Tag Archives: senior center

1.48 Wrinkles

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Day six of my fourteen hour fortnight.

FLYT held a general meeting last Friday which I missed due to the Fall Foliage Tour. It turns out one of the drivers came in sick with – swine, C, Spanish, bird, #10 – some variety of nasty flu which knocked out almost the entire fleet of FLYT drivers. Not wanting another rideshare program to “muscle into their territory” they asked the last standing healthy drivers to extend their service hours for a rather nice bonus, plus base pay, and tips. 

When FLYT emailed me about Flu-Gate, I immediately contacted the Senior Center. I wasn’t the only driver the members used, but I didn’t want someone going without services because they couldn’t get a ride. It turns out one of the Center’s members did scheduling for Rye Memorial Hospital for forty years and hasn’t lost her touch. With sacred promises made by all not to fork up her work, she set a two-week schedule (for me, another driver who works the Center and the members). I think she may have issued a veiled threat somewhere to ensure compliance – hard to remember now – it feels like a hundred years ago. 

At this point, I am not sure if the Princess’s driver’s seat is taking on my butt shape or my butt is taking on seat shape. These are the things I wonder about now. Either way, it’s been firmly planted since Tuesday morning.

Last night I dreamt scientist created a bottomless cup of coffee.   

Even with all this driving, I’ve managed to wedge a tiny bit of multitasking into my day – monitoring the radio waves. Without a single fib I’ve managed to keep the Princess’s radio dial planted on KARB 98.1, Rye’s jazz/classical station – ‘Giving you energy thru the day!’. My fares grumbled a bit at first (they love their rock music) but gave in when they figured out I was working from 6 am to 8 pm helping them out.

Why am I on tenterhooks at the top of each hour? Because KARB’s news desk delights in scooping The Daily Harvest every chance they get (a feud which according to my Aunt Pearl dates back to an incident in high school between the Newspaper’s Managing Editor and Radio Station’s Manager). In the last year they’d been the first to report Stripper Gate (former mayor taking out visiting officials to said establishments), the apprehension of the Cascadia Con-man and the reacquisition of six lost Dutch Masters by RAM (Rye Art Museum and it turns out the paintings weren’t lost so much as stolen).

KARB is the only non-news station, west of the Mississippi, which employs four full-time investigative reporters – I’m pretty sure. So I figured if/when the sourest member of the Thin Green Line follows up on my materials – they will broadcast it first (it’s harder to monitor the Daily Harvest, traffic cops frown on reading & driving). 

Are drive-thru egg rolls are a thing?

If they aren’t, they really should be because my shift’s finally over and I can’t go home yet and I’d really like some egg rolls or Mongolian beef with fried rice or pad thai or pho or banh mi or sushi. 

Visions of wontons dance through my head… 

Wouldn’t be the first time I ate dinner whilst wandering through Nevermore. According to my phone Rye doesn’t have a drive-thru Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese or Japanese restaurants, drat.

So Nevermore. 

At the time I didn’t realize how serendipitous running into Joseph at The Crossroads was. When I’d taken care of Nevermore, we spoke daily, no big deal. Now that I’m out in the cold it’s not so easy, which fills me with an uncontrollable urge to kick Little Ben in the shins.

Why you ask is my chest crammed with a thousand angry bees who’d like a word with my former manager? Since returning from the Fall Foliage Tour seven and a half days ago, I’ve been unable to locate Joseph and let him know about the looming problem getting ready to land in Nevermore. Not wanting to alarm the Residents I’ve kept the news to myself but he needs to know, and we need to fix on a solution. 

Why not ask them where Joseph is? Or pass a message onto him? Since my exile, this might lead to panic amongst the Residents, which could mean some uncomfortable nights for Little Ben in the cottage. 

So I’d worked out a cunning plan which cut the Residents out of the equation entirely. Regrettably, it requires my butt to remain planted in the driver’s seat for a few more hours (hopefully only minutes, but I’m not holding my breath). My bright idea? I will sit in the Princess, in Nevermore until Joseph finds me – listening to the radio – drinking coffee. 

