“You’re going to Baltimore Avenue? You’re far from home, huh?”
If only you knew, Glenn.
Glenn is a jovial man in his 50’s. He has a strong Philly accent and clearly loves to talk. I don’t like my chatty Cathy Lyft drivers, but sometimes I just don’t have a choice. He’s driving me from the Eastern State Penitentiary to West Philly. I have just had a job interview here and that seems to interest him. Probably interests him a lot more than it interested me.
“My kids live on the other side of the park, I want to take them to the haunted house they have here. But they never seem to have the time” He takes an illegal u-turn while mumbling to himself. “No left turn…then…I’ll…just…take….the….next…right….” I’m in no mood to talk and I hope he is contempt with talking to himself.
I am exhausted. I’m exhausted of looking for a job. I’m exhausted putting on the same dress and putting on a fake smile to talk about a job that I really don’t even want. I’m tired of shaking new hands, I’m tired of talking. I’m tired of explaining my situation. I have become a master interviewer though. I can tell a story for every question, or at least make up a good one to make myself look qualified. But even that has become tedious and exhausting.
“Where are you from?”
Oh, he’s back to talking to me.
“Um, Nashville.” Even I’m not sure if that’s right. “Well, originally Ohio.”
“Wow, you’ve lived all over, huh! Do you live in Philly now?”
“Yes.”
I just lied to him.
“And you live in West Philly?”
“Yes.”
I’m lying to him. Why am I lying to him? This is Glenn, not a job interview.
I remember once I was in a Lyft in Vienna, VA. I was on tour and I told the Lyft driver that I was the tour manager (I was not). I told him I was in charge of everything, including money (I was not) and I needed a ride to the bank (that part was true). He was so excited that he gave me his card. He was a photographer and told me to call him if he needed photographers on the tour. Then I felt like shit. Because that’s me. Hoping for my big break, hoping I didn’t have to work some shitty job to pay bills while I dreamed of a bigger life.
I look out the window, staring at the beautiful twin homes of West Philly. Identical conjoined houses sitting side by side. Some freshly painted and some falling apart, some missing their siblings. The bright sun makes the colors pop and the leafless trees make for a beautiful and dramatic scene. As we zoom past the city streets I see the community out and about, going to various ethnic restaurants, greeting one another, walking to and from home. I miss that so much. Traveling’s been great, but it’s the constant and almost pathetic begging of having friends host me. The persistent battle of ‘maybe I can could stay just one more night?’ because I don’t have anywhere else to go.
“You don’t want to go past 40th street over here. It used to be you never wanted to come to West Philly, but I guess the city’s growing”.
“Oh, I hear that. 32nd is far enough for me.”
I have no idea what I’m agreeing with. I’m not even sure if I’m staying on 32nd. I just know what Charlotte’s house looks like. But maybe, just for my 15 minute Lyft ride I want to pretend that I have my life together. I have a home to go to, with all of my stuff, and I’m a useful member of society. Yes, this is my life Glenn. A seasoned traveler with a pension for weird interviews at historic prisons. But I’m important. I’m taking this Lyft ride because I can afford it, definitely not because I can’t figure out SEPTA enough to get me there. I have a home here, one that I’m returning to. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea and bask in the glory of my home.
But I’m not. I will make the tea though, just as a homeless rube.
“You like living here now? After Nashville?”
“Oh yeah, I love it! Trying to embrace the cold again, ha ha ha. I’m still getting used to waiting for the trolley in the snow.”
“You’ll get used to it. Ok… here….we…..are….Baltimore Avenue! Welcome home.”
“Thanks, Glenn. I’ll see you around,” as I step back once more into grim reality.