Hitch’n with Uber
By
Gerry Niskern
As we neared my destination I asked the Uber driver to pull around and let me off in front of the store where the carts are lined up. After stopping , he leaped out of the car, declaring “I will get you a cart!” As I was gathering my things and slowly getting out I heard him shout loudly, “No!No!No! That is her cart!” I looked up to see two women, eyes as “big as saucers” hastily drawing their hands away from the cart he had pulled out and scurrying away. It wasn’t funny to the women, I’m sure, but actually, It was funny! That driver was an exception. He was very enthusiastic about his job, unlike many others.
A good example would be the first Uber I ever called. Several years ago after knee surgery I couldn’t drive and texted my first Uber. I just barely had time to get to a specialist who was squeezing me into his schedule. After expressing my concern about the unusual long wait for the ride, I expressed my concern as I got into the car. Suddenly, the large Black man driving, pounded his fist on the ceiling of the car and declared, “First of all, we need an attitude adjustment!” as he started down the street.
I made the mistake of mentioning the time again and he slammed on the brakes, pounded the ceiling and said, “Do you want me to turn this car around or continue and get you there on time?”.
I was driving myself for several more years until recently when I had to give up my car and totally rely on rides. Both of my sons take me often, but many other times I take Uber. The phone app has improved, and I’ve had many interesting conversations with drivers from every country you can name.
I like to ride in front and my conversations with drivers from other countries has been amazing. I remember an Irishman comparing his country’s holiday to ours. I loved listening to his lilting Irish brogue. He carried my bags full of presents to the door and wished me a Happy Christmas with my family.
One Senior driver from Romania told me he had spent many months in a Refugee camp in Austria after I told him that my grandparents had immigrated from Austria many years ago. “So you have some good cooking,” I remarked, when he said his wife was here too. “Oh yes, we never go to your American restaurants” he replied. “We stay at home and have good food.”
I’ve had drivers from Morocco, Pakistan, South Africa, Thailand. You name it. They almost always tell me they are married and have young children. They also are usually working another job. They work long days to provide a better life for their families. It is not an easy job

Hitch’n with Uber
By
Gerry Niskern
As we neared my destination I asked the Uber driver to pull around and let me off in front of the store where the carts are lined up. After stopping , he leaped out of the car, declaring “I will get you a cart!” As I was gathering my things and slowly getting out I heard him shout loudly, “No!No!No! That is her cart!” I looked up to see two women, eyes as “big as saucers” hastily drawing their hands away from the cart he had pulled out and scurrying away. It wasn’t funny to the women, I’m sure, but actually, It was funny! That driver was an exception. He was very enthusiastic about his job, unlike many others.
A good example would be the first Uber I ever called. Several years ago after knee surgery I couldn’t drive and texted my first Uber. I just barely had time to get to a specialist who was squeezing me into his schedule. After expressing my concern about the unusual long wait for the ride, I expressed my concern as I got into the car. Suddenly, the large Black man driving, pounded his fist on the ceiling of the car and declared, “First of all, we need an attitude adjustment!” as he started down the street.
I made the mistake of mentioning the time again and he slammed on the brakes, pounded the ceiling and said, “Do you want me to turn this car around or continue and get you there on time?”.
I was driving myself for several more years until recently when I had to give up my car and totally rely on rides. Both of my sons take me often, but many other times I take Uber. The phone app has improved, and I’ve had many interesting conversations with drivers from every country you can name.
I like to ride in front and my conversations with drivers from other countries has been amazing. I remember an Irishman comparing his country’s holiday to ours. I loved listening to his lilting Irish brogue. He carried my bags full of presents to the door and wished me a Happy Christmas with my family.
One Senior driver from Romania told me he had spent many months in a Refugee camp in Austria after I told him that my grandparents had immigrated from Austria many years ago. “So you have some good cooking,” I remarked, when he said his wife was here too. “Oh yes, we never go to your American restaurants” he replied. “We stay at home and have good food.”
I’ve had drivers from Morocco, Pakistan, South Africa, Thailand. You name it. They almost always tell me they are married and have young children. They also are usually working another job. They work long days to provide a better life for their families. It is not an easy job

The First Goodbye
By
Gerry Niskern
( My creative memoir writing group recently wrote about their most difficult goodby. Here is my essay based on a letter I wrote to Ken on our 50th wedding anniversary.)

Right after our family moved to Arizona I saw a boy walking down the sidewalk in front of our house. He had dark, wavy hair and was wearing a funny little hat with lots of pins all over it. And he was whistling….there was something about that boy!
When I started to my new school that fall, he was there. He was in the other fifth grade class. Then he disappeared. He turned up later at the last of the seventh grade. I invited him to our Girl Scout square dance. I rode on the cross bar of his Schwinn bike.
Years later, after many dates, proms, and precious time alone, we chose each other and committed to a life together. I promised to love him forever and he gave me three beautiful babies and was a loving and kind father to each one.
Years went by and one day after many doctors and tests I had to go with him to the hospital to check in for open heart surgery. At age 57 he had to have quadruple bypass surgery and the surgeon painted a very black picture. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, getting in our car to go that day. I knew I could be saying goodbye forever.
But, we were very lucky. We went on to share memories of every kind over many more years. There were countless homes, cars, jobs, kid’s crisis, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, surgeries and motor homes!
Life was never dull. He taught me many things. He supported me in my Art career and advised me on how to sell and deal with gallery owners. Later, he helped me with valley history in my column for the Arizona Republic. In other words, I could count on him. He was an easy companion who shared his thoughts, interests and dreams.
Throughout our marriage there was one never changing constant…he was a kind, patient, gentle yet exciting lover.
I’m grateful for the years that we got to share after that first goodbye in the hospital all those many years ago because when the end came suddenly and without warning, I did not get to say goodbye to “that whistling boy with the funny little hat”.