Speaker 1: Most tuba drivers serve a wide variety of customers. Some
probably have never seen the same person more than once,
but I've been serving the same person for almost a
year now. At first, it was a coincidence. He lived
relatively close to me, so when I accepted the ride
and picked him up, he, for some reason, seemed relieved
that someone had come. Then I saw why. His route
was a four hour ride all the way to the
nearby seaside town, a town often visited in the summer months,
but he was heading there in late autumn. I figured
people canceled on him once they saw the route, so
my accepting it gratified him. I needed the money, so
I figured it was worth the time. He was quiet
the whole and never spoke as he left, not even
a thank you for making this absurd trip. And being
new to uber, I started to realize what I experienced
riders would decline such a route. I was stuck in
the town with barely anyone doing anything since it was
outside of peak activity. I made a few routes for
some locals, trying to scrape some extra cash before heading back,
but it was nowhere near the rates of the city
where I lived. Dejected, and I was ready to head
back when I saw a ding near where I dropped
the guy off. I accepted, and to my surprise it
was him. The route was to take him back home,
another four hour ride, which would make the day's profits
far higher than if I'd done a whole day in
the city. Ecstatic at the thought, I drove him back
again in complete silence until I dropped him off and
called it a day. Overall, it was a strange sequence
of events, and at the time one I did not
want to repeat. Until I saw the tip. He had
left a hefty thirty percent tip on top of the
already expensive ride both ways For someone struggling for money,
this was a godsend. When I accepted a route the
next day and went to the location, I was surprised
to see that it was him again. The route was
readying for a four hour ride back to the seaside town.
It was obviously strange that he would go so far
yet again two days in a row, but knowing what
he was paying, I accepted again. This time I didn't
even bother doing any of the local routes there. I
just hung around and grabbed a drink with the app
open a hovering where I dropped him off, and like clockwork,
around two hours later, a ding popped. I quickly finished
the drink and accepted the ride, and it was him
ready to go home. I relaxed when I finished my
shift and lit up when I saw that yet again,
he dropped a thirty percent bonus on top. The next day,
when I started my routine of checking the app, I
was doubtful that he would want to go there again.
It was preposterous that he even went twice like that,
but a lingering hope in the back of my head
made me check if there were any roots around where
I picked him up, and my jaw dropped when I
saw one there exactly where I usually picked him up.
This set my routine for the next few months. Every weekday,
I would start up my app at around eight a m.
Driving to the town, waiting around two hours, and then
driving back, each time getting a juicy thirty percent tip
on top. God knows if he did this on the
weekend with someone else, but I was not going to
do this seven days a week. I'm not a very
torgative person, but I sometimes tried to start a conversation.
But I'm just met with silence. I even tried to
offer my personal number in case he wanted to do
this outside of Uber, so they wouldn't scrape their fees
from the payment and make it cheaper for him. But no,
he would just look out the window and watch the roadside,
eyes glazed over, lost in thought. So when he finally spoke,
I nearly jumped. The town means a lot to me,
he said. His voice sounded like someone who had just
woken up, making me wonder if this was the first
time he'd spoken to anyone in a long time. I froze,
but didn't want to pass up the opportunity of knowing
more so I asked why. He opened up about his
connection to the place, and he used to go there often,
and now that he was no longer working, just wanted
to spend his days there. I asked him if he
was retired. He said that he wasn't, but that he
lived off of passive income that supported his lifestyle. It
was intriguing learning about his unique circumstances, and despite the
long ride, we soon neared the location and he quietened up.
On the way home, he talked about the things he
liked there, the local ice cream shop that made their
own flavors, the bi quentals that let you see the
scenes in good time. The corpse I shopped around was
suddenly animated of life with nostalgia, even recommended places for
me to go. Somehow, knowing that I now waited for
his ride back, I dropped him off with a smile,
excited to learn more. The day after, when I got home,
my eyes widened. When I checked the uber app. He
slammed me with a fifty percent tip, far exceeding what
he had tipped before. I almost wanted to return it,
but I didn't want to look a gift horse in
the mouth. And helped me so much with my financial issues,
and he seemed to have an endless sort of income
to have supported this strange lifestyle. The day after, I
tried asking him more questions. I was curious about more
of the local experiences and his connection to them. Despite
having been there so much, I knew next to nothing
about the place, But I was only met with stone
cold silence. It was like he had reverted back to
how he was just solemnly looking out the window of
the whole ride. The way back was all the same.
