My Crazy-Ass Lyft Rides - A Series: Part 2

In last week's recap of my crazy AF Lyft ride, we discussed how my driver tried to usurp my freedom of speech/expression because I didn't have a profile picture and her hatred of drunk riders who give her poor scores and tips. At the tail end of last week's conversation she transitioned into her hatred of Nigerian rap as she spoke to... a Nigerian-American passenger (me/narrator).

Let's continue.

1. Her - finds a different station. 
2. Me (Narrator): The music sounds like Reggaeton. Legit, like island music, specifically Dominican I think. 
3. Her: I think this is Nigerian rap. I cannot stand Nigerian rap. It is so not far me. 
4. Me (internally): Triggered. As. Fuck. 
5. Me (Narrator): Ya'll... I'm Nigerian-American.
6. Her:  I just can't stand it. You can't understand anything they're saying. 
7. Me (Narrator): We are not listening to Nigerian rap, we are listening to Daddy Yankee. I cannot. I am laughing hysterically on the inside and trying to decide if I should tell her she has someone with Nigerian lineage in her car. I decide not to because... I owe her nothing. It is at this point that I have to start texting a friend so that I can focus my energy elsewhere. I'm also about a solid 10 more minutes away from home. How on earth have I experienced all of this foolishness with a stranger, and I'm still 10 minutes away from home is beyond me!
8. Me (internally) - This bitch is dumb. I need out of this car. 
9. Me: Mhmm. 
10. Her: Did you know there are a lot of Nigerians in Houston? They all live (insert very specific intersection). 
11. Me (Narrator): You all, this is a lie. Nigerians live all over this city. She is dumb.
12. Me (internally): As fuck. 
13. Her: That area is really kinda tacky. Like the buildings, well you know. But they all live over there. 
14. Me (internally): What the fuck?
15. Her: But their food is delicious. 
16. Me (internally): Am I dead?
17. Her: Since I drive so much, I get all of these recommendations. I walked into one of their restaurants over there by (insert very specific intersection.) I walk in and everyone stops and stares. I think I shocked them. So I say, "It's okay, I'm part of the integration police. I'm here to push integration though." And they all laughed! 
18. Me (internally): Did she just say immigration police?
19. Me (Narrator): No she said integration police.
20. Me (internally): Oh okay because... if it had said immigration police, this would not be funny. 
21. Me (Narrator): It isn't funny now. I doubt anyone really laughed along with her. 
22. Me (internally): Right!?! I think they all just chuckled for her benefit or some shit. 
23. Me (Narrator): They did. 
24. Her: I think I'm the first white person to ever walk into that restaurant. 
25. Me (Internally): OH MY GOD WHY AM I NOT HOME YET. 
26. Me (Narrator): Breathe. 
27. Her: I told them I'm open to try anything so they brought out all these different dishes. It was all so good! Except one of the dishes was kind of slimy. 
28. Me (Internally): Okra soup prolly. 
29. Her: I think it's oak-kra. 
30. Me (Internally): I really do not like when people pronounce things with that accent. It just doesn't sound right. Or like when they say Yo-ROO-Bah instead of how we actually say it, YOUR-roo-bah.
31. Her: Then they asked to take a picture with me. I know why. I told them, fine you can take a picture but you can't post it and say "Even white people eat her." You have to say "Everyone eats here."
32. Me (internally): Is this what she thinks ally-ship is? 
33. Me (Narrator): Yes. 
34. Her: And they did, they posted my picture on Yelp and said "everyone eats here." I've been to a few more restaurants since then. When I can. With Lyft, it's hard though. They're letting me basically use their car but that means I have to do 75 rides per week which really means I have to drive on the weekends but I cannot stand driving drunk people. The only people I can drive who are drunk are like three friends and my sister. I'll give her hell for a few days, but I'll do it.
35. Me (internally): Wait, there are people who plan on being mean to their siblings in advance?
36. Her: Oh, this is a cute neighborhood. 
37. Me: Thank you. It's really quiet. I love it. 
38. Her: No, you're gonna laugh at the reason I said it's cute. It's 'cause everyone's lawn is manicured. I think that's a sign that people care. Like look at all these lawns. See, I didn't even say anything and there's a guy right there working on his lawn. 
39. Me (internally): This woman has no idea that this is the same guy who blasts music after 10pm from his garage for the whole neighborhood to "enjoy."
40. Her: Ugh, but that lawn, and that one...I would just put a little note on the door saying that they should mow their grass because their lawn has become an eye sore. 
41. Me (internally): OMG! So bitches really pre-meditate passive aggressive notes to neighbors? I could never. Thank god this ride is about to end.
42. Her - pulls up to my driveway.
43. Her: Alright this is you. You guys should trim the grass a bit before it gets too out of hand. 
44. Me (internally): Oh my Go---is this bitch insulting my---while I'm still in the---this bitch is toned-mutha-fuckin-deaf. 
45. Me: Bye! Have a great day. 
46. Her: Did you add your profile picture yet? 
47. Me: I will in the house. This is a bad angle. 
48. Her: You should add it now. 
49. Me: I will. Bye. 
50. Me --- flees from car. Eyes wide open. Opens door. Locks door. Dog excited to see me jumbs around my life. 

