Car: Somewhere between a station wagon and SUV - American
Driver: Oakland Hills Professional
Conversation: Greetings/Goodbyes
Radio: NPR - author of Global finance book
Today's ride was completely uneventful--a nice ride. I should probably take this time to say that most rides are perfectly fine. Frankly, it's hard to fault someone for giving you a free ride to the city, but the reason for this blog is I feel that some are worthy of mention. It's important to point out that even in the worst of situations, I'm glad to have a ride to work. With regards to this blog, bad/interesting/weird rides make for better reading so I probably won't include many of the uneventful ones like today. I just want readers to know that they aren't all bad. Anyway, on to today's ride.
Today I just missed an SUV that probably would have taken three, so I ended up having to wait for a few minutes before another car showed up. When the SUV/station wagon pulled up, I got into the back because I was the first person there (Good Morning!) and another rider soon followed. Once we put on our seat belts, we were on our way.
The driver seemed like a regular guy who has had plenty of experience with the carpool. His fleece sweater and jeans told me he worked for a more casual company, but his blue tooth headset (I hate the way those things look) made me think he had to stay wired in to work. But then again, maybe I just haven't gotten used to the idea of having a little robotic attachment to my ear. Seems a bit Star Trek to me, if you know what I mean. Maybe I'm just not hip.
NPR was playing at a reasonable level from the radio. The guest today was talking about how he worked for the White house as a financial adviser/analyst in foreign war-torn countries like Iraq and Afghanistan. I found the interview to be fairly interesting.
Traffic was bad today, so I felt particularly glad I was part of a carpool as we whizzed by the endless parking lot of cars waiting to get on the bridge. Once on the bridge, it was pretty slow-going, but the roomy SUV/station wagon made the ride comfortable as we came into the city.
We reached the usual drop off point and I got out (Thank you!). I walked to work.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Mr. Appearance
Car: Brand new Mercedes SLR 500
Driver: Mr. Appearance with GF or wife
Conversation: Greetings/Goodbyes/drivers comments to his GF/Wife
Radio: Silence and then the worst kind of privileged suburban rap/reggae
I was alone waiting for a car today when I hear a guy over at the gas station say, "Hey buddy, going to the city? Get in!" As I walked up he was still pumping gas. His girlfriend/wife clad in designer gear stepped out of the small Mercedes holding her expensive cell phone. She pulled the seat forward, offering the cramped back seat to me, but also managed to hit the front visor with the headrest, knocking papers all over. I shoe-horned myself into the back seat ("Good morning!"), she cleaned up the mess, and away we went.
The driver was a man in his thirties, wearing fancy slacks, a black turtleneck and gold-rimmed Rayban sunglasses. His hair was coiffed perfectly with plenty of product. Spikey.
We pulled onto the road and clearly, the man liked his new Mercedes' get up and go. We power-accelerated up the road with no radio. He turned to me in the back seat at one point and asked, "So how is your morning going so far?" surprised at the conversation, I answered quickly, "Oh, good! Very good." When he turned back to the road in front of him he saw a car at a stop sign and hit the brakes hard. We drove in silence for a bit longer as he smashed down the accelerator getting onto the freeway. I thought to myself, this guy is going to kill us.
After some uncomfortable silence, he turned on his stereo. Suburban nightclub rap/reggae came on loud and he asked his girlfriend to turn it down. Now that it was just barely audible (I'm not complaining) he made conversation with his girlfriend/wife.
"What time do you get off?" he said.
"4 O'Clock."
"Do you still have those gift cards?"
"Yeah." She looked out the window at the cars.
"You should go buy shoes. Get whatever you like."
"Maybe I'll do it on Monday." She said and looked out the window.
"You really need shoes." He proceeded to fix her clothing in some way and when she undid his fix he said, "It looks better that way..."
She looked out the window.
There was very little traffic at all, so the trip to San Francisco was quick. He pulled over a little past the usual drop off point, the girlfriend/wife got out, and I pried myself free from the sporty Mercedes ("Have a great weekend you guys!"). I walked to work.