It seemed he had expended his burst of social energy
and fell back into his usual routine. I tried again
the day after and was met with more silence. The
tips reverted back to thirty percent. Nothing to scoff at,
but short of the big payday I was. After a
while went by like this, a silent ride there, a
silent ride back Sandwich, between visiting the few spots he recommended,
which were just as good as he had hyped them
up to be. Yet despite visiting all the places he mentioned,
he would never be there. Maybe it was a coincidence
we would always miss each other, having gone to different spots.
The time only allowed me to see one, maybe two,
depending on where I went, But after weeks of this,
surely we would have lined up at least Once. I
was jolted again in the middle of a midweek drive.
He broke the silence with another nugget of information. I
go there to see my wife, he said bluntly. This
answer raised so many questions. Long distance is often almost
entirely reserved for young people or people who cannot afford
to move in together, but he was neither of those.
Before I could ask him about it, he went on.
He spoke of how much he loved seeing her, describing
how she looked, middle aged, full blonde hair with a
button nose, was slender, but not too slim. He was infatuated,
glowing as he spoke, not only animated but happy, a
sharp contrast to how he usually seemed, so much so
that I didn't want to interrupt him with my curious
yet benign questions. Sadly, he only started talking near the
end of the trip, so by the time an opportunity
came up to ask him my questions, we were pulling
up to his stop. I waited around, too curious to
do much in the town, only grabbing some food and
waiting with excitement. After spending so much time with him,
I was invested in his story, only drip fed to
me in rare times. When I got the ping, I
hurriedly picked him up, my mouth bursting with the questions
I had bottled up. I tried to coach the topics calmly.
I asked him why they lived apart, why didn't just
live in the town, and why they only see each
other for such a small window each day. I did
so as politely as possible, who was only met with
a silence. I was all too familiar with. When I
got home, I had two amounts for the trips, a
fifty percent tip on the way there and only thirty
percent for the way back, a curious hint about how
he wanted things. On the plus side, I was able
to start living how I wanted. The first thing I
reinvested in was a new car. I was spending so
much on fuel, so to get something more economical was
basically an investment, though the luxury extras were me treating myself.
Then I felt too scruffy to be seen in the thing,
so I even got some nice new clothes, stand out
brands that would make it look like I didn't just
steal the car from the lot. It took a good
few months before he spoke again. I was scared my
broken questions had offended him. But when he spoke, he
dropped some heavy information, answering my questions as if i'd
only just ask them. The reason we don't live together
is because she died, he said, dejectedly. My heart sank.
This answered a surprising amount of my questions. The whole
bizarre routine started to make more sense. It was a
saddening twist of the tail that was being drip fed
to me. He told me stories of their time together,
that she was with him from rags to riches, and
that despite making something out of himself, he said that
he cannot share the fruits of their labor together. This
explained why he frivously spent on ubers every weekday just
to keep up this ritual. This time, he talked almost
the entire four hour right there. He shared personal details
about their relationship, the ups and downs, the things he
didn't realize he'd miss until she was gone. It was
touching and really progressed me emotionally for when I finally
meet someone worth sharing my life with. When he exited
the car, he shared one piece of final wisdom. It's
the routines that matter. Make sure you keep up a
good routine. This way you never forget what happened. It
was cryptic enough to apply to many things. I chose
to hold on to it and to hopefully fully know
the meaning of this proverb. The ride back was silent,
but in a good way, resting in the good energy
of openness. I got home to a fifty percent tip
both ways, and I felt content that we finally had
a rapport. The day after I asked him more questions
about his wife. He seemed more animated and alive when
talking about her. So I hoped that I could breathe
some new sense of purpose for him, Even if it
meant I would lose out on this amazing uber gig,
I would feel content to see him real live his life. However,
when I looked back in the rear view mirror, he
was looking out the window, silent like before. I tried
to probe once more, but we were back to our
usual routine. The following weeks were the same. Each time
I thought I had made enough progress to get to
know him, he closed up. It was only when I
tried to start conversation, so I noted that it always
had to be him, no exception. So I waited, and
eventually the day came when the silence was once again broken.
One week from now will be the anniversary, he muttered.
My heart sank, but this was just the beginning of
the heart wrenching details. He told me how things happened.
From his perspective, He said they went to the seaside
town for a few days, booked a nice hotel and
planned to spend a few days there just to relax.