Ya'll... all of that happened. Like for real for real. I like quiet drivers, but once in a while you are paired with one that likes conversation. For the most part, they're always older gentlemen who want to give life advice. But this one ya'll... this one. 

I'm at a loss. 

Anyway, I immediately called one of my sisters and she laughed hysterically at the tomfoolery of it all. She thinks all of my rides are crazy but that's primarily because A. I use the ride-share apps so much and B. I always call her when I experience one out of pocket. 

And then she told me to write it down. My loss is your gain. Now that I'm not in the car, I can laugh, but that shit was beyond. She was pushy, abrasive, and totally disconnected. 

I still haven't given her a rating.

My Crazy-Ass Lyft Rides - A Series: Part 1

I enjoy using public transportation and I love walks. But, I also utilize a good ride-share because let's be honest, sometimes after you 100th email at work where someone is passive aggressively/actually calling you a bitch for some tomfoolery above your pay-grade, it's best to just get home the fastest way possible. 

My favorite drivers do the following: barely talk to me, make sure the car is super cold (I'm a hot box), and they make sure to ride the toll and/or drive like we have somewhere to go without making me feel unsafe. My least favorite drivers do the following: harass/chastise/scold/demean me and/or make me feel unsafe. Most of my rides are perfect. And then... there are a few exceptional(ly ridiculous) ones that make me call my sister (#2) to tell her what happened.

For my therapy (because processing is important) and for your amusement I present to you part 1 of my most recent ride. It features 4 perspectives.
Her - the Lyft Driver.
Me - What I say to her out loud.
Me (internally) - What I think about the foolishness.
(Narrator) - What I say to ya'll and my internal self while processing.

Enjoy.

