by a forest nymph. I'm pleased to engage.
She is a journalist for a prominent French financial magazine. Her assignment is to study the culture in Silicon Valley. She was staying in San Francisco for a week and was visiting many of the more well known tech companies in Silicon Valley starting with Apple, though Adobe was a fair shake. In an effort to foster her imagination, I begin my Steve Wozniak story. I tell her about the concert a friend invited me to at the Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View, with The Woz. We met Steve early and he showed us around the Amphitheater. It was just me, my friend and Steve. Steve lead us through unmarked doors to show us a private restaurant. We sat and ate dinner before the concert. Steve told his four color printer story during Apple's first years; a story the federal government might frown upon. After eating, the waitress offered the check to Steve. I'm not sure if she new Steve dispensed millions of dollars to ensure the Amphitheater's construction or that she even knew who he was, but Steve asked her to wait as he dispensed a tip for her using his perforated two dollar bill trick. They folded out like an accordion and he peeled off several bills. I watched as the waitress stood there with a look of disbelief. "Are those real?" She asked. Boom! Goal achieved! I laughed and at the same time notice the horripilation on my forearms as I had just witnessed one of the most talked about tech folklore moments of Silicon Valley. I tell her how Steve played Tetris with Rob Gunderson and one other Silicon Valley tech guru the entire concert, not looking up so much as one time as Depeche Mode and Bare Naked Ladies played their sets. I tell Renee about some of the people in Steve's box seating at center stage. I tell her about the conversation I had with a very tall, thin man, probably 6'5" and his very short girlfriend, probably under 5', who was obese and holding a bag of broccoli. His girlfriend stared at him as he spoke and nodded at everything he said. Renee compliments my eye for detail.
Before that moment, Renee was seated in the back seat, but as she dispensed her compliment, she moved forward in her seat and leaned on the back of the front passenger seat which placed her with in twenty inches of me. I got a hot flash. I rolled down the window immediately and while trying to justify my sudden move, I told her, "I just got a hot flash". She giggled. I yelped, "I'm not flirting! I swear!". She giggled again. I'm positive she just couldn't hear me and that's why she moved forward, but that is not the point. She simply noticed her effect on me and was entertained by my response. A few minutes later, after more conversation, she reclined.Renee booked an Uber Pool. This means that as many as three other riders may be picked up and dropped off along the way to her destination. Around San Mateo, I get an alert that a rider was added to the Pool. Silence falls on our conversation as I focus on directing us towards the next pick up. I am to pick up another person who I will call Katina.
I greeted Katina as she made herself comfortable. Katina was an older Russian women who migrated to the United States several decades ago. She also had a heavy accent, but her English was well spoken. Renee and I had been discussing WeDriveProgress.org and my involvement with the Union building initiative. The topic of socialism came up. I asserted that the word Socialism is being misused in the United States. Katina entered the conversation with fervor. "I've experienced socialism, I was a child. I agree with you, you must fight for your rights as an employee. Americans never knew socialism, and they don't have any idea what it's like". Katina continued to share her experiences as a child in Moscow. She was very happy to be a US citizen. She is able to travel back to Moscow now and while she is happy to visit, she would never go back. She spoke of the contrasts to the past and the social issues that have risen due to an unregulated and selfish form of capitalism since the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991. She was disgusted by the greed and the declining humanity. She found it unconscionable.
I drop off Katina in the Portola area in San Francisco and Renee and I continue to the final destination. Renee and I turn the conversation more personal. I talk about my attempt at writing a book about a life experience I recently had and a blog about Uber driving. She talked about her deeper need to fulfill her desire to become a novelist. She wanted to write fiction and felt creatively restrained in her position as a journalist.
We arrived at The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. I pulled to the curb. "We're here", I said. Renee was surprised, "Oh this is the museum?". I was parked at the curb, but she was unsure in someway and didn't exit the car right away. Eventually, she reached for the door handle and turned to me. I spoke most of the French I know, "Enchante mon amie, Au revior, merci beaucoup Renee". As Renee paused, she smiled, "Your accent is very good David, you should learn more French." I told her I would work on it and winked. She looked fixedly in my eyes. I returned her gaze. It felt timeless to me but it lasted at least five seconds. Her novel could have been written in that moment. Eventually she smiled and softly said, "goodbye". She could have been holding a knife in my heart, but it still felt like two vicodin and one Martini. She exited the car. Lyrics from The Wizard of Oz pop into my head, "I'd be friends with all the sparrows and that boy that shoots the arrows, if I only had a heart". I whistle the last part of the melody.
Sure, I can talk all day about the intoxicating beauty which comes naturally to some European women, but there was more to this trip. I drive off with my head deep in thought (and my heart in my throat) and summarize the hour and a half trip. I was just in the car with two people from opposite sides of the world who shared their experiences about their governments and the perpetual good fight for human rights.
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