There's a public transportation option in my Florida town—a van—that picks up anyone who lives in Sarasota County and delivers them to their destination for two bucks; socialism, some would call it, but I’m agnostic on this, especially when they benefit me. It's attractive when the destination’s downtown, where parking can be a challenge. I can't think of a reason I'd use Uber instead. Well, maybe one…
I've been having a problem with the service lately. The drivers know me, so they've been going to my address when they see my name come up on their screen, regardless of the pick-up address I've entered in the app. I live in a community that has several streets that are a variation on one name, and they don't make the distinction. That means I eventually get a message on my phone that the driver waited too long at a place where I'm not, and I'll be charged for a ride that never arrived. The drivers all have GPS systems in their vehicles, which they must be ignoring, and they're supposed to call me in this situation, but they don't. The operation’s outsourced to the Philippines, but calling to complain about anything’s a waste of time.
On the fourth time that this address problem happened, the vehicle was late, but I was able to track it, via the app, to my home address. Eventually the driver, a Haitian gentleman, made his way to where I was and I asked him, politely, if he goes by people’s names or the address he sees on his screen. But the question irritated him, to my surprise, and he got curt. “I picked you up is all that matters,” he replied. I tried to explain what had been happening to me and why I asked the question, and he admitted that he went to my place first because that's where he was used to picking me up. That's exactly the information I'd been looking for. “I see,” I said, “so you and other drivers go by the name, not the address?” For some reason, this set him off on a rambling rant that I feared he was going to kick me out of the vehicle.
He kept telling me that I was arguing with him and to stop talking, which I didn't appreciate. I tried to explain I was merely trying to have a conversation with him, which made him angrier. In his dyspeptic state, he was incoherent, telling me things like he had three children. I told him that the situation didn't involve his children, which angered him further. He told me he wouldn't pick me up again and told me to be quiet. “You want me to shut up, but you keep on talking,” I said. That shut him up until we arrived at my destination.
When we got there, I told him I'd report him. I knew it wouldn't accomplish anything, but I was pissed off. He went off again, talking nonsensically about all the unspecified “problems” I have. I reminded him that he'd once told me he wanted to start a church (I'm sure he meant Christian) here in town. Then, I asked him if it was going to be a voodoo church. With his face contorted in rage, the driver threatened to call 9-1-1 if I didn't exit the vehicle.
That was a disturbing experience, but I put such incidents behind me quickly. People sometimes get weird. But the weirdness for the day wasn't over yet. In the evening, I picked up a couple of steaks at Winn-Dixie for a price marked way down. But the cashier charged me the original price. When I brought this to his attention, he pulled out the flier and said I had to spend $20 to get the discount. I told him I didn't read the flier, but if I couldn't get the price printed on the package, then I didn't want it. I didn't say anything about false advertising, which crossed my mind. There was no anger in my voice—I was just explaining the situation to him—but this set him off. His hands shaking, he kept pointing to the flier, while I kept pointing to the yellow price tag that said I could get the discounted price “with card.” I have a Winn-Dixie card.
All the guy needed to do was ring up the rest of my groceries, leaving out the steaks, and I'd be on my way with no further discussion. But the point for him, by then, was for me to accept his silly “flier” argument. Then—and only then—could we complete our business. That's the one thing I wasn't willing to do, so he had to find a way out. “I can't do this,” he told a nearby employee who then came in and took over as the cashier walked away. The new cashier, who I've had many friendly chats with, rang me up and gave me the discounted price for the steaks. A fairly long line had formed and I apologized to everyone. Leaving, I saw the angry cashier standing outside the store, but I just kept walking.
The odd thing about the encounter with the driver is that I'd had a number of pleasant conversations with him in the past. All of that disappeared in an instant when his ego got bruised just a tad. The cashier’s ego made him dig in his feet and act like a spoiled brat. Some men are so fragile that they allow themselves to get reduced to acting like little boys. Somehow, I ran into two of these specimens in just one day.
The next day, I returned to Winn-Dixie. There was a hand-written sign taped over where the steaks were: “Discount available for customers spending $20.”