1. (Narrator): I order a Lyft after pulling some overtime at work. I'm over it y'all. I often compare the pricing between ride-share apps before ordering and today, lo and behold, Lyft is cheaper than Uber. Lyft it is. 
2. (Narrator cont'd): After Kiki-ing with one of my homies at work, I see that my Lyft Driver is "about to arrive." I really appreciate that Lyft sends this notification. I chunk the deuce to my homie and head outside. It's a beautiful day. 
3. (Narrator cont'd): My Lyft driver swings a massive right to pull up to me. I confidently walk to the car. I hear fucking butterflies y'all!
4. Her: "What's your name!"
5. Me: Um... Nikki...
6. (Narrator): She opens the door for me to enter. I enter. The car smells like Chinese food. She definitely either had a delicious, bomb-ass dinner or she's a double agent and also works for PostMates/UberEats/DoorDash. Fuck.. this gig economy is some bullshit.
7. Her (gruffly): You. Don't. Have. A. Profile. Picture. Why?
8. Me: Um... I don't know. I never thought about it. 
9. Her: You need to get one.  I know most men are responsible for crimes but pictures help keep us safe.
10. Me: Safe! (We literally said the word at the same time). 
11. Her: Yeah. Press the three lines then the third options then--- (at this point I stopped listening).
12. Me (internally): Bitch I'm not about to put a picture up on this app in your car.
13. Me (externally): I need to update the app. I'll have to add a picture when I get home to my wifi. 
14. Her: You don't need to update the app. You can do it now. 
15. (Narrator): She swerves a left. 
16. Her: God I hate this app sometimes. Sometimes it tells you too late what to do and then customer's get mad and think it's your fault. Like especially right now. The app keeps fucking up around the Rodeo (insert your favorite major city event that lasts for more than 3 days, aka SXSW or Awards Season or Mardi Gras etc).
17. Her (cont'd): If you miss your exit you end up having to make a U-Turn and then you end up 30 minutes later.
18. Me (internally): Can we stop talking?
19. Her: And then it makes your score mess up. I had a perfect 5! Like ugh! Okay okay I had a near perfect 5, I was close... and then people start giving you 4s and then people give you 1s!  I mean this one couple was a peace of work. 
20. Me (internally): I don't want to know any of these things. I just want to go home. I'm tired. 
21. Her: This one couple got in... and you know what I hate, drunk folks. Especially folks who want to drink in my car. The one couple got in and they wanted to drink and I told them now, you can't do that. And they were like, yes we can. I told them you can't. It's not legal. And she said, she said oh I'm a lawyer and I know we can. There are special rules.  And I said with all do respect mom, that is not the case. And she said, I'm a lawyer, there are special rules for ride-share. And I told her, that is for limos, not Lyft and Uber. And she said, I'm a lawyer I know. 
22. Me (internally): Why is this happening?
23. Her: I mean there's the open container law in this state. I just hate driving drunks. You want to listen to some music? What do you want to listen to.
24. Me (internally): Oh my gosh yes. That means no more talking. Please be quiet. 
25. Me (externally): Anything you want to listen to. 
26. (Narrator): Ya'll, I recognize this is a cop out but honestly, as long as it ain't grunge metal ya girl is okay. I am literally staring out the window making plans for my life, judging myself, apologizing to myself for judging myself, praying, looking at clouds, thinking about what to have for dinner, thinking about money, thinking about music, thinking about my next film project, thinking about feeling like I'm behind, apologizing to myself for judging myself about where I am in my journey, etc... to care what's going on. I just want to get home in one piece, take off my bra, and watch Youtube videos while trying not to fall asleep. Anyway, so the Lyft Driver finds a station. First NPR then she starts turning buttons.
27. Her: You know the TSU station plays Jazz. I can't find it now for some reason.
28. (Narrator): TSU is an HBCU, a historically black college/university. I am feeling profiled along with my other feelings of major discomfort and over-it-ness.
29. Me (externally): Oh really?
30. Her: Yeah I'm trying to find it. 
31. Me: (internally): Why do ride-share drivers assume all black people like hip-hop/jazz?
32. Narrator): Child calm down. Not everybody is coming for you because you black. Maybe she likes Jazz too. 
33. Her - finds a different station. The music sounds like Reggaeton. Legit, like island music, specifically Dominican I think. 
34. Her: I think this is Nigerian rap. I cannot stand Nigerian rap. It is so not far me. 
35. Me (internally): Triggered. As. Fuck. 
36. Me (Narrator): Ya'll... I'm Nigerian-American. 

To be continued. 

My Mistress is Called... (or, When Inspiration Fails You)

I was thinking about the nature of inspiration one day when the idea of a haiku series came to me. I thought about how powerful it is that so many of us wait for inspiration. We wait on her (I say her because all of the most powerful forces tend to be female. That, and English vocabulary lacks the fullness to describe the intangible quality of ephemeral forces.) So yes, I was fascinated by the fact that so many of us just sit and wait for inspiration to do begin the doing of things. I was also intrigued by the reality that so many of us not only want to be inspired but also want to inspire others. I mean we sometimes refuse to work, or find an excuse not to make because "I'm not inspired. I don't have inspiration!"

I get it. To be in the zone of inspiration. To have things just manifest out of you, in your head, or in your hands, wherever your creation tools are (pencil, hammer, whatever you use to make great works).

It's euphoric. It's orgasmic. It feels otherworldly.

When you're in it, really in the thick of it, everything else in the world disappears. Fuck time. Fuck obligations. Fuck manners. Inspiration has you and the moment feels like your levitating in a space between times.

But what about those times when you aren't in this magical realm? When she's not visited you? When it's a regular day, but you still are tasked with creating? You are still a vessel, are you not? You still have the urge to create, do you not?

I imagine that Inspiration waits for us who dote on her, she wants us to work for her (attention). Much like work begets work, work seduces a visitation from Inspiration. I imagine that she wants the craftsmen who desire her presence to be so skilled so they can speak on it! #GameRecognizeGameSis.