Driver: Mr. Appearance with GF or wife
Conversation: Greetings/Goodbyes/drivers comments to his GF/Wife
Radio: Silence and then the worst kind of privileged suburban rap/reggae
I was alone waiting for a car today when I hear a guy over at the gas station say, "Hey buddy, going to the city? Get in!" As I walked up he was still pumping gas. His girlfriend/wife clad in designer gear stepped out of the small Mercedes holding her expensive cell phone. She pulled the seat forward, offering the cramped back seat to me, but also managed to hit the front visor with the headrest, knocking papers all over. I shoe-horned myself into the back seat ("Good morning!"), she cleaned up the mess, and away we went.
The driver was a man in his thirties, wearing fancy slacks, a black turtleneck and gold-rimmed Rayban sunglasses. His hair was coiffed perfectly with plenty of product. Spikey.
We pulled onto the road and clearly, the man liked his new Mercedes' get up and go. We power-accelerated up the road with no radio. He turned to me in the back seat at one point and asked, "So how is your morning going so far?" surprised at the conversation, I answered quickly, "Oh, good! Very good." When he turned back to the road in front of him he saw a car at a stop sign and hit the brakes hard. We drove in silence for a bit longer as he smashed down the accelerator getting onto the freeway. I thought to myself, this guy is going to kill us.
After some uncomfortable silence, he turned on his stereo. Suburban nightclub rap/reggae came on loud and he asked his girlfriend to turn it down. Now that it was just barely audible (I'm not complaining) he made conversation with his girlfriend/wife.
"What time do you get off?" he said.
"4 O'Clock."
"Do you still have those gift cards?"
"Yeah." She looked out the window at the cars.
"You should go buy shoes. Get whatever you like."
"Maybe I'll do it on Monday." She said and looked out the window.
"You really need shoes." He proceeded to fix her clothing in some way and when she undid his fix he said, "It looks better that way..."
She looked out the window.
There was very little traffic at all, so the trip to San Francisco was quick. He pulled over a little past the usual drop off point, the girlfriend/wife got out, and I pried myself free from the sporty Mercedes ("Have a great weekend you guys!"). I walked to work.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
The Berkeley Business Woman
Car: Volvo Wagon
Driver: Berkeley Business Woman
Conversation: Greetings/Goodbyes/driver's comments to self
Radio: NPR Fresh Air
The ride this morning was mostly uneventful so maybe I should take this time to lay down the unspoken casual carpool rules. I'm not sure how the rules started or how they get passed on, but over time I suppose I picked them up from friends who also carpool. I guess it's a word of mouth rule system. I'll get to the ride itself later.
As the first rider to a car I get the choice of sitting in the front or the back and I always choose the back. The logic goes that if the driver is a talker she is more likely to start up conversation with the person in the front seat of the car. It's not that I'm antisocial in general, but we're talking about an early morning trip before I've had coffee. While I've experienced good conversation during the ride to the city, I'm mostly trying to have a buffer zone if the driver is a crazy (there are plenty). So from the back seat I can pretend not to hear the conversation and stare blankly at passing traffic if the talk goes south.
If there are three passengers waiting in line (the carpool minimum crossing the bridge is 3 people so a 4th is unnecessary) to be picked up and there aren't many cars that day, it is acceptable for the last person in line to hold up three fingers as a question to the driver ("will you take 3?"). It is the driver's generosity (or whether there's room) that dictates whether she will take 3.
If a woman is at the front of the line and a two-seater car pulls up, it is acceptable for her to pass her ride on to the next person in line. As a man, I'm obligated to get in to the two-seater if I'm the next person in line, but it puts me in the direct line of fire if the driver is a talker. This might be a personal thing, but I think it's more uncomfortable for two people to ride without talking than three people so if I see a two-seater I'm almost guaranteed to be in a conversation.
