My Man, Terrill

Just over a year ago, Denise and I received a card via the USPS from the local Toyota dealership offering to purchase our car. We read the card, looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and said,
"why not?" We rarely drove it, half the time couldn't remember where we parked it, and were tired of paying for it. We picked a day, made an appointment, drove out to the dealership, signed some papers, and declared we were ready for the ride home they'd offered. After the salesman removed his jaw  from the pristine sales floor, he disappeared for about 20 minutes, came back and said our ride would be ready soon we were welcome to wait there or out front. We waited inside.

We now use Uber or Lyft on the rare occasion we need to go somewhere too far to walk...mainly to and from the grocery. Yesterday we had one of the best ride experiences yet.  Our driver, Terrill, was crazy nice. He pulled up in his mostly clean Impala (I'm thinking late 90's) and promptly hopped out, rearranged his trunk and packed it with our groceries. He started with a 5 gallon jug of water. If you've ever taken Uber or Lyft, I'll pause here to allow that sentence to sink in for you. I've had drivers pull up, look at my overflowing grocery cart, shake their heads, and burn rubber like a 16 year old zit faced kid who just got his driver's license. I could tell right away Terrill would be different.

We've had the full spectrum of ride share experiences. We've had the standard, "Hello," no words for 15 minutes, "Have a great day," as we exit the car drivers. We've had drivers who spewed "Make America Great Again" propaganda at us the entire ride. On such rides I always fear Denise will open her door and roll out of the vehicle a' la Steve Carell in Crazy Stupid Love. She did, in fact, demand one driver to stop about 45 seconds into the ride when he couldn't stop banging on his steering wheel and screaming "FUCK!" I think he may have had some anger issues. We called for a new car.

We've had drivers who provided bottled water, a variety of candies and mints, and hand sanitizer. We've had drivers whose cars left you longing for some of that hand sanitizer upon exit. We've had mellow drivers humming Marley, their cars bearing the scent of sandalwood or patchouli. We've had drivers who desperately need to switch to decaf.

One driver in San Francisco made Denise's day by saving us a good bit of walking, dropping us at the Golden Gate Bridge Welcome Center for our hike across, rather than at Crissy Field Center where I'd planned for us to start. She was already feeling it from walking up and down Russian Hill (I still argue the view UP Lombard Street is superior to the view down...but, that's for another day). As pleased as Denise was with this driver, I was equally creeped out by my fellow passenger in the back seat. The conversation kicked off pleasantly enough...where are you from, how's your vacation, and so forth. Being that this was our first time in San Francisco, I observed that it was far hillier than I'd known; and that if a person ran said hills on the regular, they'd reap the benefit of calves of steel. My new friend's eyes bulged enthusiastically and darted to and fro like a mad scientist pug. He stretched out both arms, and said in the voice of one heck of a happy guy "AND BUNS!!!!!", squeezing what I'm guessing was someone's imaginary butt in his upright palms. That was the end of that conversation.

Another driver, a recent transplant from San Francisco, said he'd moved to Pittsburgh in order to write his book...a move in the opposite direction from what I'd expect for such a purpose, but, who am I to judge? He was beside himself that we asked him what he was working on and for the next 20 minutes described his research on ancient near eastern mythology. I was intrigued, but, didn't have the heart to tell him his book has been written. Several times. He's enjoying his work, and who am I to ruin it for him.

So, Denise texted Terrill to let him know we had our 2 weeks worth of groceries and 2 jugs of water and he promptly arrived and loaded his trunk. The conversation was the usual, "How's your weekend? Yadda, yadda, yadda."Terrill filled the gaps singing along with the R & B station the Impala's radio was almost tuned to.

Turning to cut through Polish Hill the three of us caught a glimpse of the apocalyptic rain storm that was perched over the North Shore, and speeding toward Downtown and the Strip. We joked about how fast Terrill could get us home in an attempt to beat the rain. He provided sound effects for his hand motion, imagining himself driving over traffic. We all laughed.

Then the rain started.

Lately when it rains in Pittsburgh, we get about 3.5 inches in rain in 20 minutes, then the sun comes out and turns the city into a sauna.  It feels liked you're walking at the bottom of a heated pool. We knew we'd get wet trying to get our groceries in.

Terrill pulled into the drop-off loop in front of the Cork Factory. Denise and I hopped and walked briskly inside. She to stay dry. Me to grab a grocery cart. She'd asked me before we left if she'd need her umbrella. I'd provided an incorrect answer, so it was only fair I go out and get the groceries.

Most drivers will charge a wait fee in these situations. After all, time is money and that 2 minutes could be much better spent.

I came back with the cart as quickly as possible. Terrill was standing at the back of his car, broken umbrella in hand, ready to assist me in loading my cart. With each jug of water and each bag he pulled the trunk down and followed me with the umbrella to the cart. Back and forth. The umbrella was for me. Not Terrill. He was getting soaked. I worked as quickly as I possibly could. Between loads I glanced at him. Terrill has one enormously sincere smile. He was genuinely happy to helping me.

As I tossed the final bag into the cart and turned to go inside, Terrill closed the trunk and, laughing, told me to enjoy the rest of my weekend. He hopped in his car and drove off.

I'm really glad I didn't stick that dime hiding in the floor of his car in my pocket.