# Über Pool, Über Duel, Über Cool....



## Who is John Galt? (Sep 28, 2016)

.
Times are good; the weather is hot, the days are long and sultry, most of our riders are enjoying the long summer break and most are happy to soak up the wonderful Adelaide ambiance and enjoy the natural flow of slow summer sensations.

Monday 20180122

The outlook was good for the day. I had an early appointment in the city and would then actually do some morning driving instead of goofing off and entertaining thoughts of less productive activities.

I had picked up a bloke from one of our significant miners HO on Greenhill Road in Parkside, and his destination was the Deloitte Bldg in Waymouth just over King William. When he got into the car it was one of those situations where you just feel uncomfortable. There is no other word for it really, it was just uncomfortable.

My front passenger side seat skips backwards or forwards with the minimum of fuss and as a rule I always have it moved back almost to its extreme, so that a new pax is sub consciously encouraged to get into the roomy front seat, rather than try to squeeze into the rear seat. I don't mind if someone wants to blather away on their phone or be a Spacebook or Whatscrap prince or princess, but I try to encourage engagement and interaction from everyone.

Everybody has a story and there is so much to learn from every rider. But the positioning of the seat doesn't always work as an encouragement to get into the front, and it didn't work with our mining engineer. I have had dozens of pickups from this building, and as I have a lot of FIFO clients, I always try to garner some new info about the goings on at mine sites or company policies which may affect their workers and my trips.

So, Rob or Bob or whatever his name was, had immediately fallen down my scale of acceptability. Firstly he was a bloke, and secondly he chose to sit in the rear of the car like some smug little Lord Fauntleroy, whilst yours truly - Jeeves in his eyes, transports him to his destination at Deloittes. When he implied insistence in getting in the rear, I skipped the front passenger seat forward to allow him and his ego more room. On reflection, and as he was going to Deloittes, it is highly likely that he was a banker (yes, with a 'b') and not an engineer after all.

The point of this background is that this was a very direct route, shortish but OK, and it led me west along a main street Pirie Street which crosses the main north/south arterial of the city which is King William Street. Easy, predicable and boring with Bob the Banker in the back.

As I turned into Pirie from Pulteney for the last leg of the trip, I got another ping and without even looking at it, I just accepted. That is how bored I was with Bob or Rob or Knob or whatever his name was. We were crawling along Pirie which is never a free run, and when we were about 250 metres from King William a woman started waving at me from the footpath. I didn't recognise her, but hey.....never let a chance go by, so I started waving back. By this stage we were stopped in the traffic and this rather captivating woman was walking to the car.

I thought to myself, what is going on here? She got about a metre from the car, and I thought this must be the stacked ping, quickly opened the info section of the app, and yes, saw 'Eloise' at the address that we were at, and thought oh, Lordy, I am going to get my first Pool trip without it being a pool trip!

Meanwhile, as she is looking at Rob the knob in the back seat, she abruptly stopped, and she actually recoiled, looked at me first quizzically and then accusingly and started shaking her head. I gave her the ¿Qué? look and continued on driving albeit, very slowly up Pirie Street. I was watching her in the rear vision mirror as we moved away and I could see all these base emotions flooding into her face, and none of them, not one, related to affection.

I thought a cancellation would come through any second, but strangely it didn't. I eventually got through the intersection, dropped off Rob the knob, did an illegal u-turn whilst giving a wave to all those who had the audacity to question my maneuvers and headed back for the Eloise to see if we might salvage something from the situation. As I was stopped at the intersection heading back, I sent her a text asking her to cross the road.

As I pulled over to pick her up, she was actually walking in front of my car as she crossed the road. I am a keen observer of our wonderful females, and time stood still as she covered those few metres in front of the car and then down the passenger side to the rear door. It was very hot. She had now been standing on the hot footpath waiting for me for close to 15 minutes. Five or six minutes ago she thought I had arrived for her, only to realise I had yet to drop off another rider. The introductions therefore, were never going to be cordial, let alone loving.

I think it is fair to say she wasn't happy. As she walked to the car I studied her. She was clearly uncomfortable in the searing midday sunshine; her hair - seemingly every woman's entrée to a new introduction, was a bit disorganized, probably from the heat and her perspiration, but it was very nicely coloured with a henna tint I would guess. She was clearly anxious from the unexpected delay in her trip. She had the very finest sheen of perspiration on her face and particularly on her upper lip which was more than a little curled as she looked at me through the windscreen. She appeared determined and aggressive.

