Pocket Dispatch from a Lyft
I drive Lyft on the side for a few reasons: A little extra income, practice driving in the city, and the chance to meet interesting strangers. I sign on when the platform is busiest, incentivized by bonuses from Lyft and the prospect of the people I’ll encounter on their way to work or a night out.
I like when I first start, full of energy and close to home. The first person I pick up tends to be someone who lives nearby, and sometimes we have a lot in common—favorite bars, music venues, lifestyles.
Last Thursday, my first ride was a guy about my age named Paul. I picked him up from an apartment only a couple streets over from my own. He wasn’t going far, and for the first few minutes of the ride he was silent.
Then he commented on the music, which I choose carefully.
“Is this Aphex Twin?”
A portal of possibility flew open. Aphex Twin is one of the best known IDM, or alternative electronic, musicians of the last three decades. But to reference him is still a badge of a subculture.
“No, actually it’s an artist I just discovered called Kodomo,” I said. “But the drum sounds are totally Aphex Twin’s style. That thin snare and the drum-and-bass style beat is totally “Flim,” I said, flexing my knowledge of the Aphex Twin catalog. “From the—what’s that, um…” I pretended not to know. “Come to Daddy EP.”
“Right! Yeah,” Paul said.
“Kodomo came up as a recommendation based on all the Tycho and Bonobo and other guys from Ghostly and Ninja Tune and… Warp I’m always listening to,” I said, searching for another opening.
Paul didn’t say anything.
So I didn’t say anything for a minute.
I heard his jacket whistle as he pulled something out of pocket, then the inside of the car glowed softly with cool light from Paul’s phone.
“I’m loving getting back out to shows,” I said. “Have you seen any lately?”
“Yeah, I’m almost there,” he said.
I didn’t quite understand. “Sorry?”
“Hang on,” he said. “Hey man, sorry, I’m actually on the phone.”
“Oh. Of course!” I held up a hand of understanding.
We were getting close to his destination. There wasn’t much time left, and he wasn’t hanging up. I checked the address and looked for an opening near the curb to drop him off.
After sliding into a spot, I put the car in park and looked at Paul in the rear view mirror. He was holding his phone to his face but hadn’t said anything in a while.
Then he met my eye. “Thanks, man.” He turned to open the door, and I noticed his phone screen was lighting up his cheek with a white dial screen.
The door closed hard. I pulled away and drove, waiting for the app to connect me with a rider.
Pocket Dispatch: Barista Rights
Pop culture themed coffee bar. Barista appears frustrated so many people are there ordering coffee. The mood is studious—people come here for the calm environment because it’s the kind of calm environment where they like to work: alternative music, alternative fashion, alternative lifestyles.
But the rules are strict. The unstated ones are to bring a screen for doing something. It is not important what you do as long as it illuminates your face.
Another rule is to never complain about the service, even if and especially when it is poor. This is often because the baristas lead alternative lifestyles and honestly they kind of have a lot going on right now.
Some of the explicitly stated rules are to not make anyone feel unsafe. Although “safe” and “unsafe” are not defined terms and it is not clear why safety would be any more important in a pop culture themed cafe than elsewhere, if you do feel unsafe it is important to notify a staff member with an alternative haircut who is frustrated to be making so many coffee drinks and has a lot going on right now.
It is also not stated or suggested what measures the staff will take in the event a customer reports feelings of unsafety, but based on the proliferation of cheeky signs it is reasonable to expect it may involve a new small sign in a dedicated stand on the service counter at some point.
The perpetrator of feelings of unsafety may also be asked to stop, or leave, or may lose WiFi privileges.
At any rate feeling safe at the pop culture themed cafe is very important.
So is the quality of the coffee, which, not that you asked, is single origin from Honduras today. You might be more interested in our sweeter offerings, though, but please refer to the sign next to the register that clearly states we do not have almond milk so please do not ask.
Tipping is hot and sexy, so please don’t forget to tip.
Pocket Dispatch From After the Show
Tension simmers in a circle of insecure artists standing outside the Metro after a concert, smoking, each envying one another’s overlapping achievements and licking wounds from mutual rejection, or inferiority, real or imagined.
Each of them feels lonely and unworthy in his own way. On the way home one or two may decide he would have been better off staying home in bed. Still others will feel recharged and restored for having gone out and engaged with the city’s music scene and his friends in it. One or two will feel both of these.
“Time to leave.” The concert had just ended, and a security guard was waving me toward the stairs. I estimate she was 5 foot, 3 inches, and weighed 100 pounds, and I wondered what she would do if I refused to leave. But her tactical uniform suggested answers I wasn’t looking for. The rest of the security crew was wearing black street clothes, but if I recall correctly, she had a military style beret.
Pocket Dispatch from Outside the Theater
“My ride’s here.” A conversation that had been slow and searching became quick and scripted. A tiny car crawling across a phone screen in a ridehailing app set the pace.
“Thanks again for coming out.”
“Yeah, of course. Thanks for inviting me. We should do this more often.”
“Umm, yes please.” Laughter, earnest but forced. “You know I’m down anytime.”
“All right,” Tanya said, turning away as she waved to Cheyenne, who turned away slightly without knowing quite where to go. She checked her own app. She had forgotten to press the request button. She would have to wait longer. She decided not to mention this, and craned her neck to look down the street for a car she knew was not approaching.
Tanya was still watching her car approach when she turned back.
“You know he likes you,” she said.
“Who?” Cheyenne said, wondering if she had energy left to feign ignorance and surprise. She did not.
“Adam.” Tanya held Cheyenne’s gaze, her face lowering with her eyebrows fixed. Expectation turned to indignation as she waited for Cheyenne to acknowledge the obvious so they could get on with some proper gossip. She was nearing disgust when Cheyenne cracked.
“Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes and smiling, as though she had just remembered. “That’s a whole… thing.” In fact, she had just remembered she still hadn’t hailed a ride. “He’s a lot. And he’s my boss.”
A white Toyota Camry approached and slowed down, its hazard lights blinking. “Might be good for you,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
Cheyenne held her breath. Another forced, tight smile. She rolled her eyes. “Why not? Sounds like a great idea.”
She eyed her phone again and tapped the button to request her ride.
“Good night,” Tanya said over her shoulder, and then she performed the choreography of the modern exit: Turning her head away just as her body disappeared into the Camry’s rear passenger door almost all at once, followed by an ankle and a Chelsea boot that slipped inside just as the door slammed with a muted thump. Her car pulled away, sending a pile of leaves into a tiny vortex. Cheyenne exhaled and looked the other way down the wide street.
From this new vantage point, she saw a man approaching her from the entrance of the venue the two women had just left. They recognized each other in the same moment, and the muscles in both of their bodies relaxed. Smiles earnest, genuine.
“Adam.”
“Hey. Are you getting out of here?”
“Yeah.” A moment’s silence hung heavy between them, so Cheyenne rushed to fill it: “I’ve had about all the fun I can stand.” Then she wished she hadn’t.
“Same,” Adam said. He looked away for a moment, then reached inside his jacket pocket as though he had just remembered something. He pulled out his keys. “Need a ride?”
Cheyenne almost dropped her phone as she jerked it upward to unlock it. Her ride was approaching from around the corner. She would be charged a fee if she canceled it, and there was no reason to.
“Actually,” she said, raising the pitch of her voice at the end into a question, “Why not? Sounds like a great idea.”