An Uber-interesting Encounter

Yesterday, I flew into Washington, D.C., my home away from home. After a somewhat hectic commute into the city, I took an Uber to my final destination. Had everything gone as planned, I never would have met Francis, a kind, smile-happy man originally from Ghana.

Francis and I talked about where we lived in the city, how much taxes were in different parts of the surrounding DMV metroplitan area, and what I would be doing while in town. I told him about my studies, and he told me about earning his degree and participating in training programs in his home country. I wondered what an educated man was doing driving an Uber for a living. Perhaps it was just extra cash?

"Someone did something very bad to me," he said. "I worked for Delta Airlines for four years." "I just flew with Delta!"

"Oh really? That's great! I used to work for them. I unloaded bags from the airplanes and worked in baggage claim, driving the vehicles, repairing belts. Then, a management position opened up. Well this other man, he had been there for eight years, and he didn't like that I could apply for the job."

"But you had the qualifications."

"Right. I had my degree and trainings. I applied, and he didn't want me to be his supervisor. So one day, we were loading suitcases onto the conveyor belt, and he did something to it. It caught my pant leg and flipped me over. I landed and broke my kneecap. But it looked like an accident, so he didn't get in trouble."

Francis's kneecap had to be replaced, and after that, he could no longer lift baggage for a living. The airline wouldn't transfer him to another branch because he lacked experience with customers or using computers. He found himself jobless in a country that didn't feel obligated to do anything about it, his being a foreigner. So he took on his Uber job, working 10-12 hours every day just to pay his bills. (I suspect he had monstrous hospital bills. His knee was still in a brace as we drove past Capitol Hill's beautiful row houses.)

Then, just a month ago, Francis got a call. The man who had gotten jealous had suddenly been struck by a mysterious ailment. He could no longer walk. The doctors couldn't figure out why. His legs had swollen to twice their size, and he hadn't been into work for several weeks. All of Francis's former co-workers said it was God's hand, repaying evil with evil.

We ended our conversation too soon because we arrived to the church where I'd be staying. I shook Francis's hand, snagged a photo with him, and thanked him sincerely for his time. Who knew that one Uber drive could turn into such an interesting and rather heart-breaking experience?