Once I'm in the car and seat belts are fastened, drivers are the only people that can start a conversation. In other words, if they don't initiate it, you're not supposed to speak. The only more or less mandatory comments (if you are a polite person) are the "Good morning!" as you enter the car and the "Thanks very much" at the end. The front seat passenger should always ask the back seat passenger if they have enough room and move his seat accordingly. At the end of the ride, it is acceptable to ask where the driver is going to see if you can get closer to your destination, but I usually just wait for the driver to offer.
Radio stations are up to the discretion of the driver, but the most common and accepted radio station is NPR. Other local news stations follow NPR in the pecking order, with music a distant third and silence an uncomfortable last.
Those are the (mostly) unspoken rules. As you will see here in the coming weeks, sometimes they're followed and sometimes they're not. Today's ride was pretty close to uneventful.
I was the first to get in to the Berkeley Business Woman's Volvo wagon ("Good morning!") so naturally, I chose the back seat. Less than a minute later a man got in the front seat and we were on our way. The NPR show was Fresh Air and today's subject was an interview with the writer of a new Muslim sitcom on Canadian TV. The driver didn't initiate any conversation so we sat and listened to the writer's experiences with people after they had seen the sitcom. It was clear early on that the driver was intrigued with the subject matter as she made little incredulous comments to herself and quietly laughed at some of the writer's thoughts and experiences in Muslim life that she conveyed through her show. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary happened and noone either offered or asked where the driver was going, so we got out at the common drop off point, just off the freeway ("Thanks so much.").
I walked to work.
Driver: Berkeley Business Woman
Conversation: Greetings/Goodbyes/driver's comments to self
Radio: NPR Fresh Air
The ride this morning was mostly uneventful so maybe I should take this time to lay down the unspoken casual carpool rules. I'm not sure how the rules started or how they get passed on, but over time I suppose I picked them up from friends who also carpool. I guess it's a word of mouth rule system. I'll get to the ride itself later.
As the first rider to a car I get the choice of sitting in the front or the back and I always choose the back. The logic goes that if the driver is a talker she is more likely to start up conversation with the person in the front seat of the car. It's not that I'm antisocial in general, but we're talking about an early morning trip before I've had coffee. While I've experienced good conversation during the ride to the city, I'm mostly trying to have a buffer zone if the driver is a crazy (there are plenty). So from the back seat I can pretend not to hear the conversation and stare blankly at passing traffic if the talk goes south.
If there are three passengers waiting in line (the carpool minimum crossing the bridge is 3 people so a 4th is unnecessary) to be picked up and there aren't many cars that day, it is acceptable for the last person in line to hold up three fingers as a question to the driver ("will you take 3?"). It is the driver's generosity (or whether there's room) that dictates whether she will take 3.
If a woman is at the front of the line and a two-seater car pulls up, it is acceptable for her to pass her ride on to the next person in line. As a man, I'm obligated to get in to the two-seater if I'm the next person in line, but it puts me in the direct line of fire if the driver is a talker. This might be a personal thing, but I think it's more uncomfortable for two people to ride without talking than three people so if I see a two-seater I'm almost guaranteed to be in a conversation.
Once I'm in the car and seat belts are fastened, drivers are the only people that can start a conversation. In other words, if they don't initiate it, you're not supposed to speak. The only more or less mandatory comments (if you are a polite person) are the "Good morning!" as you enter the car and the "Thanks very much" at the end. The front seat passenger should always ask the back seat passenger if they have enough room and move his seat accordingly. At the end of the ride, it is acceptable to ask where the driver is going to see if you can get closer to your destination, but I usually just wait for the driver to offer.
Radio stations are up to the discretion of the driver, but the most common and accepted radio station is NPR. Other local news stations follow NPR in the pecking order, with music a distant third and silence an uncomfortable last.
Those are the (mostly) unspoken rules. As you will see here in the coming weeks, sometimes they're followed and sometimes they're not. Today's ride was pretty close to uneventful.
