The Rideshare Sadness Does Diminish

Jill is with Alex in New Orleans today and tomorrow for Loyola orientation.  College beckons!

Abby had a work shift this morning (she works at the City pools as a cashier) that started at 7:30.  Meaning that if she took me to work, we'd be getting up at 6:15 to leave by 6:45 and I'd be at work way too damn early.  I wanted to sleep in, so Lyft seemed a better option.

Of course, the other kid may have silenced her alarm yesterday morning, but didn't take the extra time to turn it off.  To be fair, it was at 5:15 am, since she and Jill had to catch an early plane.  How do I know it was at 5:15 am?  Because it went off again this morning at 5:15 am.  Thereby destroying all sleeping in plans.  And speaking of destroying, it's not going off again tomorrow morning.  Certainly, I could have turned on the light and figured out how to turn the alarm off.  But it was 5:15 am.  Unplugging the alarm clock was justified.  Smashing it?  Probably less so.

My morning Lyft commute was less sad than my after-work Lyft commute.  Perhaps it was Paul, or his Chevy Malibu. Paul asked zero questions, which, if I'm being honest, is the exact number of questions I want to answer in the morning.  His music choices were questionable, as was his route choice, but I opened the app at 7:40 and was at work by 8.  That still seems unbelievable to me.  It's almost as if Paul was hovering around the corner, even before I asked for a Lyft. 

If I told someone yesterday on my cellular telephone that I was planning on using Lyft this morning, could Facebook have heard that and pre-positioned Paul?  Certainly, there's a great deal I am messing up here, but mark my words - my television tonight will have many more Chevy Malibu commercials than normal.

So, today I am coming to terms with the gig economy.  And tomorrow night, I start ingesting poison (prescribed).  And Wednesday, I start getting irradiated.  All in all, a week.