It was the start of autumn, but it was also
their anniversary. They didn't care that it would be cold
and that it would basically be a ghost town. They
just wanted to share their special day together in the
place that meant the most to them. This touching scenario
was ripped from my gut as he explained what actually happened.
They were walking near the pier. It was early afternoon,
broad daylight when he lost sight of her or distracted
for only a moment. There weren't many people around and
not many places she could have gone. Yet despite this,
he couldn't find her. Afterwards, he looked nearby, and when
that didn't work, he checked places they usually went to.
He even went back to the hotel to see if
she had maybe forgotten something, and went back empty. He
couldn't believe she had just vanished, so he waited around
spots they frequented, occasionally switching locations the sea if she'd
be there. When it started getting dark, he reluctantly called
the police to file a report. He was assured she
was probably lost, not being local on all, and that
this happened often, so they sent out a few search
parties to check around. But days went by and nothing
was found. It was only after a week that she
was found, and hearing it was like a punch in
the gut. She was found floating below the pier. Despite
the scenario that she had made be fallen in, evidence
showed she was abducted and brought back there. Vowl play
was immediately ruled in the sea washed away all forensics,
so it was already a cold case. I was devastated
hearing this, yet despite this, he held a hopeful smile,
maybe clinging on to the cherished memories rather than the grim.
Ending for this story was followed by a request. The
next Wednesday was going to be their anniversary date. He
asked that I be around to make sure I could
take him to the seaside town without hesitation. I wholeheartedly agreed.
I even offered my personal number in case something happened,
but he politely declined. The ride home was silent, but
with an air of solemn optimism, A hope lingered in
the air. No words were exchanged, nor did they need
to be. I now felt I was doing something bigger
than myself, a duty to the calmer of the universe.
When I got home, I checked the app and was
hit with an eighty percent tip both ways, a hint
that said to make sure I was ready on Wednesday,
and I was. When I picked him up, I was surprised.
From the cocoon of a dreary middle aged man emerged
the dapper gentleman. He wore an elegant, long black pea
coat over a suit that wasn't too formal but definitely
stood out. The day was chilly, so his hands sat
in nice, fur lined leather gloves. This was the sharpest
contrast from what I'd seen in the many months I'd
been with him. I felt like an underdressed chauffeur rather
than an uber driver. I smiled without a chauffeur hat
to tip, and proceeded to the town. The silence was pleasant,
this time around, lingering with a sense of hope and wonder.
I fully believed that he was there to enjoy the
memories of his time with his departed wife, and I
smiled the whole ride, hoping he got what he wanted
from this endeavor. This time, he spoke on the way back,
I did it. He was exactly like before, He yelled animatedly.
He described doing everything like he remembered that it was
just like before, and that he felt a strong connection
to her. Even said he might be able to move on,
which stung a little the thought that this routine could
come to an end, But he topped it off with
a feeling that this routine made him too happy, and
that for the foreseeable future this will continue. When I
got home, I was met with his biggest tip yet,
one hundred percent. I was happy, he was happy. It
was the best day of my life, living it vicariously
through this interesting man I had became acquainted with. The
rest of the week was silent bliss. Each day he'd
tip a hundred percent both ways, his new standard for
my dedication to his routine. I relaxed on the week end,
sitting back in a nice restaurant, a multiple course meal
lined up, a far cry from the ramen I had
become accustomed to many months ago. I had started living
my life not just because of the generous source of income,
but to strive to be more like my inspirational passenger.
Until my phone dinged with a notification. It was the
week end, so it couldn't be uber, and when I checked,
I saw it was a news notification. I'd spent so
much time in the seaside town that I sometimes got
news notifications from the area my phone's location, thinking I
reside there. It was an emergency notification about a missing person.
The picture looked familiar, yet it was someone I'd never
seen before. Middle aged, full blonde hair and a button nose,
slender but not too slim. It wasn't someone I'd seen before,
but it was someone I remember having imagined almost exactly
how the man described his late wife. The details chilled me.
She went missing in the early afternoon near the pier.
No other details were known, just that they were still
currently looking for a whereabouts. My heart sank. He didn't
just say the day went well. He said it went
exactly like before. It didn't take a genius to piece
together what might have happened. He was a man of routine,
and I guess this constituted as his new ritual. But
as I looked at the food in front of me,
the new car outside, and the nice clothes I could
finally afford, I couldn't bring myself to turn him in.