Uber Chronicles

 

Uber Chronicles: The Interview Ride

The app pings just as I’m stepping out of school. It’s a request from Margaret, my colleague. She’s pacing near the gate, holding a folder so tightly you’d think it contained nuclear codes.

“Can you take me to this international school near Habesha?” she asks, her voice tinged with desperation.

“Sure,” I say, even though I planned to call it a day. But hey, extra fuel money doesn’t hurt.

We’re weaving through traffic, and she’s mumbling interview answers under her breath. “Why do you want to join this school?” she whispers, then answers herself, “Because I believe in holistic education…”

I nod occasionally, pretending to listen, but my mind is on the road—and my next rider. We get to the school just in time.

“Wait for me,” she says, bolting out of the car.

“How long?” I ask.

“An hour. Maybe less.”

I use the time to clean White Knight. Dust off the dashboard, wipe the windows, and pick out rogue sunflower seed shells from under the seats. By the time she returns, she looks relieved.

“How was it?” I ask as we drive toward Adams Arcade.

“Not bad. They said they’ll call.”

We part ways, and I head to The Hub Karen, pinning my destination for home. Just as I’m settling in for a quiet ride, Claire calls.

“Can you pick me up at 6 p.m.?” she asks. Her voice is off, like she’s holding back tears.

“Sure,” I say, although I’m curious. But curiosity isn’t part of the Uber service.

Before heading to Karen, I pick up a Bolt rider heading to School Lane, Westlands. He’s… unique. Short hair dyed green, piercings, and a vape in hand.

“You mind?” he asks, holding up the vape pen.

“Windows down,” I reply.

He takes a drag, exhaling sweet-smelling clouds that fill the car. He offers me a hit.

“No, thanks,” I say. But I'm lightheaded when I drop him off, and White Knight smells like a candy store exploded.

I finally get to Claire’s office. She’s standing outside, her shoulders slumped, her eyes red.

“Tough day?” I ask as she gets in.

“You have no idea,” she says, leaning back and closing her eyes.

“Want to talk about it?” I venture, half-expecting her to decline.

She surprises me. “Do you ever feel like you’re just… stuck?” she begins. “Like, no matter how much you try, you’re running in circles?”

“All the time,” I reply honestly.

She sighs. “I’ve been at this job for three years. Three years, and I still feel like I’m not making a difference. Today, my boss basically told me my ideas were… unrealistic. And it hit me: Is this it? Is this what I worked so hard for?”

“Maybe it’s not about the job,” I say cautiously. “Maybe it’s about what the job allows you to do. Like… paying the bills or giving you time to figure out what you really want.”

She looks at me, her expression softening. “You’re wiser than you look,” she says with a small smile.

“Comes with the territory,” I reply. “Driving around Nairobi gives you a lot of time to think.”

When we get to her house, she seems lighter, like she’s shed some invisible weight. As she gets out, she pauses.

“Thanks for listening,” she says.

“Anytime,” I reply, watching as she walks inside. I start White Knight and head back to The Hub, hoping for one last ride before I call it a day.

What’s the most unexpected or heartfelt conversation you’ve ever had with a stranger? Share your story!