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 »

The Serpent

This is the third of four weekly blog posts about diagnoses that have completely changed my life since the pandemic started, after The Dragon and The Tiger. 2020 was hard on all of us. We all lost friends and family. Go »

Not Exactly Red Hot

Her: "What's that CD you're holding?" Me: "Chili Peppers. I still haven't gotten over their album from last summer." Go »

What I Did on My Christmas Vacation

The last week and a half was some of the most fun I've had in a long time, and a much-needed vacation. I tend to take many short weekend trips each year rather than one long break, but it feels so good to be rejuvenated and rested for a change. "Christmas" came on Sunday the 23rd, dinner with my mom and Santa's usual generosity all around. Go »

R.I.P. Pat

Kelly's mother passed away last week. The event had been anticipated for decades: Pat was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes as a child, suffered kidney failure in 1995 and survived on her brother's donated kidney, and had five strokes and five heart attacks and countless operations, including emergency brain surgery in 2007 that changed her personality. She obviously possessed quite an inner resiliency even if she seemed petite and frail on the outside, but it was inevitable that she would someday lose the fight with her own body. Go »

In Bed

"You are very generous, and always think of the other fellow." Go »

What We Kept

One winter in the mid-1970s, my grandfather Donald was hospitalized with a serious infection in his foot. Being diabetic, he went out of his way for years to avoid any infections or other hazards, but his luck had run out. On Christmas Day, he was informed by the doctors that they would have to amputate his foot the next morning. Go »