Uber Tales (22)

Uber Loops

I wake up and the texture of the light is just right. I don’t set an alarm. I just check out the texture of the light on my wall and get up to that. If it has the texture of molasses I sleep on. If it has the texture of honey I’m losing money. It has to have the texture of thinned milk, a white blueishness. I once set an alarm just to make sure that I didn’t wake up too early, but that didn’t work.

My sleeping cycles should make me healthy, wealthy, happy and wise, they say. Who are they anyway? I don’t know and I don’t really care. My sleeping and waking pattern is just an encapsulation of other loops within loops.

Take the Rosebank Gautrain loop as an example. I park laboriously, reversing into the narrow space between the other car parked too close to the line and the pillar. I hate reversing. It feels so much like going backwards, yet I do an awful lot of it these days. Reversing and doing U-turns are what I do and I put it on record that I don’t like either.

But back to Rosebank. I park in reverse so as to see what is going on in front of me. As soon as I switch off my engine, I get a call. Is it going to be the Fricker Road, Wanderers Office Park or Vox Telecom loop, I wonder? They’re all within about 3km range from the station. It’s Fricker Rd. Or Wanderers. Or Vox Telecom. I call it my holding loop. It keeps me busy when everything else is quiet. Busy is good, they say. Busy is a loop by itself.

It’s easy to get stuck in a loop and conversely difficult to get out of one. If you’re in a loop you have to consciously drive out of it otherwise you can easily do a record-breaking day of 36 minimum fare trips for virtually no real income. That feels like work and I don’t like anything that feels like work. My work doesn’t feel like work most of the time. It just is.

When I pick somebody up in a crappy area, I’m almost sure to drop them off in the same kind or worse. Mostly worse. I have to drive out of the shitty area before getting stuck in a loop of 20-buck minimum fare cash trips. The same goes for the middle-class and rich areas. There, I hang around, but still. Still like a vulture in the blue sky wanting your dead buck.

The ant goes his ways and back to the place he stays. The mount, the mound and all around. Ever busy, ever round is the loop.

Mine is not so much different, but I know my shit. I sit and wait for it every morning. Every morning I wait for a shit. A good shit trumps everything in my business. One does not need the need for a good shit on the road. Is that a political statement? Is there a good Trump that shits everything? One would not know. I know when it’s time to break out of a loop, especially a shitty one. I just go. Shit, no shit, I go. I must.

“What does it mean?” I ask Chuck. He says he’s busy. “Busy with what?” I ask. “Stitching something together,” he says smugly. “What?” “Moments.” “I hope they’re memorable moments?” “Nope, for your hope, just random moments. They call it life.” He flicks his cigarette ash and misses the ashtray by a mile in that annoying way of his. “Ashes to ashes,” he adds as if it means something. I sigh.

“It’s like Teazer’s, a Mobius Strip. You can only see from where you are sitting, but you can’t ever grasp anything beyond the horizon you’ll never see,” he explains. ”I see,” I say and sigh again.

Then it’s another day. The government steals from the people. The shit hits the fan. I wait for a shit

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Chuckv

March 20th


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