An ode to Uber drivers

Because I’m pretty slow at being modern, I had never used Uber until I moved to Beirut, took one look at the way people drive and decided that I didn’t want to buy a car. To my great surprise and convenience, I learned that Uber was a thing here (as is Caribou Coffee from Minnesota - random), so I decided to give it a try. A year later, I’m still alive and still saving money on car insurance. 

Here are the guys who have been getting me around town… 

The introvert. The best Uber driver is the one who doesn’t feel the need to make conversation, he just gets me to where I want to go. LOVE that guy.

The extrovert. This guy likes to make conversation but generally only speaks Arabic or French, and when we establish that I don’t speak those languages, he makes a few feeble attempts at English but eventually falls silent and just drives. Sometimes a friend will call him on the phone and he’ll happily chat away and forget I’m there. 

The DUI guy. This has only happened to me once, but he’s the guy who smoked or snorted something before picking me up, has no idea where he’s going, drives over a cement divider, looks confused about what that noise was, and doesn’t respond when I give him direction. 

The guy who has relatives in Sweden. There are anywhere between 9 and 14 million Lebanese living outside of Lebanon, most of them in the States, Canada or Brazil. But quite a few live in Europe, and there will always be the driver who, when he learns that I’m Swedish, sits up straight, turns around and excitedly exclaims, “Hur mår du?!?” (How are you?). He then proceeds to list off all the relatives he has living in Göteborg, Stockholm, Malmö and Linköping. Usually he’s the unfortunate sibling who didn’t manage to snag a Swedish spouse and is therefore relegated to taking care of the matriarch who refuses to leave her village. 

The moonlighter. He works as a high school teacher by day, an Uber driver by night. Since most west-bound flights take off in the middle of the night here, he’s usually the one driving me to the airport. His English is pretty good and he asks me for suggestions for where to go on his honeymoon since he’s finally saved up enough money to marry his fiancee of nine years. 

The archeologist. This one is my favorite. He’s educated, cultured, speaks seven languages, and engages in genuinely interesting conversation about religion and politics in Lebanon. He can tell me anthropological stories about the buildings we drive by and I think to myself, what’s he doing driving a taxi for a living? (Then again, I was an educated, cultured, multi-linguist who worked at a car rental desk once upon a time, so I don’t judge. We all have our journeys.) 

The responsible citizen. He’s the one who shyly but kindly suggested I change my Uber profile name from Annika to something else as the last syllable, if mispronounced, sounds like a sexual expletive in Arabic. (My profile name now reads ‘Ani’.)   

And my (least) favorite…

The flirt. This is the guy who barely speaks any English but insists on ‘teaching me Arabic’ and asking questions like “Do you have a husband,” “Why aren’t you married,” “Do you have a boyfriend,” “Why don’t you have a boyfriend.” And even though I’m trying demonstrably to be wrapped up in what’s happening outside my car window, he’ll move on to ask how old I am, and when I tell him I’m 33 he’ll tell me he’s 37, and also single!!…then waits for me to make the obvious connection. Also, he’s so busy looking at and talking to me through the rearview mirror that he keeps missing the turn. The Uber app doesn’t include “flirts too much” as a reportable problem, so I choose “GPS map” (‘cause he’s certainly reading my map wrong). 

That all said, I put my life into these men’s hands almost daily, and I’m alive to tell the tale. So hats off to the Uber drivers of Beirut. You may vex me at times, but you also save me from having to deal with crazy women driving black SUVs. For that, I thank you.

Affirming the good

I suppose it’s late for me to start voicing thoughts about the #MeToo campaign, but neither do I have that much to say about it, truthfully. I’ve stayed peripherally aware of the goings on, and I certainly champion the idea that it’s time for despicable male behavior to be called out and publicly condemned. I also applaud the tremendous bravery that women have shown in voicing their painful experiences for the sake of future generations of women. That said, I do have reservations about the extreme degree to which the pendulum has swung, because I fear it will only swing back to the opposite extreme once the fervor has cooled and/or persecuted parties get fed up (rightly or wrongly). 

I almost feel ashamed to admit this in the face of so much female long-suffering, but I’ve never been the victim of abuse, harassment or blatant discrimination by any man - and apparently this makes me the exception. I’ve never been given a reason to hate or distrust men, and I credit my family for that gift. I am a granddaughter to men of kindness and decency, a daughter to a man of integrity and perseverance, a sister to a man of profound emotional courage. I am also a friend to many many good men - men of great intelligence, empathy, conviction, love, humor and generosity; single, married, old and young. 

Because so many voices are already addressing the evil, I want to lend my voice to affirm the good. There are so many guys out there who don’t know how to be proper men. But there are so many who do. So here’s my love letter to all you decent, kind hearted, secure, responsible, protective, encouraging blokes out there: 

Thank you for respecting me, even after having seen me at my worst. 

Thank you for not feeling threatened or competitive when interacting with me in a professional capacity. 

Thank you for noticing and affirming my giftings without flattery or flirtation.

Thank you for allowing me to be ‘one of the guys’ without chiding me to toughen up. You’ve allowed me to be myself without making me feel less than. 

Thank you for making me laugh and teaching me not to take myself too seriously. 

Thank you for seeing the leader in me and for giving me a chance to prove myself. Thanks also for not forcing me to prove myself in order to be worth something. 

Thank you for giving me a place at the table, whether that be your kitchen table or your corporate table. 

Thank you for liking my cooking. 

Thank you for being my travel companions and sharing the thrill of discovering new places. 

Thank you for opening the door for me and paying for meals once in a while. I actually think it’s really nice to be cared for in that way. 

Thank you for being honest about your feelings. They haven’t always been in sync with mine, but we’ve been able to rise above it and not let our friendship suffer. That means so much in the long run. 

If I ever have a daughter, I will teach her to befriend men like you, to affirm men like you, to love men like you. 

Not all men have behaved well around me, but they fade in my memory; you are forever etched. Again, thanks guys. You may not know who you are, but I certainly do.