Every time I take a Lyft is another opportunity for me to talk with and connect too quickly to someone who drives for them. Today was especially difficult for me. I waited outside my house with an Ikea bag full of laundry after having left work early to hang out with my nieces for dinner and putting them to bed.

I was tired and cranky and made a mental note to remain quiet for the ride. Armando was driving a white Jetta and had a 5 star rating. He was perfect. Because I’m negative by nature, I assumed it was because he was new. I hopped in the car and he offered to pop the trunk for my body bag full of old sheets. I said I was fine with it sitting in the back seat with me. He was adjusting the music on his phone so that it played louder then softer then louder again. It sounded like ambient sitar music. His car was stopped in the middle of the street. An impatient person behind us honked. Armando put his phone down and said: Let’s go, T. I looked at his beard and large, circular, dark framed glasses in the rearview mirror and nodded.

I stared at the window. Taking Lyfts is a luxury I will never get over. I could do my laundry at the laundromat near my house. Instead I choose to chat with Armando about our days while he drives me to visit my parents and use their house as a chore factory/fridge. He says that on Fridays he gets up early and drives for three hours for Lyft then goes to work from 10 to 6. Then he drives for three more hours and then goes dancing for one hour at a salsa lounge near my house and then continues on his Lyft routes until there are no more drunk people to drive home. This is usually around 3am. I ask him when he sleeps. He says that he loves to sleep but he prefers being up and doing real person activities.

I marvel at his energy and we talk about motivation and how to trick your body into getting out of bed to do stuff like go salsa dancing. I say that we have opposite problems: he has too little time and I have too little energy. He asks me about my feelings about the ending of Game of Thrones. We were both surprised by the finale and wanted more from the writers. He felt it more than I did but I understood his disappointment. As we neared my destination, he slowly crept up my parents’ street. He said he would see me again at the salsa lounge he goes to. I told him to enjoy his night and hopped out with my entire wardrobe of dirty clothes. We waved goodbye and I walked in the front door and up the stairs to the washing machine. I took my phone out and got a prompt to rate Armando’s ride. Five stars.