Driving Miss Ditzy
I had a thought after reading Indy’s “Uber, a New Perk for Seniors.” Then I lost that thought. So I reread Indy’s “Uber, a New Perk for Seniors.” Then I remembered that thought. I’m a senior, what’s this article mean to me? Uber and out.
Hours later after my nap, the article’s significance hit me like my daily laxative. Back in a moment. That’s better. It appears the City Council has approved a pilot transit program for seniors. The program is the first of its kind by the share-riding service Uber. Under the city’s agreement, Uber rides will be subsidized. A one-way ride in city limits will cost no more than $5. Outside the city will cost $8. Annual share riding stickers attachable to a senior’s forehead are available at city hall for $25. The stickers read, “Laguna Beach Historical Resident,” don’t trim or cut down without Design Review approval.
But then I had another thought. What if my Uber driver is a senior? I have nothing against seniors, but I don’t want to be in a vehicle, whose left hand turn signal is stuck in the on position, especially when my destination is to the right. Plus, senior drivers aren’t known to get anywhere quickly. The extra time it takes to get there will stress the driver’s memory on where we are going in the first place. Driver slams on the brakes. “We’re here. Thanks for riding along. Ober and out.” I wince. “Ahh, this is the Sandpiper.” Driver winks back at me. “You dirty bird, you.”
Standing in front of the Sandpiper, I scan Coast Highway for a trolley ride home. My long distance vision is not good. So, I check the transit sign, instead. My short distance vision is not good either. The sign looks like my childhood tangled slinky that’s somehow has followed me into this lost moment short of my final destination. A nice policeman comes to my rescue. “May I have a word with you?” I reply, “Of course officer.” The officer requests my identification. “Crantz, Mark. You look more like a Marcy from the back.” I cringe. “Well I get a lot of that from waiters and waitresses because of my longer white hair and slight build.” The officer looking unconvinced takes a thoughtful moment and says, “Look Mark or Marcy that’s beside the point. Let’s go with Miss Ditzy. So the more important question is, who’s driving Miss Ditzy?” I answer, “Uber.”
A $250 ticket later, I found out that Uber share riding destinations are to medical facilities only. The kind police officer explained that the Dirty Bird did not meet the program’s parameters, although its patrons swear to its medicinal healing properties. So, I asked the officer to call me another Uber. “Where should I say you are going?” I replied, “Santa Ana’s medical marijuana dispensary. I’m good for $8 out of the city limit.”
Another $250 ticket later, I realized Ms. Ditzy or me needed a medical marijuana card authorizing the medical facility ride. Uber and out.
Crantz tells the Indy he’s going to ask his wife to drive him places. His wife says she doesn’t drive with strangers and she doesn’t know anybody named Marcy.