I expect she was in her early 40's, was dressed exquisitely in a black knee length dress, a fine black, broad brimmed hat and large sunglasses, and from her posture and presentation, it appeared to me that she was a professional, I was guessing finance or law, and she had a bearing or a manner which clearly stated that she was not to be taken lightly. She was clearly no barbie doll, nor would she ever want to be. She was the real deal.










She looked very, very angry. I was strangely excited. Sometimes, you just have a feeling.

She had no luggage other than a laptop bag and a small clutch bag. She flung open the back passenger side door, tossed the laptop bag across the seat and started on me. I let it flow and told her to put her seat belt on, as we crawled forward. We had gone about 200 metres down the street and with her unrelenting diatribe, I still hadn't started the trip. Good thing I thought, as I pulled over and told her that the best thing for both of us would be for her to travel with someone else, and told her to get out.

Well....that was a red rag to a bull!

"Don't you dare, don't you effin' dare, I have a plane to catch" and so it went on. She was getting really, really worked up. I was starting to get more than a little intrigued by this whole situation, so I relented, turned on the trip and the destination was Centennial Park a major cemetery about 12 km south of the city. I confirmed this with her and off we went. The haranguing continued and she started poring out bile about Über's app and how it kept telling her pickup was three minutes and then it changed to ten minutes and back again and obviously I was manipulating it to make her late; two taxis had actually pulled up in front of her and she could have taken them; she was hungry and thirsty and if she had of known exactly how long I would have been, she could have bought a bottle water. So it went on.......and on....

By this time we were out of the Pirie Street crawl, into the relative free flow of Pulteney Street and heading south towards her destination. I am pretty tolerant, but Ms Eloise was really starting to get on my nerves. From the moment of pickup, if not before, this was always going to be a 1★ trip. I accept that and usually get at one a week or so. It is not a biggie, I accept that some riders, or more usually their husbands don't appreciate my sense of humour. C'est la vie. It doesn't unduly bother me, but if I think that I have nothing to lose, it occasionally inspires me......

I started to pay back and gave her as good as she was giving me. I mentioned to her that she, and she alone, was responsible for her scheduling or lack of it, she could quite easily have walked across the street for a bottle of water, and I wasn't going to take any more of her sheit. There was silence for a minute and then the dreaded sobbing started.

Oh Lordy....Gurls......

The sobbing got louder and I cracked, and I actually started to laugh.

I couldn't believe this woman. Through the blubbering, she accused me of tormenting her when I had a bottle of water in the console and she had none! I stopped at the next servo and told her I would wait while she went in and bought a bottle of water. She declined. She was going to be the martyr.

We went a little further up the road and the sobbing and accusations and all the associated dramas were still unfolding as I am trying to drive a total stranger to a cemetery for some unknown reason, when she had originally told me that she needs to get to the airport. I learnt very early on, from having a great bunch of sisters, that in dealing with our wonderful Gurls, always expect the unexpected.

Again; and this was for the third time in our trip, I pulled over and told her I was getting something from the boot and to sit tight. I opened my door to get out and she went ballistic and the crying escalated. I am not even going to repeat what she thought I was going to do. I have a small fridge in the boot for purposes which I won't go into but there are chilled bottles of mineral water for such damsels in distress. I gave her a chilled water, I gave her a personal pack of tissues from the glovebox and explained we were going to just sit and catch our breath for a minute before we continued.

......continued next post


----------



## Who is John Galt? (Sep 28, 2016)

.
....continued from previous post

Eloise started to calm. She started to settle. Neither of us said a word, we just sat there in the car at the side of the road, engine running, AC cooling, anxieties soothing and my mind racing. I don't know why, but pretty much since forever, I have matched names to songs, their lyrics and stories and more importantly the music, and for a few minutes, Eloise was calming in the back seat and in the front seat I was mentally *exciting *to the melodramatic strains of 'Eloise' by an overwrought Barry Ryan back in the late 60's or thereabouts. It was indeed an orchestral movement in the car, well at least in my mind.

_My Eloise, I'd love to please her,
I'd love to care, but she's not there
And when I find you, I'd be so kind,
you'd want to stay, I know you'd stay

_
Without a word, I again started off. The atmosphere had completely changed. There was calm, at least in the back seat, but strangely, I was becoming even more intrigued by this remarkable, sensual and emotional woman. As I was silently pondering her situation, she again attempted to engage, but this time without the accusatory tone and without the malice. She was almost friendly. She asked if I would wait for her at the cemetery and then take her to the airport, to which I agreed.

We chatted and started to gain an interest in each other. We arrived at Centennial Park which I have been past a million times, but I have never actually driven in there. That place is huge. There seems to be a million trees in that bone orchard. We drove aimlessly for a minute or two and then after asking directions from the groundsmen, we finally found the section of where a new headstone she had ordered had been placed.

