Work with me GMA!

When I heard about the contest "Work With Me, GMA!" I knew I had to apply, given that riding a bike taxi is one of the most interesting, challenging and rewarding jobs I've ever had!  Seriously, I could never apply for something like this sitting in an office, making phone calls or doing something typical all day.  As a former news producer, that would NOT make good television!  Below is the 250 word essay I've submitted.  Cross your fingers they want to "work with me!" 

A 120 lb. woman, pulling three full grown men in a cart: that’s me.  I left a high paying, television ad sales job this summer to pursue my passion.  While applying to start a local Girls on the Run Council, I’ve taken on a few part time jobs, and driving a bike taxi is one of them.  I’ve driven some interesting characters from all walks of life, including men sporting tights and tu-tus, incredibly generous homeless people, and a baseball team mascot.  I’ve endured the physical challenge of pulling folks of all shapes and sizes up hills on a one speed bicycle, felt the pain of sitting on an uncomfortable bike seat for hours, and laughed off harsh judgment from former colleagues wondering why I left my job for this and how much money I make.

It’s not about money, I tell them, as I recall how dreadful it is to be in an office rather than outside, along a beautiful river.  I’m paid in smiles from children who delight in taking a ride.  I’m paid in the gratitude I get for stopping to talk to those who are otherwise overlooked.  I’m paid in the awe I experience when I witness a sunset through the frame of an old steel bridge.   And, I’m making a few bucks while exercising, not spinning away money on a gym membership. 

After her triathlon, Juju should be in great shape to work with me! I can carry camera equipment!

Experience my world:  www.bikecabforcutie.blogspot.com.    

 

The Neighborhood Barber

One of our regular riders and supporters is a barber who appears to know pretty much everyone in our town.  Every night, he rides a taxi around the city for about an hour or so.  I've driven him twice now and both times it has resulted in some really great conversation and, to my pleasant surprise, overwhelming evidence that a sense of community does still exist.  Despite the fact most people I know barely know their next door neighbor, have put up a privacy fence, or wouldn't think of knocking on a door to borrow a cup of sugar, I'm pleased to report this isn't the case everywhere.

While we're driving, the barber is invited to block parties and birthday parties. If we smell a barbeque, he's intent on finding it and stopping in, and has apparently done so with other drivers. Everyone we stop and talk to knows him by name and he knows theirs or at least knows something about them.  He constantly reassures me that no one will "mess with you" or any of the bike cab drivers because we're friends of his. Good to know.

Our first time out, I saw one of the most beautiful things an avid runner could ever witness.  It was just about dusk as we turned down a one way side street.  The street lights that had just turned on revealed the silhouettes of a line of children, standing shoulder to shoulder across the street.  They varied in age and height but by my estimate they were all probably between four and ten years old.  "Go!" someone shouted and half of the kids came barreling down the street towards us as fast as they could.  The half that wasn't running was cheering and laughing and jumping and clapping. The children who were racing crossed the "finish line" which was composed of the outstretched arms of an older girl standing in the middle of the street.  After a winner was determined everyone fell back behind the imaginary start line. 

We had gotten closer to the kids at this point and the barber told me to park along the side of the street.  The kids came up to us as if we were Santa and Rudolph sitting in a sleigh.  At this age, it appears to be a chore to even stand still for a few seconds, so you can imagine the excitement when the barber said he had a prize for the winner of the next race. 

Their little feet, many of them bare, lined up behind the imaginary start line again.  This time it was a relay race.  The smallest children went first with the tallest lined up at the end of each line. I noted there was no complaining about sore feet, no fighting over teams, no pushing to go first.  It was as if they'd raced down their street a thousand times before, and they very well may have.  "Go!" yelled the girl at the other end of the street. Feet pounded the pavement as each child put his or her heart and soul into running as fast as their little legs could carry them.  One boy in particular, running in a pair of shorts, no shoes and no shirt, was a speed demon.  The look on his face as he ran back from the turnaround point was that of an Olympic sprinter.  He was no more than six but I'm sure he could have beaten a high school athlete. 

He, and every child on that block, was running for the pure joy of it. I couldn't stop smiling for a few reasons.  First, I've experienced the euphoria you can get from running, the alive feeling you get when everything is in tune and nothing is in pain.  I felt their joy.  Second, I was smiling because it made me think of how the simplest things can make you happy.  These kids didn't have the latest running gear, Gatorade or energy gels. They had nothing but an empty street, and they were clearly completely satisfied. 

After a victor was declared by the girl at the other end of the street, the winning team celebrated, and the barber gave each team a prize that, without us even asking, they promised they would all share.  You'll share? I asked to be sure no one was left out.  "Yes," they replied collectively, "because we are neighbors." 


   

Baby in a Bag?

