Every other weekend, I head out to Roosevelt Island (just east of Manhattan) for a fun, relaxing getaway with my person. Like every staycation, my lovey called a driver to pick up my dogter and me, saving me the hassle and difficulty of solo-dropping Delilah off with my best girlfriend and her family in Queens before towing my weekender bag and myself to this heavenly oasis just outside the city.
Using an alternative car service than the one we usually rely on (holiday weekend and all), I was still able to begin a pleasant conversation with my driver…which did not last long when my driver, a military veteran, learned my brother-in-law is now an army recruiter after serving time in Iraq. Unbeknownst to me, my driver was not only homophobic, but hated one of the most important men in my life simply because he has no issues with recruiting gays into the military! When the verbal haranguing ensued, I asked that he leave me at my first stop so I could switch drivers…instead, he pulled into an abandoned lot in Queens and forced me out of the car. It was a twilight zone moment: I had been forced from a car into an area I knew nothing about–alone–and because I believe in equal rights and refused to let a man being paid to drive me badmouth one of the people I love most in the world.
Ultimately, my boyfriend was refunded, awarded a credit, and secured a new driver…and I learned that, like at dinner parties, politics and pleasant social conversations do not mix. And I am sticking to Uber, henceforth.