A Surprise in a Lyft

When the "don't talk to me" vibes are off

I’m unemployed. Google is my doctor.

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One of my favorite things about New York City, I tell people, is that Lyft drivers do not talk to you. 

Some years ago, I was in Nashville for a family trip and the Lyft driver who picked me up from the airport had brought along her dog. She talked the whole way to the AirBnB. To me or her dog, I’ll never be sure but I did get quite a bit of her life story. And the life story of every other driver that picked us up that trip. 

In Seattle, I feel like it’s kind of a crap shoot. Some will talk— like a driver I had who was from Vegas but moving to Florida because she got iced out in the Seattle Freeze. Some won’t talk at all but also won’t play music so all you hear is the sound of your too loud breathing. Some will look like they want to talk and maybe start a conversation but that’s usually a futile effort with me so that chat often dies quickly. At least one person had so much candy that I thought I had gotten into a sweets shop and not a car. Despite the sugar, we still didn’t talk too much. 

I’m certain I’ve taken a few Lyfts in other places, Washington D.C., Bellingham, Chicago maybe. But on the whole, where I like to take Lyfts the most is New York. 

These first few paragraphs might indicate a couple of things: 1) this is one big advertisement for Lyft and b) I take cars all the time. Well, a) it’s not but I would take some discounts and 2) I don’t. It’s mainly a “go to the airport” sort of luxury or a necessity sort of thing. If I can find a way to get places basically any other way, I will try. It’s an expense I don’t want consistently and it’s an expense I don’t have in the budget in regular circumstances. But budget or not, I will almost always take a car to and from JFK on days I fly. 

So, when I landed at JFK at 6am last Thursday morning, I walked to the pick-up zone, opened the app, and promptly put in for a Lyft. I was looking forward to a nice quiet ride, getting to my apartment, and going through my post-Red Eye flight routine: brushing my teeth, washing my face, changing my clothes, and settling in for a long and confusing nap. 

But that is not what happened. 

To my glee, the driver did arrive pretty quickly. I was worried because when I came back from the holidays I must have called for three or four cars and every driver would accept the ride and then go and sit somewhere instead of coming to the airport. I would wait in the freezing cold 6am air for like 10 minutes and then try again. I did not have that problem this morning. 

As Roy, my driver, got out of the car and grabbed the suitcase, I complimented his outfit. Then I got in the back and settled in. We were off so quick and just as quickly, Roy asked me, “Long trip?”   

And that was the start of probably the best Lyft ride I’ve ever had. 

Roy was, I’m guessing, a good ten years younger than me. Very personable, obviously, and really warm. I told him a bit about why I had been in Washington and my trip back from Spokane. We ended up talking about our families a little bit and the funny things our parents do. I talked some about Seattle too and he mentioned that that’s a place he’s always wanted to go. There was a little overview of the general personality of the city but then I said it was beautiful, there is a lot of nature (if that’s your thing), and the food and cocktail scene is good. 

It came up that I’ve been in New York almost ten years and he said, “Oh, a real New Yorker.” Of course, I asked him where he was from and he said he was New York born-and-raised which made me laugh a little. I was not the real New Yorker in the car. But we’re both Queens people so we also had our love for the borough in common.

He mentioned he had been driving for a few years and generally really liked it. I asked him how long he had been driving that day (since 3 or 4am) and if he worked every day or a more corporate-type schedule (every single day, 12 hours per day). Roy and I talked about how difficult it was to work in service industries, how people often didn’t understand what you, on a personal level, do or do not have control over. Both of us mentioned how appreciation in jobs like I previously had or his job now can be rare. 

Roy and I agreed the motto, “Don’t be a dick.” was just a really good one to live by.

I told him how I had been laid off just before I left the city but how, the timing at least, was kind of ideal. 

As we neared my apartment, we both talked about our oldest friends. He has a best friend he’s known since high school and mine I’ve known since middle school (Hi, Cassi). We acknowledged that it was really nice to have someone in our corner who has known us forever and was supportive…and could call our bullshit.

Then we pulled up in front of my building. I got out of the car, he grabbed my suitcase from the trunk, I thanked him, and we went our separate ways.

When I got into my apartment, I thought two things: “Oh, good, my apartment is still standing.” and “Huh.”

The severe introvert in me really bristles at the idea that such a talkative early morning Lyft ride like that would make me happy. In cars, I think I usually give off the “don’t talk to me” vibes strongly. Most people don’t even try to have a conversation which, again, is generally exactly what I want. On this particular morning, I had been traveling since 530pm PST the previous day, hadn’t sleep at all, and was in my feelings about a lot of things so my chattiness doesn’t track. But it was obviously something I needed. 

Going back to the places I’ve lived before is always a bit anxiety-inducing. I worry about the ways in which I’ve changed and how noticeable those changes are to other people. I worry about the new versions of myself and if this current version of me is a better friend, daughter, sister, family member, human or not. Whenever someone asks me about why I live in New York, I always feel the need to justify it. I feel like I have to justify why I have chosen to live so far from my family and a good portion of my community and why I still live in a city where, arguably, I’m not making as much progress on my career or goals as I would like. If, say, someone like my high school drama teacher asks me, “if I am still trying to be a writer,” I feel like I should have a list of reasons of how I am trying to make that happen along with my “Yes” answer. I feel like saying, “I like living in New York” is not enough. 

No one (mostly) has asked me to justify this choice; I just feel like I always have to be ready. 

Leaving Spokane this time was, honestly, very hard. For a month, the responsibilities I had were to organize stuff in my parents’ house, run errands, write my Brother’s wedding ceremony, and get ready for the wedding in general. My days were free and I could ignore the suffocating grip of unemployment and my finances. There were routines that were not my own but that I settled into easily. And, as I get older and considering what a surprise the pandemic had been, saying good-bye to my parents gets harder and harder. 

Yes, I was ready to be back in my apartment and back with all my stuff. And I also wasn’t sure if that was enough anymore. 

Look, I’m not Pollyanna-ish about many things these days. I read the news, I talk and listen to my friends, family, and community, I go out in the weather, I live here in the United States, I know what is happening.

But when I said, “after a month, I’m not even sure if I know how to be in New York anymore,” and my born-and-raised New Yorker Lyft driver says, “You do. You’ve been here ten years.” I have to believe him.    

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