My friend Brandon was talking.
Brandon is a Dermatology resident at Loyola, and sometimes this gives him the right.
“I never talk to Uber drivers,” he said. The four of us were sitting in my living room. There were me and my wife Kelsey—Kels, I call her—and Brandon and his wife Katie. Our guests Ubered over for drinks. The tv was on but nobody watched. We were talking.
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“Never?” I said.
“Never by choice,” he said. “I mean, I’m polite… I don’t lie about being on a work call, like some people,” he cocked his head at Katie.
“What?” Katie’s voice spiked. “Sometimes I really am on a work call.” She looked down and smiled and had some beer.
“Sometimes,” said Brandon.
We all chuckled. he-he
“Well—” Kels said, “Eddie, for one, loves talking to Uber drivers.”
“It’s totally his thing,” she said, “he’s the one starting the conversation.”
The group laughed. xa-xa
“You do?” said Brandon. “You initiate?”
“All the time,” Kels interjected. “He asks them questions.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno.” Kelsey smiled. She knew. “He asks them about driving Uber, basically, what it’s like,” she looked at me, “he always asks about their ‘craziest’ experience,” she was being theatrical now, talking with her hands. We ate it up.
“Yeh and they love it, too,” I said. “People love talking about themselves. And the more you listen, the more they say,” I said. “And sometimes they say incredible things.”
Brandon had some beer. “The man loves talking to strangers,” he put down his glass. “Must be a copywriting thing.”
“You bet,” I said. “Free ideas.”
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