I've heard that riding in the front seat of an Uber signals that you want to chat with the driver, and riding in the back seat means that you prefer silence. I always sit in the back.

But when I went to catch a ride from my house the other night, there was stuff in the van's back seat, so the front was the only option. As I squeezed in, the driver cheerfully asked, "Do you like the neighborhood?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," I said, still trying to get the seat belt on. The driver started rolling away.

As he drove, he kept muttering questions, increasingly quietly. Between his dwindling volume and Arabic accent, I couldn't really understand what he was asking, so I kept offering bland responses. "Uh huh." "Yeah." "Mmm."

After five minutes, there was at last a lull where he stopped muttering. To fill the silence, I elaborated: "This used to be a really quiet neighborhood. But since they connected the new bridge last year, traffic has gotten really bad here. There are just so many people now!"

At normal volume, the driver said, "Hey, I'm going to have to call you back. I have a passenger." And then he took the earbud out of his left ear.

We didn't talk for the rest of the drive.


Logical Operator

The creator of Funeratic, Scott Hardie, blogs about running this site, losing weight, and other passions including his wife Kelly, his friends, movies, gaming, and Florida. Read more »

Normal Paranormal

This will offend believers in the paranormal, so read at your own peril. Socially, I've tried to keep it a polite secret that I don't believe in any paranormal phenomena, including the everyday sort. Several of my local friends practice feng shui, buy healing magnets, size people up based on their birth signs, and go to dieticians who tell them not to eat foods of certain colors. Go »

The Ten Best Films of 2009 That I Saw

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Sup

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This thing might turn out to be as short-lived as my other two attempts at a personal blog, but damn it if I haven't craved having such an outlet for the better part of a year now. It seems like a week doesn't go by that I don't have some little adventure to turn into an anecdote or a frustration to rant about. My idle thoughts are as pointless as anybody else's, I realize, but that's what the Internet is for (besides porn). Go »

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