Without egg rolls.

1.19 My Career as a Chauffeur

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(The Princess as she was when I bought her, before spiffing her up!)

FLYT: Whether it’s hop, skip or a jump, start your trip with us!

My new interim career: chauffeur. Sounds glamorous right? 

On my first day I donned black slacks, vest and white button up (I left off the cap – I thought it a touch too much coupled with my very pink car) – put the FLYT sticker and light bar in the Pink Princess – then set my app to ‘on duty’ and waited for my first fare! Where would the day take me?

We all carry preconceived notions around of what people should look like based on their jobs. I know I got many an amused backwards looks when I listed my previous position as cemetery caretaker. I mean what euphemism could I possible use? Remains concierge? Churchyard curator? Grass custodian? Seriously – call a spade a spade. FLYT labels their drivers based on the number of seats in their cars (thus the recommended length of their trips) and I saw similar amusement aimed my way. My spidey sense should’ve tingled. 

The Princess fell into the ‘Hop’ scope of work. Meaning? I could drive one passenger (plus luggage) within the recommended radius of twenty miles (I could go further- but I wouldn’t appear at the top of the skip or jump lists). No big deal – the airport, retail core and restaurant district all fell under my purview. 

I didn’t drive anywhere close to the big three my first week or even my second. (Looking back it’s funny now.)

I now know why there are so few drivers in the Hop category and why FLYT pushed my application through so fast (one week may not seem like much – but a background check normally takes two alone) when they discovered how much I loved my car.

I am a glorified granny mobile.

Don’t let seniors fool you, technology does not scare them and once they figure it out (or remember to wear their glasses) they have zero problems using it. When they find a favorite app? It spreads through the senior center quicker than greased lightning. When there is a new driver on their favorite rideshare app – who is actually polite? The information spreads faster than warm butter on a hot skillet.

I now know where the best podiatrist in town is. In fact I don’t think there is a medical center of any size or flavor I haven’t visited. I have loaded hundreds of bags of groceries into and out of the Princess’s trunk. My knowledge of rumors, facts and fabrications of my fair metropolis dwarfs – by several orders of magnitude – anything my Aunt Pearl’s nosy network could even dream of discovering (the senior center is non-denominational and is closed mouthed to anyone under sixty-seven unless you are stuck in a car at a red light and want to talk about something, anything other than what’s going to happen at the urologist today – while Aunt Pearl is limited to school/church gossip grape vine). 

I wear my chauffeur cap now because they think it’s cute. The waterproof seat covers I purchased for quick cleanup if a drunk got sick on them are now covered with lovely Scandinavian brocade covers. I mentioned to one of my regulars the name of my car and they all ran with it. They’ve filled her small back seat with homemade throw pillows,  crocheted afghans and a woven basket for my lunch (they decided my cooler clashed with the spirit of the Princess – it was blue). Every item remained faithful to the color scheme of black and pink, nothing clashed (I am not sure this is due to a happy accident or if they had a meeting and decided on a color scheme).

While the other FLYT drivers do their level best to graduate to the Skip category just as fast as they can – I was in no hurry to leave Hop behind. Sure my car perpetually smelled of talcum powder and floral perfume, they weren’t great tippers and expected me to walk them to their doors. In the rain. Carrying their bags. Always. But the ladies of a certain age gave me their tried and true recipes because they discovered I enjoyed cooking. The elderly gents diagnosed the knocking in my engine before the situation became dire. They regaled me with old war stories, scandals and worries – I felt more like a bartender than a driver. They reminded me of the residents of Nevermore, they just wanted someone to listen and I was more than happy to.

They kept me so busy I didn’t see my first sans-senior-center-fare until the end of the week (my part-time job turned pretty steady, pretty quickly). The only reason it happened was because I forgot to swipe my driver app to ‘off duty’ when I got home. Well, that and the fact the center closed at five today. Despite the long day, the ladies’ monthly round robin of beauty, I decided to grab this last fare – my forgetfulness wasn’t his fault.

No good deed ever goes unpunished.