The neons are on and the business is slow, the cabbies by the train station shoot me a dirty look as I slow down looking for my client. A dark haired tech worker, with slightly more flair than your usual software engineer that she turns out to be, hops in the car and starts telling me about her job—sounds like she has resolved some complicated coding problem…I keep nodding enthusiastically while my mind wonders. It’s too late to be getting off the train from work, but she doesn’t mind. This is her dream job, and she can stroll in in the morning whenever she likes, privilege of her profession.
The ride is a Lyft Line, and the next pick up is a sous-chef with slightly more mileage on him than my typical twenty-something passenger, and soon enough we are all swapping life stories—plenty of time to burn on the way to Sunset.
Somehow it comes out that he was in the army and spent a year in Iraq in 2005.
The dark haired coder gets really excited and nods “me too!” she said. “I was in Bagdad!”
“You were in the army?” He said.
“No,” she said, “I was there because I am from there, in 2005 I was going to middle school!”
They stare at each other with delight—this is apparently better than coming across summer camp buddy—it turns out he was stationed just couple miles from where she grew up.
They start to trade stories … somewhat different from the stories one hears when people randomly have something about their past in common.
“Do you remember when they bombed that market with the gas station, and the gas-station exploded? I broke our windows! That was the biggest fireball I ever seen! “ And that freeway…it had so many holes from IEDs it was like an obstacle course. And “My brother had a lucrative business selling stuff to soldiers at the green zone, he was an interpreter.” Whoa, said the chef, risky job, he is lucky to be alive”
“I know, right?” She says, sounding more american than Ellen Page.
After he got out of the car, she ads: You know I used to think I had a pretty normal childhood, but lately I not so sure any more…
The ride is a Lyft Line, and the next pick up is a sous-chef with slightly more mileage on him than my typical twenty-something passenger, and soon enough we are all swapping life stories—plenty of time to burn on the way to Sunset.
Somehow it comes out that he was in the army and spent a year in Iraq in 2005.
The dark haired coder gets really excited and nods “me too!” she said. “I was in Bagdad!”
“You were in the army?” He said.
“No,” she said, “I was there because I am from there, in 2005 I was going to middle school!”
They stare at each other with delight—this is apparently better than coming across summer camp buddy—it turns out he was stationed just couple miles from where she grew up.
They start to trade stories … somewhat different from the stories one hears when people randomly have something about their past in common.
“Do you remember when they bombed that market with the gas station, and the gas-station exploded? I broke our windows! That was the biggest fireball I ever seen! “ And that freeway…it had so many holes from IEDs it was like an obstacle course. And “My brother had a lucrative business selling stuff to soldiers at the green zone, he was an interpreter.” Whoa, said the chef, risky job, he is lucky to be alive”
“I know, right?” She says, sounding more american than Ellen Page.
After he got out of the car, she ads: You know I used to think I had a pretty normal childhood, but lately I not so sure any more…