"It's the baby's first day out!" a woman greeted me as she, her dufflebag and a girl who appeared to be about ten boarded my taxi for a ride at the festival on the river this weekend.  I wondered to myself whether this poor little girl hadn't gotten out of the house in ten years. The woman pointed to her dufflebag and explained they had to leave the baby home with a sitter when they went to an amusement park the day before.  I was appalled.  She was carrying a baby in a dufflebag?!  All that came to mind to say in this situation is that it was a nice day to be outside, although I told myself I'd try to stay away from the generic subject of weather when making conversation with my riders.
Beyond confused and perplexed as to why anyone would carry a baby in the dufflebag, even though I noted it did have some netting for air circulation in areas, I started pedaling and my thoughts started reeling.   Maybe the baby was premature and needed tubes and devices in the bag to survive.  Maybe she was albino and really needed to stay out of the sun. Maybe they were really afraid of germs.  I kept sneaking a peek back at the dufflebag and trying to look through the netting. I could make out blankets and a stuffed animal, but definitely no baby.  Maybe it was a class project for her daughter who had to look after a baby doll for the weekend. In which case I thought: FAIL. It's in a dufflebag.
The woman sat with the dufflebag in her lap as I racked my brain to come up with questions that wouldn't be offensive, but would help me figure out what was in that bag.  "Is it a real baby?" seemed far too insensitive if it was indeed a real baby that needed for some medical reason to be carried in the bag. Then the woman told me a story about how she rescued the baby after it was found drowning in a pond.  I whipped my head around again, straining to get a good look at whatever was on the other side of the netting.  It has to be the stuffed animal, I thought, and concluded this woman may have an obsession with suffed animals much as I know, thanks to cable television, doll collecting can become an obsession for some women, and men for that matter.  Okay, so she's referring to a stuffed toy as a baby. Peculiar, but not unheard of.  I really had nowhere to go with the conversation with her because this was all still an assumption. Luckily it was a very short ride.
The little family disembarked and the woman started to unzip the dufflebag asking, "do you want to see the baby?" I'm glad she offered because otherwise I'm pretty sure I'd still be confused. Absolutely, I said, but was bracing myself for the reaction I'd have if she showed me a real baby or a raggety looking, formerly waterlogged stuffed animal.  Yes, there was a stuffed bear, a few blankets and in the one corner of the dufflebag, she pointed out, there was the three week old baby.  I gasped, but it was more of a sigh of relief.  This was indeed a baby... a baby kitten.  No bigger than the size of my hand.  Barely moving, but absolutely adorable baby Lucky, as they told me they named her.  Lucky for me, too, that I didn't have to report anyone to child services for keeping a baby in a bag.

I say Hello... Hello, hello

It started about five years ago.  When I started running, for fun.  Since then, I've easily logged hundreds of miles up and back along the beautiful river front where I often drive passengers today.  At the beginning of those five years of running, I starting saying "hi" to nearly everyone who'd pass by me.  At first I did it because I'd read somewhere that if you look a potential attacker in the eye, he's less likely to attack you because you could identify him later on.  Saying "hi" forced me to look at anyone passing by.
Soon, though, something changed.  I realized that saying hello, through my huffs and puffs made me feel good, alive, part of humanity.  I felt as though I could relate on some level to anyone I greeted because we were sharing the same path along the river.

The feeling is even more evident in races, where saying hello or thank you to traffic police and volunteers almost gives me a rush.  These folks, for some reason or another are not able to participate in the actual event, but are out there on race days whether it's 95 degrees or 5 degrees.  Regardless if it's mile 3 or 23, if I pass a volunteer I say hello or thank you. I'm not sure why it makes me feel good to say these words, but it energizes me to know that, because of these people, I can experience the pure enjoyment that I get from running.

While driving the bike taxi, my "hello" is accompanied by the "ding ding" of the bell on my bike.  Sadly, about 75 percent of the time, I get a blank stare or a confused look, as if I'm riding by on a smoke breathing, flying dragon.  Some folks get the courage to muster up a little smile, but it's unbelievable to me how few actually wave, or return the greeting.  The only exception is children.  They smile and wave and point and even jump up and down.  Now I'm not saying their parents should be jumping up and down when they see a rickshaw driving down the street, but a "hi" or a smile, even if it's to see their kids so excited, would be lovely!

While driving over a beautiful, old, huge bridge last night, I saw an extremely ordinary looking man, minding his business, probably on his way to the parking lot on the other side of the bridge to drive home from work at the state.  "Ding ding, hello!" is my pretty typical greeting.  Given the normal reaction I get, I was forced to slam on my breaks when about three seconds later, after the man had processed the one word I called out, he yelled, "THANK YOU!"  I turned to see him stopped, hands up in the air and looking at the sky.  I said, "excuse me?" He yelled again, "THANK YOU!" I thought, wow, he's got to be crazy or is being sarcastic.  So I was prepared to be entertained when I asked him, "Thank you for what?"  He turned very calm and normal again, and explained how nice it was to hear someone say hello.  I explained that I couldn't agree more.  We had a little discussion about how many people ignore me or look at me like I'm nuts when I say hi, and he completely understood my sentiments.

The point is, you never really know what kind of impact just one word, like "hello" or a smile or a wave will have on someone's day.  It's doubtful and I hope this isn't the case, but for all I know, that man on the bridge could have been so depressed and miserable he was thinking of jumping... until one little word brightened his day.