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 »

Jacked

It's good to be back online. We lost our Internet connection at home on Tuesday, and it has only come back on for a few minutes sporadically ever since then, just enough time to send a quick email before it vanishes again. Making sure goos got published in time wasn't easy. Go »

Chatt Story

Kelly and I are home from a brief road trip to Chattanooga. The primary reason for going was the wedding of an old friend of Kelly. The ceremony was beautiful, held on the banks of Fall Creek Falls Lake, with some of the best-written vows I've ever heard, at once personal and profound. Go »

Toothiness, Or: More Bad Dental Humor

You know what company makes my favorite commercials? Oral-B. (link) (link) The camera careens inside the "Oral-B Institute," where a legion of white-coated scientists look sternly at interactive hologram displays and lasers carve out futuristic technology inside reactor chambers. Go »

Blood Lines

A few weeks ago, I dropped a glass bottle of salad dressing on the kitchen floor, making the house smell like vinaigrette for a day. Today, I stepped on the last errant bit of glass hiding in a crack of tile by the corner. Better my foot than the cat's paw, I guess; I don't lick between my toes. Go »

The Revised Revised Revised Story

Last spring, This Modern World ran a great parody charting the decline of civil liberties in recent years, after the then-shocking revelation that the government was building a database of every call made in the country: (link) I was reminded of that over the weekend as the latest shocking revelation came out, that the FBI has vastly abused its new ability to request confidential information in the interest of national security (link), almost as if it was the next panel in the strip. Except I'm not laughing. Oh, what I'd have given to be the reporter at Alberto Gonzales's press conference this morning. Go »

Moving Day

You don't think about how much unnecessary stuff you own until you're paying someone by the hour to move it all. After Kelly and I moved into our new home last night, here's the current state of our living room, guest room, and garage. The house is a mess, and so are we. Go »