The time I didn’t breathe Helium

I am naturally an extremely lazy person. Actually I put a lot of effort into planning my day so I can be as efficient as possible with my adulting, and then revert back to a level of inertia that rivals the noble gases. Oddly enough, I can make my voice sound like I inhaled Helium without actually having to buy a balloon. The problem with indulging my slothful nature is that it’s expensive. Good thing I can save money on helium balloons.

This world, or at least in the USA, people have made millions by inventing things to make our lives easier. Too lazy to get out of the car? Use a drive-thru. Too lazy to go to the store? They all deliver now. How about cleaning the house? That’s what a maid service is for. And the list goes on. I will admit that, until recently, I would buy Starbucks every morning, then buy lunch at work, and then sometimes order food for dinner. Its not that I don’t like to cook. I would just rather sit in my recliner and have someone else cook for me. This behavior has improved a little since I realized my credit card was maxed out from my indulgences. I’m far too lazy to get a second job so I need to reign in the spending. This is gonna suck.

I found inspiration in the most random place: my uber driver. I was going to take the light rail from the airport, then bus from downtown to home. I had contracted my first ever ear infection and was battling nausea on the plane ride home. The bumpy, loud, overstimulating bus was just too much for me, so I called an uber from the light rail station. I think fate brought me the wisest uber driver. Originally from the Midwest, his four months in Seattle hadn’t frozen him yet. So we actually had a real conversation. He also seemed a little lonely and we all know how hard it is to make friends in icy Seattle. I soon crowned him king of thrifty. He rents the cheapest apartment he could find in Auburn and commutes up to Bellevue for his job as a server in a sushi restaurant. He uses uber to pick people up on his long commute home, giving his wallet some extra padding. That’s a whole lot of effort, but he plans his life around living beneath his means. He conserves money like I conserve energy. After this uber ride, I started making my own coffee and bringing my lunch to work. This has more to do with my credit card debt than having a life-altering conversation from an uber thrifter, but I still think he deserves some credit. I wish I could thank him but I didn’t get any contact info. And we all know I’m too lazy to call sushi restaurants in Bellevue until I find him. At least my idleness prevents me from being a stalker.

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The time my Uber driver made me interesting

I would love to read a blog about the people Uber drivers meet. I can’t even speculate on just how ridiculous and random some of the stories would be. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when my most recent Uber driver turned out to be quite the storyteller.

My lower back and hip flexor sprains had kept me mostly housebound for far too long. Since I struggled to stand for more than 5 minutes at a time, I couldn’t walk the two measly blocks to the bus. But I was determined to actually make it to the pinball arcade bar that my boyfriend and his coworkers often frequented. Of course I would be consuming some sort of alcoholic beverage, because, you know, it’s a bar. That meant I couldn’t drive. Thus the Uber. As I sat waiting on the curb, feeling pathetic that I couldn’t stand for the 4 minutes it would take for my car to arrive, the familiar anxiety that comes with being confined with a stranger grew. As soon as I got in the car I told my driver about my injury. I expected the socially mandated “I’m sorry to hear that,” followed by silence. I was pleasantly surprised when he asked me how I hurt myself. I blurted out cliff jumping, and then explained that it was only about a 10-foot jump and therefore doesn’t really qualify. Since I usually hurt myself tripping over my own feet, I was just excited to have a semi-cool story. Then my driver pointed out that he never would have known the difference. In fact, he thought we should come up with a far more fascinating story. So the silliness began as we thought of far more interesting ways for me to get injured. First I was a MMA fighter. Then I was a skydiver. At one point, I was even bucked off a mechanical bull. We actually arrived at our destination before we ran out of ideas. I hope I get to ride with him again some day. Maybe we will even invent reasons for bad traffic. I bet he has some stories.