I realized something on the ride. I realized if I wait until I’m not scared to try new things, then I’ll never get to try them at all.
~Marie Sexton
My phone buzzes. “I have something to tell you,” she texts, “but it’s a secret.”
She knows I am powerless against clickbait. “What kind of secret?” I ask.
Moments later, I hear clunking on the stairs.
She shuffles to my door and pokes in her head. Her face glows with mischief, and she is unable to mask her glee. Mom makes a show of checking for eavesdroppers, though we both know it’s only us.
“I’m going to drive for youber!” she exclaims.
Her smile is practically wrapped around her head.
“Oh… you mean Uber?”
I am bemused. My mother is great at making sales, packing snacks and cussing out retail managers. But driving competently and using technology? Not so much.
I am half-expecting her to abandon this idea before it fully percolates, like her foray into jewelry sales or the time she tried to make a scrapbook. But then she asks me to help her download the app.
Mom has sworn me to secrecy because she thinks my dad and sister will judge her. She is probably right. Under the cover of midday, while the rest of the family works, we download the app, watch the training videos, and talk about how to pronounce the “U” in Uber.
We practice driving on Tuesday morning. I order the ride to our house while we sit in the car one block away. We go through the motions of picking up a rider and dropping her off in our neighbourhood. It does not go smoothly.
The navigation system is too quiet. The screen is distracting. The GPS doesn’t know the best route. The destination requires a U-turn. The button is a slide instead of a tap. It is confusing. It is stressful. The ride ends in tears.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “We can try again tomorrow.” Mom decides one hour later that she is ready for the road.
On her way home from grocery shopping, she turns on the app, which matches her quickly with a rider named Matthew. As she makes her way toward him, the panic from the morning creeps in. The silent navigation. The screen confusion. The swipe/tap debacle. It is just too much.
Naturally, she turns off her phone. She does not cancel the ride. She does not contact him to explain. She does, however, feel an imminent need for acupuncture. Mom spins her Lexus 180 degrees and races toward her practitioner.
A few minutes later, Mom turns on her phone to check her text messages. She has several missed calls from Matthew, who has been watching her on his screen and has seen her drive in the opposite direction for the past five minutes.
A word to the wise: Turning off your cellphone does not cancel an Uber ride.
Matthew calls again. She hesitates, and then picks up the phone.
“Why are you driving in the opposite direction?” he asks.
“Listen,” she pleads. “This is my first time with youber, and I don’t know how to use it. Please cancel the ride.”
Matthew is late for work and doesn’t want to foot the cancellation fee. Somehow, he coaxes her into picking him up. Mom finds the destination, trolls the parking lot for a while, and eventually he waves her down and hops in.
Matthew is a handsome man in his early thirties with a kind face and a crisp suit. A GoodLife duffel is slung across one shoulder, and a messenger bag hangs off the other. He is overseeing a grand opening event at the mall. Mom realizes how unprofessional it would be to show up late.
She mutters an expletive and gets ready to gun it, telling Matthew he’ll need to manage the technology if he wants to arrive on time.
“So, start the trip,” she barks and tosses her iPhone to the back seat in what is surely a breach of protocol. He obliges.
As Matthew co-pilots the ride, Mom gathers intel. They chat about his career, education, home life, and aspirations. She jokes about how incompetent she feels and about how embarrassed her daughter will be once she finds out about this. They laugh, talk and eventually arrive at Yorkdale — albeit at the wrong entrance.
“Crap, I’m sorry,” she says.
“It’s okay, Paddy,” laughs Matthew. “Everyone is a beginner at some point.”
He ends the trip, returns her phone, and starts to climb out of the car.
“Hold on,” she says. “Will you show me how to do that?”
So Matthew explains, with the time that he doesn’t have, how to use features on the Uber driver app.
“Matthew,” she calls from her window, “you better not rate me one star.”
“I’m rating you five right now!” he says, and he really does.
Matthew disappears into the mall, smiling. She smiles, too, proud that her first ride was such a success.
~Bronwyn McIntyre
