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Driver Confessional

By David L. Winters

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Chapter One
The black American-made sedan rolled up in front of the Palm Restaurant near the campus of George Washington University. The Palm was one of Washington’s most toney eateries, the place where the rich and powerful go to see and be seen. As a Buber driver, Antonio enjoyed catching snatches of conversation from these elite of Washington, DC, as he delivered or picked up passengers here. A few times the businessmen and women bragged of solidifying their deals after parading their companions through Washington’s finest and dining on truly memorable fare. From the street, the Palm was white tablecloths and dim lighting. Inside, there are pictures of famous patrons sketched onto the walls.
A group of students walking home from DuPont Circle passed between the Buber car and the entrance to the Palm. Their lively conversation and laughter lit up the night beyond the streetlights. When they cleared his line of sight, the driver looked up to see a very attractive woman descend the few stairs to street level. She wore a tailored, dark business suit and a small black hat mounted to her coiffed hair. Her eyes trained downward, she navigated the steps as she walked. He noticed the Gucci purse and phone in her right hand, which indicated she was probably his next Buber fare. Her thin leather briefcase indicated the dinner at the Palm was either work related or an after-work meet up with a friend.
Before Antonio could get out, she opened the rear passenger-side door.
“Antonio?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her deep red lipstick moved rhythmically as Antonio’s moniker left her mouth. In the Buber world, everyone is on a first- name-only basis.
“That’s right. Glynis?”
She nodded.
“Let me help you!” Antonio was out of his seat and over to her side in no time. She easily slid into the back seat, juggling her briefcase, purse, and phone. Being a man, Antonio couldn’t help but notice Glynis’s shapely legs. He gently closed the door behind her and hopped into the front seat.
The driver’s relationship with the rider is conducted through the phone app and, once in the car, through the rearview mirror. The exception is when the rider first climbs into the backseat. The driver may crane his neck to acknowledge the passenger or on rare occasions, like this one, to hop out and open the door for her.
Antonio pulled the sedan gracefully from the curb.
“Did you get the address?” Glynis asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” the driver said while glancing at that attractive face in his mirror.
The GPS, mounted to the front window, indicated the most direct route to a specific Senate Office Building. Antonio had been there many times, but never this late into the evening. Washington is a city that doesn’t get much sleep, but certain parts of the city seem to get more than others. The area around Capitol Hill is one of those places.
Glynis nervously made herself at home in the backseat. She checked her work phone, although she doubted anyone would email her this late. When she looked up, she noticed the attractive driver’s curly dark-brown hair and strong shoulders. She decided to chat him up on the way to her appointment. Antonio glanced back through the rearview mirror and caught her eye.
“Do you like Bubering?” she asked, masking her concern about the meeting that lay ahead of her.
“Sure.” The driver hated this question. He had answered it at least a hundred times. In Antonio’s view, the real meaning behind the question was “Why is someone like you driving for Buber?” Should the rider feel guilty for wasting the life of someone with too many brains for mindlessly driving people around the city? Of course, Bubering isn’t all that mindless. Following the GPS, dealing with unrealistic expectations, figuring out when and where to drive—all of these require some skill. Antonio understood her point though. He thought the same of people in low-skill jobs . . . until he took a low-skill job.
“Were you out to dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Was the Palm as advertised?” Antonio had never dined at the Palm. He dreamed of doing so eventually, after law school and after he was a successful attorney. One day when I’m a lawyer I’ll take Sylvia there, he promised himself again.
“Overall, the food is always very good. I usually have a salad with steak. Steak is what they are known for, but I am trying to eat lighter. I had the scallops tonight and they were overcooked. My meeting was more business than pleasure anyway.”
As he did before and during every trip, Antonio prayed silently. Lord, how can I help this woman? What can I ask that will help her get closer to you, God? Protect us as we drive and may she be blessed for being in my car.
“What do you do?” Antonio asked.
“I’m the vice president for finance for an energy concern,” Glynis replied apprehensively. She wasn’t in the habit of discussing her work with strangers, particularly in light of the reason for her late-night meeting on Capitol Hill. She sensed something unusual about this good-looking Italian man. So far, he’d not made a pass at her. That alone increased her respect for him. And it looked like his broad shoulders could probably handle the weight of some of her troubles.
Antonio listened as Glynis began to weave her tale. As a small-town girl from Iowa, she was determined to have a different life from her parents. She wanted big cities, important business meetings, and a lot of great clothes. She loved clothes almost as much as her spacious condo in Arlington. Others left the office promptly at five, but she usually stayed until seven. Others had lives outside of work, but she had none. Underneath the ambition and clothes and makeup, she sometimes wondered about paths not taken. Sometimes she even wished she were back in her small Iowa town, married to her high school boyfriend and homeschooling a flock of children. Now was one of those times. While a teenager, her most complicated problems were acne, boys, and calculus.
Antonio smiled back at her just before he made a left turn. The Senate Office Building was still ten minutes out, even with the easy traffic. The street lights shined yellow over the asphalt and colored all the buildings in an amber hue.
