My column this week is about driving a taxi during Pride weekend.
On Saturday, The City is abuzz with gaiety. Market Street is like a jugular vein from Civic Center to the Castro. Traffic streams inbound and out. The sidewalks are crowded with partiers who stop at each bar and inquire, “Is this a gay bar?” To which the answer is always, “Yes!”
It is Pride weekend, after all.
People, people everywhere, but not a flag in sight.
In the doldrums, I try to stay optimistic. Around midnight, the phone networks become overloaded, forcing people to wander onto side streets and up 17th to get a connection so they can order their Ubers and Lyfts. Other people jump in taxis.
“Oh, thank you so much for taking me home! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”
It feels good to be appreciated, however misguided.
Kalanick is not just Uber’s biggest liability, he’s also the perfect fall guy.
Ugh. This guy.
In my latest column for the S.F. Examiner, I try to focus on the usual shit about my personal life and try to come up with another ribald story that’s fit for print, but as I was working on the column Tuesday night, the news of Kalanick’s resignation broke and I felt compelled to say something.
Sure, his ouster probably means nothing, but… what if a new, kinder, gentler Uber emerged from the rubble of his tyrannical reign? One that followed the law, treated drivers well, established rates that made sense and finally admitted they’re a transportation company and started acting like one?
Click here to read the print version if you have difficulties with the Examiner site.
There is a painful typo in paragraph 10 that’s like a dagger in my gut, but what can I say? I live with an infant who recently figured out how to scream at the top of her lungs. Not because she’s upset or mad or in any kind of distress. Just because it’s fun. So uh… yeah. I’m a tad distracted these days.