Uber baby

So I got a new haircut, and it's short and different, and I like it a lot, but that's not why I'm jazzed.

It's because I tried Uber and lived to tell the tale. 

You see, in my childhood household, there were three cardinal rules our parents drilled into my sister and me on an almost daily basis: 

1. Don't run with scissors
2. Always bring a sweater or you'll catch your death of cold (not just a cold, mind you, but "death")
3. Never, ever get into a car with a stranger

So you might understand why the whole Uber and Lyft ride-sharing phenomena escapes me. You mean, purposely GET in a car with a stranger? Heck, why don't I just slash my own throat and be done with it? I'd no sooner engage in this fatal act of folly than I would swallow chewing gum, which, I was warned, would never digest and sit in my stomach for all eternity.

But here is where vanity overruled safety. I had made an appointment with a hairdresser who specializes in dry cuts for curly hair, plus he works Sundays! However, his salon is--according to this East Bay gal-- in the outer boondocks of San Francisco and not near any public transportation. After taking BART, how would I get to the salon?  

As the appointment date drew near, I started stressing.  Hey, I'm a walker, maybe I should just walk!  But City friends discouraged me, saying it was too far and uphill at that. I could take Muni, but was told I'd have to switch here, then switch there, and make sure you get on the southbound bus and not the northbound one or then you'll really be lost. I could take a cab, but they're more expensive, and then I remembered that news story years back about the driver who raped and killed his 24-year old passenger, then ditched her body in a shallow grave. 

See? 

Maybe my current hairdresser wasn't so bad after all. I touched my frizzy hair and remembered my childhood nickname, "Cousin Itt" from the 1960s series, The Addams Family. 

I decided to keep the appointment.  

So I downloaded the Uber app and trusted my friend Omar, who himself is an Uber driver. He assured me that the company does rigorous background checks and I'd have nothing to worry about.  Yeah, right, mention that at my memorial.

On the dreaded morning, I arrived at Civic Station and, with trembling fingers, ordered a car.  Within seconds I got my text confirmation: I would be picked up by Evan in a Honda Civic. Evan, Evan.  I tried reading warning signs into the name...Evan the City Strangler, Evan Son of Sam, Evan wanted by police in five different counties. Then my cell rang and it was the Evan telling me he was parked a few yards from the corner.  I turned around and saw an arm waving out the window of a Honda Civic.

It was...(queue warning music from "Jaws")...Evan. Gulp. 

Before even getting in the car, the first thing I did was check the inside door panel. Okay, good.  There was a working handle in case, you know, Evan lunged at my throat and I needed to jump.  Then I looked at the man who held my life in his hands. Evan.

He appeared to be in his late 60s, a well-dressed African American in a snappy vest and bow tie that suggested he might have just come from Glide Memorial Church. He greeted me with a warm smile and spoke with the slightest trace of a southern drawl. During our ten-minute drive he told me he had just started driving for Uber last week and was really enjoying it because he was meeting so many nice people, "...like you," he said.  I was charmed.  

And I was just as charmed by my return driver, a pretty young girl named Oubah.  She was from Somalia and studying conflict resolution at Berkeley City College. "My country is so war-torn," she explained. "I want to return home and make a difference." 

The day ended not only with a chic new cut, but also with a sense of euphoria. I wondered, when did the girl who once hitchhiked in Ecuador, hiked through Ireland, and traveled solo in England become such a 'fraidy cat?  Today I had stepped outside my comfort zone, met two really nice people, and in the process reclaimed the girl I once was. Even if it was just a couple Uber rides.

Who knows where this might lead? Tomorrow I may leave the house without a sweater.