“After twenty years in my industry and ten years at my present company, I don’t have any regrets,” Glynis continued. “I achieved my dreams. I rose to a top position at my company, and I’m making the kind of money I always dreamed about.”
Antonio smiled back at her. “And let’s not forget business dinners at the Palm,” he interjected.
Glynis returned his smile. “That, too,” she agreed. “However, Saturday meetings and too many business trips come with the territory. Like my dinner at the Palm, business has slowly become my whole world.” She laughed uneasily. “My friend Cindy tells me I need to get a life. But I don’t mind—this is the life that I chose.”
The driver shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as much from the GPS showing a traffic clog ahead on Massachusetts Avenue as from the content of Glynis’s story. Occasionally, he would look in the rearview mirror and see the expression on those red lips. As she went on with her story, his brain focused on her spiritual needs. He viewed Bubering as his chance to care for people. In this case, he had only the next seven minutes to diagnose Glynis’ spiritual issue, pray for God’s answer, hear it, and pass it on to her. At ll:57 p.m., she would exit the car at the Dirksen Building and their time would be over.
“Long story short: I like my company and things have been good for me. Now though, I’m in a tricky situation. Business is often about compromise. Win-win means everyone gives up something too. Don’t you think, Antonio?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My company has a noble mission. It generates power that lights homes, runs businesses, and keeps the world turning. Our scorecard is profit. Today’s profit, tomorrow’s profit. Sometimes, profits have to come before people or the company ceases to exist. But this time, too much desire for profit could threaten the existence of the company. No one will listen to me. I guess you could say that my company is facing a moral dilemma.”
“And you are afraid that they aren’t going to take the right path?”
“You don’t understand what’s happening.” Glynis’s voice changed in a moment. Antonio’s off-hand comment wasn’t meant to elicit any reaction. His rider went from cool and business-like to excited and angry. “If I even hint that I’m not on board for this thing they want to do, there could be permanent consequences for me. I could lose my job. The issue is very serious and no answer will satisfy everyone. One of the paths could even be dangerous to—to everyone, even our country.”
Antonio couldn’t imagine what she was talking about, but it didn’t take a mind reader to know she was agitated. If this deal went the wrong way, would she be demoted or fired? Would she be banished to Iowa? Would she be required to eat corn until she exploded? He had no idea what those permanent consequences might be. As a law student and part-time Buber driver, Antonio suspected that he could retire comfortably on what this woman probably had stashed away in her 401(k). With a couple of mouths to feed at home, his empathy about her financial plight was slim to none.
“I’m sure you will do what is right.” Not very profound, Antonio thought of his parting words.
“That’s what I’m doing right now. And if you say anything to anyone, we will both be in a lot of trouble. Thanks for driving me. You can let me out right up there by that set of doors.”
Glynis seemed eager to get out of the car. She glided effortlessly toward the entrance of the Dirksen Senate Office Building, her purse and security badge in hand.
Antonio took a minute to process what she said. Then he got a beep on the Buber app and turned back north and west. Antonio wanted to catch one more ride in the general direction of home, hoping the riders would be going his way. He was dispatched to a loud reggae bar on 14th Street NW.
Three men rapidly approached his car. Manasseh, who requested the ride, got into the front seat, and the other two men hopped in back. All three had dreadlocks, though the sizes of their locks were vastly different.
“Dude, someone left a briefcase back here,” one of the young men said to Antonio.
“Pass it forward.” Antonio began internally kicking himself. Items left behind meant uncompensated trips to return the lost belongings.
“You probably get big tips for returning something like that, don’t you?” Manasseh asked.
Antonio explained that there was no compensation for returning lost belongings.
“Can we switch up the radio, man?” Manasseh asked politely.
Antonio agreed. Amid loud rap music, he turned the vehicle in the opposite direction of home and ferried his passengers out to Upper Marlboro, a suburb several miles from the city.
One of the guys in the back started the conversation with Mannaseh. “You went to charter school. So, what’s a charter school?”
“It’s a bougie academy where we had to wear uniforms and take all these advanced placement courses,” Manasseh said. “My mom got me in. I wanted to stay in our own neighborhood in Houston. She wanted me to get into a good college, said the high school near our house wasn’t going to do it.”
“You made it into Howard. She must have done something right.”
“Grades and basketball. We couldn’t afford it without basketball.”
“Are there going to be any girls at this party?” Manasseh asked.
“There was last time,” said the other guy in the backseat. “Super-suburb girls.”
“You guys be careful,” Antonio said.
“Oh, advice from the Buber guy,” Manasseh said snidely.
“I’m just saying that you have a long way to go. Get the education, figure out what you want and who you are before you get in too deep with a woman.”
“Are you married?” Manasseh asked.
“Yes, for twelve years. It is fantastic. Beautiful lady and we have a great little boy.”
“You are Bubering though,” Manasseh said.
“Part-time job. Going to law school. Picked the wrong major in college.”
“We hear you.”
The car got quiet for a few minutes as everyone thought about the conversation. Antonio wondered if he had gotten married too soon, but then he thought about his sweet woman and Marc at home. He wouldn’t go back and do it differently.
By the time he dropped the guys off, it was too late to return the briefcase to Glynis. He locked it in his trunk and added it to his agenda for Wednesday.
 

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