I was the first to get in to the Berkeley Business Woman's Volvo wagon ("Good morning!") so naturally, I chose the back seat. Less than a minute later a man got in the front seat and we were on our way. The NPR show was Fresh Air and today's subject was an interview with the writer of a new Muslim sitcom on Canadian TV. The driver didn't initiate any conversation so we sat and listened to the writer's experiences with people after they had seen the sitcom. It was clear early on that the driver was intrigued with the subject matter as she made little incredulous comments to herself and quietly laughed at some of the writer's thoughts and experiences in Muslim life that she conveyed through her show. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary happened and noone either offered or asked where the driver was going, so we got out at the common drop off point, just off the freeway ("Thanks so much.").
I walked to work.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
The Hippy
Car: Smallest Honda ever made.
Driver: The Hippy
Conversation: Light talking--maybe four sentences spoken by me during trip.
Radio: News/Jazz?/Classical
It's cold here in California (shut up, Midwesterners, WE KNOW) so it was good that I was able to get directly into the car right as I walked up. As the second carpooler there, I was relegated to the front seat. I watched the first carpooler get in the back and was thinking of offering to move my seat forward (as is the policy), but when I got in I knew it wasn't possible. Not only did I hit my head getting in to this extremely small space, my knees were pushing against the dashboard right in that soft spot just below my kneecap. I couldn't move my legs at all during the trip. But what was I going to do? I very carefully closed the door.
The driver was an older man, maybe in his early 60s, with a long pony tail, small silver-rimmed glasses, and a long unruly goatee ("well if everyone is packed in like sardines, lets go"). He had the local public news on the radio which was fairly enjoyable, but he kept changing the volume as though he wasn't sure if we could hear it or he thought it might be too loud. When he wasn't concentrating on the radio volume or fiddling with the climate control, he was driving extremely aggressively. He alternated between extreme bursts of speed to change lanes and uncomfortably close tailgating. About half way across the bridge he changed the radio station to what some might call "Jazz," but I would have trouble calling "music." It was basically an erratic drum riff montage, with chaotic harp playing the backup, while a saxophone player practiced his chromatic scales. Lovely. They might as well have been beating on metal pipes, but the cacophony somehow fit the mans erratic, bucking style of driving.
As we pulled off the freeway in San Francisco, he made one more radio station change to classical and asked us if we would like to be dropped off further up Howard (Yes!). We got to within a block of my office and he let us out. The other carpooler looked at me briefly, but no words of commiseration were exchanged. I walked to work.
Driver: The Hippy
Conversation: Light talking--maybe four sentences spoken by me during trip.
Radio: News/Jazz?/Classical
It's cold here in California (shut up, Midwesterners, WE KNOW) so it was good that I was able to get directly into the car right as I walked up. As the second carpooler there, I was relegated to the front seat. I watched the first carpooler get in the back and was thinking of offering to move my seat forward (as is the policy), but when I got in I knew it wasn't possible. Not only did I hit my head getting in to this extremely small space, my knees were pushing against the dashboard right in that soft spot just below my kneecap. I couldn't move my legs at all during the trip. But what was I going to do? I very carefully closed the door.
The driver was an older man, maybe in his early 60s, with a long pony tail, small silver-rimmed glasses, and a long unruly goatee ("well if everyone is packed in like sardines, lets go"). He had the local public news on the radio which was fairly enjoyable, but he kept changing the volume as though he wasn't sure if we could hear it or he thought it might be too loud. When he wasn't concentrating on the radio volume or fiddling with the climate control, he was driving extremely aggressively. He alternated between extreme bursts of speed to change lanes and uncomfortably close tailgating. About half way across the bridge he changed the radio station to what some might call "Jazz," but I would have trouble calling "music." It was basically an erratic drum riff montage, with chaotic harp playing the backup, while a saxophone player practiced his chromatic scales. Lovely. They might as well have been beating on metal pipes, but the cacophony somehow fit the mans erratic, bucking style of driving.
As we pulled off the freeway in San Francisco, he made one more radio station change to classical and asked us if we would like to be dropped off further up Howard (Yes!). We got to within a block of my office and he let us out. The other carpooler looked at me briefly, but no words of commiseration were exchanged. I walked to work.
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