The Commotion

One thing to keep in mind when driving rideshare is that anyone can get in your car. Adolescents and geriatrics. Browns and pinks. Straight-ups and the crooked. I could go on but you get the idea.

I had been waiting for a few types of passengers after hearing tales from other drivers. Some of them violently strange. Some vaguely disrespectful. And some just outright pleasant.

While most are uneventful, I've had enough good fortune to pick up quite a few pleasant people. That meant time was running out. Something weird or bad was gonna happen.

I suppose I should tell you that I've never had to contact the police. So that leaves....this guy.

It was another mediocre day. I had just dropped off a couple at Kerry Park on the south side of Queen Anne hill. My next ride was 3 blocks away in the direction of Queen Anne avenue. The weather was unusually sunny and unsually windy.

When I arrived at the pick up spot, I spotted a tall, lanky man with flat gray hair that sprouted around his head and strands of hair flattened across the top as if he just wiped the sweat off with vigor. He wore a dark blue track suit with no apparent branding and the thickest, whitest New Balance sneakers you can buy this side of Thailand. Since he didn't have a picture listed on his profile, I guessed he was the correct passenger by the large duffle bag in one hand and a curious green rod in the other. According to the app, his name is Charles. 

When I pulled up, I popped the trunk and got out. I said hello but he said nothing and got in the right hand backseat and hefted his bag and rod onto his lap. As he moved, I heard a distinct cluster of clanking noises. The more he moved, the more clanking I heard. Miffed, I closed the trunk and sat back in the driver's seat. I glanced at him in the mirror and asked him how his day was going and he said nothing again. I dismissed it as him being on a conference call but I couldn't tell if he had an AirPod in or not.

I mentally shrugged and looked at the itinerary. Charles' destination was the airport and, a-ha, this was a shared ride.

For those that don't know, a shared ride is when another passenger can hitch a ride in the same direction as the original ride. While it saves a few bucks off your ride cost, it normally takes longer.

As soon as I put the transmission into Drive, the app notified me that Rachel would also be joining us! She was only 5 blocks away and I hoped she would be headed to the airport also.

Rachel had a picture on her profile. It was easy to spot her. A small, black woman with black rimmed glasses and large ear piercings. She wore a black hoodie and jean shorts. Her hair was braided tightly and pulled back. Rachel had one hard case carry on bag with her and nothing else. She was ready, headed to the airport, and I appreciated that.

I pulled up to the curb and popped the trunk again. I doubted that she would want to keep the carry on with her in the seat like Charles. I opened the door to get out but so did Charles. I thought he might have changed his mind about his duffle bag. Instead, as I greeted Rachel and reached for her bag, Charles unfolded out of the backseat brought his green rod. He also brought the pot metal clanking sound with him. He held out the rod and twisted it. It extended to about 5 feet and he grabbed the black rubber stops on each end and lifted it behind his extended neck onto his shoulders. And he stooped over and started stretching with it. Each movement produced a rude amount of noise. Rachel and I paused and watched with concern. I slid the bag in and went to close the trunk lid when Rachel moved toward the left backseat. I told her it was okay to sit in the front if she wanted. She hesitated, declined, and opened the door. When I closed the trunk, Charles stood up with his top hair flapping around and collapsed the rod back down to 2 feet and sat back down. An odd commotion emanating from his self the whole time.

As we continued our trek, I asked how everyone was doing. Rachel replied minimally and put her headphones on. Charles didn't even look up let alone say anything. He was focused on a book about infant child care. INFANT. CHILD. CARE. Rachel side-eyed that book as much as I did.

Halfway through the trip, Charles starts to get restless. He has put away the book and has started shifting in his seat. Every shift incites a metal riot. I check the door locks. In case. At this point, I am incredibly curious about what hell is happening. Turns out he can take a hint. With his bag on his lap, he unzips his track jacket and shimmies out of it. The rattling has been promoted to a crashing sound.

And there they we're...in all their Made In China glory. Not 2 not 3, but 9; rack 'em up, by God and country! 9 medals hanging from his neck! Gold and silver! Each seemingly bigger than the last! While Charles heard an angels choir when they were unveiled, I heard the Price is Right WAH wah waaaahhh loser's horn.

For the next 5 minutes, Charles stayed busy by:
1. Taking off track jacket
2. Putting track jacket in duffle bag
3. Taking off medals
4. Putting medals in duffle bag. Praise the Lord
5. Putting medals back on. Goddammit
6. And finally, donning said track jacket

Meanwhile, Rachel watched him like a patient mother the entire time.

Charles took one more reach into his bag, thought better of it and closed it. The infant child care book was spared. For now.

As we approached the airport, Charles tried something new. He leaned over and said something to Rachel. Rachel pulled her headphones aside and he repeated himself. She nodded and he informed her of something else. She nodded again. I watched to see if there were any indications of alarm in her actions. Everything he said was inaudible to me. Charles just did not want to interact with me.

Charles was first to be dropped off since he was flying Alaskan Airlines. I stopped at the designated spot and he shuffled out in a hurry. Just a flurry of arms, nylon, and pleather. The commotion was nerve-wracking. I wished him a "Have a good fli-" as he slammed the door shut.

Next up, Rachel was flying out on Delta. As we stopped and got out, I asked her if Charles was being a creep. She said no. I asked if she knew what the medals were for.

He's a champion ballroom dancer.

And he wanted everyone to know.

We laughed nervously through clenched teeth and I set her bag on the ground. We wished each other a good day and I headed back to the city center.

On the silent way back, I thought about how long it was gonna take him to get through TSA.

I looked for him in the news. He wasn't there.