Kevin Brennan Writes About What It's Like
The Only Uber Driver in Mayberry
Because, you see, I am from Estonia and I pick up my ‘07 Hyundai Entourage for a laul. I am entrepreneur, so, yes, I use my noodle and understand if I am to kick ass as American Uber driver I need a whole market to myself. Seega, I move to one place I know there will be no competition to me: Mayberry, North Carolina.
It is pretty town, Mayberry, but I must say, andestama, it is not arrived yet in modern world. First, not many people here have smartphone, and, at same time, not many have a car. Seega, first job for me is to encourage the iPhone, get people connected, jah? They are at first suspicious of Estonian man with iPhone leaflets, who speaks: “You need to check Fessbuch, jah? You need smartphone to check Fessbuch, also Tweeter. And you need Uber too, jah? Need ride to Mount Pilot?”
This is how I wind up in Sheriff Andy’s jail the first time.
He is very nice to me, but his sidekeek, Officer Barney Fife, when Sheriff Andy is out, pokes at me through bars. “Why don’t I just nip this in the bud right now?” he speaks. “Nip it!”
I don’t know what this means. I only smile, tell him I am entrepreneur to provide Uber rides to good people of Mayberry. The bruises, I think, will go away soon enough.
When I get the Hyundai out of impound, I finally can log on to give rides, and the first one to order me is man named Otis. He is out of mind intoxicant, but he has Uber account and five-star rating. Seega, I let him in. In five seconds he spills his stomach onto my backsit.
Mr. Goober Pyle sells me from gas station seventeen pine tree air freshenings I am to stick in the door pockets, but now my Hyundai smells like forest where drunk man threw up the world.
And one thing I notice about Mayberry — and this is no good for Uber driving — is that everybody is always where they are supposed to be. Floyd, always in barber shop. Gomer Pyle is pumping the gas. Sheriff Andy, of course, has police car. He drives around and visits schoolteacher in school, county clerk in office, but these people never need the ride home. Do they live in these places? How can they not make weekly trip to Walmart? Entrepreneur Uber driver can make no money when nobody goes somewhere else.
The only passenger who helps pay bills is Aunt Bee — Sheriff Andy’s aunt. She is named after two insects. How old is this woman? Where is her husband, Uncle Bee?
Once a week she calls for me and wishes to go to Mount Pilot. She is nicely dressed and speaks kindly as we drive. Asks me if I am married, do I have little ones, is Estonia as beautiful country as North Carolina. I take her to Mount Pilot where she tells me to wait, disappears into an alley door, and comes back wasted an hour later. Tips väga good, so I will never squawk to the sheriff. I think she is vaping Grandaddy Purple, and one day I might ask to be paid with a sample.
Barter, though — kaubavahetus — is not the Uber way, sad to speak. Floyd wishes to trade haircuts for the ride. Sheriff Andy says he won’t run me in for expiring tags if I pick up Opie after school. Goober will do the 60,000 mile service in exchange for trip to Raleigh to see the Taylor Swift.
Parakul, perhaps I have chosen the wrong town for my Uber drivings. It is only two blocks long and everybody walks.
A nice bunch of people, I give them — even if they are sticking in the past.
[Photo via Wiki Commons.]