She left me, got out of the car, and went to the grave site. I kept an eye on her and watched for any signs of her needing me. In a strange way, I was getting a little fond of Eloise. She had emotions which she wasn't afraid of showing, she was passionate and spirited and didn't mind showing a good dose of either.

As she moved in and around the grave site and alternately kneeled in front of, and leaned on the memorial, she was clearly distressed, I moved the car as close as possible without imposing.

She was there for perhaps 20 minutes, came to the car and this time got into the front passenger seat. Before I could say anything, she apologised for her earlier behaviour. She asked that I might take her to the airport.

The 15 minutes or so to the airport were a revelation and she explained that she had lost a partner several months ago, was in Adelaide again to settle the estate and finally collect the 'keys to the kingdom' before flying back to Melbourne.

We arrived at the airport and she only left the car after one of the high-vis guys knocked on the window after about 5 minutes of us chatting. I met her at the passenger side and we hugged affectionately. I watched her walk away and she turned and waved.

If this is an indication of what Überpool might be, please bring it on.

.


----------



## QLDUberDriver (Jan 23, 2016)

This story with a bit of tweaking, could have been a big hit in such publications as the old Playboy or Picture magazine


----------



## Jack Malarkey (Jan 11, 2016)

QLDUberDriver said:


> This story with a bit of tweaking, could have been a big hit in such publications as the old Playboy or Picture magazine


Or the current _New Yorker._


----------



## Sydney Uber (Apr 15, 2014)

Who is John Galt? said:


> .
> ....continued from previous post
> 
> Eloise started to calm. She started to settle. Neither of us said a word, we just sat there in the car at the side of the road, engine running, AC cooling, anxieties soothing and my mind racing. I don't know why, but pretty much since forever, I have matched names to songs, their lyrics and stories and more importantly the music, and for a few minutes, Eloise was calming in the back seat and in the front seat I was mentally *exciting *to the melodramatic strains of 'Eloise' by an overwrought Barry Ryan back in the late 60's or thereabouts. It was indeed an orchestral movement in the car, well at least in my mind.
> ...


Surely you have a selection of business cards at the ready?

"Call JG
I am, what you need"


----------



## freeFromUber (Mar 1, 2016)

QLDUberDriver said:


> This story with a bit of tweaking, could have been a big hit in such publications as the old Playboy or Picture magazine


That's the end? I want that 8 minutes of my life back. I thought for sure you were going to bang he right there in the vibe orchard.


----------



## kbrown (Dec 3, 2015)

QLDUberDriver said:


> This story with a bit of tweaking, could have been a big hit in such publications as the old Playboy or Picture magazine


Or Cosmo.


----------



## Teri12 (Jul 20, 2016)

Who is John Galt? said:


> .
> ....continued from previous post
> 
> Eloise started to calm. She started to settle. Neither of us said a word, we just sat there in the car at the side of the road, engine running, AC cooling, anxieties soothing and my mind racing. I don't know why, but pretty much since forever, I have matched names to songs, their lyrics and stories and more importantly the music, and for a few minutes, Eloise was calming in the back seat and in the front seat I was mentally *exciting *to the melodramatic strains of 'Eloise' by an overwrought Barry Ryan back in the late 60's or thereabouts. It was indeed an orchestral movement in the car, well at least in my mind.
> ...


Beautiful story, John. Are you a PROFESSIONAL writer? If not, do consider it. (Not for 'the picture book'  either I hope)



freeFromUber said:


> That's the end? I want that 8 minutes of my life back. I thought for sure you were going to bang he right there in the vibe orchard.


Smallest of brains fit in the smallest of heads.


----------



## Who is John Galt? (Sep 28, 2016)

Teri12 said:


> Beautiful story, John. Are you a PROFESSIONAL writer? If not, do consider it. (Not for 'the picture book'  either I hope)


Thank you Ms Loren 

I am involved in some writing but it is not of the kind that I can indulge here, so this is a bit of an outlet for my Übering experiences without the constraints of professional oversight. I liked this particular story as it is written as it happened, without any embellishment whatsoever. Since the time of writing there has also been contact and perhaps other chapters to this story should follow.

One thing which does pain me, is that at every re-reading I see errors of grammar or format which I am now unable to edit and rectify. C'est la vie. Next time I will need to be a little more caring and careful in the delivery of the lady. 

.


----------



## Sydney Uber (Apr 15, 2014)

QLDUberDriver said:


> This story with a bit of tweaking, could have been a big hit in such publications as the old Playboy or Picture magazine


Next chapter is published in the ol' Forum.


----------