So, while we wait for her to bless us, and don't act like you won't, because you will---we all love to be inspired and we all love to inspire, I challenge you to keep working. So that when she comes, it's glorious.

Yes, I do realize the double entendre. Your point?)

***

My Mistress is Called

My mistress is called.

In faith, she calls me her muse.

But in truth, she's mine.

She's Inspiration.

Yes, Inspiration itself,

she is my mistress.

I call my mistress

my all-consuming ruler

Then I wait. Nothing.

Now, in her absence,

steadily I move, for she

rewards all efforts

Inspiration comes.

and she sits and laughs at me.

I am enchanted.

My hands, too slow and

ill-equipped to document

this visitation.

But still, I persist.

Inspiration, she's fleeting.

What to say? Do? Write?

Hurry before she...

Inspiration leaves. I'm left

hollowed out by her.

Capricious she is.

Time? Is lost doting on her.

Effort... she rewards.

In her absence, work.

Tis my discipline she loves.

Discipline draws her.

So, I work, I must

An opus will bring her near

She is my mistress

PHOTO CREDIT - Antonio Mora is a beast. Technique: Double exposure. More on his work here.

Definition of mistress:

1:  a woman who has power, authority, or ownership; a tutor who has achieved mastery in some field.

Definition of inspiration:

1:  a : divine influence, power, or action on a person, intellect, or emotions
2 :  the act of drawing in; specifically --- the drawing of air into the lungs

You Betta Work: Grind & Consistency

In the immortal words of all that is holy, in the name of Rihanna and Rupaul, Patrón Saints of living your best life according to your own rules, on this spring day in the year of our Lord two thousand seventeen - "Work!" The work is important. The doing of said work is important. You must do it. The process will be dirty. There's something about it. Learn to do it, because it doesn't matter how tired you are.   

An Excerpt from the Book of Work - Rihanna

I been work, work, work, work, work, work

You see me I be work, work, work, work, work, work

You see me do me dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt

There's something 'bout that work, work, work, work, work, work

When you a gon' learn, learn, learn, learn, learn, learn

Me na care if me tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired

The Work, the manifestation of hours of thought and arduous process, is amazing. The DOING of work, however, is a completely different beast altogether. And we know this to be true, because a lot of people stay dreamers. We've all been there.

The doing of the work, the process of creating, the making of the thing, requires two things: Grind and Consistency. Grind and Consistency. Grind and Consistency. After graduation, gone are the days of forced milestones of paper deadlines, popped quizzes, blitzed exams. Nope. I don't have a handler a la Britney Spears so if I want to achieve/manifest anything of merit, I have to do that work my GotDam self.

Excerpt cont'd

There's something 'bout that work, 

work, work, work, work, work 

When you a gon' learn, 

learn, learn, learn, learn, learn

Me na care if me tired, 

tired, tired, tired, tired, tired

Not gon' lie though, when you're juggling a "day-job" and a 5-minute Snapchat curiousity turns into a 5-hour "Living Single" binge, the vortex of distraction becomes real. It's happened to me. Yes, I was embarrassed. Yes, I did judge myself. Yes, I then proceeded to watch another youtube clip. I'M NOT PERFECT! NO, I'M NOT BEING SENSITIVE. YES, YOU ARE BEING HARD ON ME. Okay. I'm done.

And while the things I wanna do (writing, performing, producing, teaching), are enjoyable things for me, it can be easy to fall prey to feelings of tedium because... well consistency. Consistency in work is what leads to results. Continued results manifests legacy. And legacy is what we're all after. We're all fighting time and wanting to leave "proof" of our existence. A footnote that we were here. That we did something with our gifts. Yes it's ego, but ego can lead to good things. Using something your naturally good at, or were nurtured into cultivating, and exploiting the shit out of it is good. (Exploit: to make full use of and derive benefit from.) You used it to be fucking useful, used it for the greater good, because hell, we're here ain't we? Might as well do something with yourself.

So. Get. To. Work...work...work...work...work...work... right after I finish watching this Rihanna video. I promise. 

PS. If you read the lyrics to the song, Drake, being very drake-onion, was still trying to distract Rihanna from her work in this video.