Uber wrecks old iron slides laptop crumble keys
“He got up at 8:36AM, Dad.” Mitra explained. “And said he wanted to take the 9:00AM airbus.”
“How uncharacteristic, Mitra,” I replied. “He planned in advance,” I thought.
“He was still in his pajamas, Dad.”
“Eh…”
Since the airbus departs from LAX rather than Mitra’s house, Darius (predictably) missed it.
This fortunate occurrence gave Nazy time to
“I can remind him to bring the UCSB office keys,” she told me.
“Do it with subtlety,” I replied. “He should just grab a set from the pile of office keys he left at Mitra’s home the last several times he stayed there,” I thought.
Nazy sent a text message:
Since you have an appointment at UCSB, would you like us to bring your office keys or do you have them?
Darius replied quickly. (Too quickly in my opinion.)
I have the keys.
Darius took an Uber back to LAX in time for the 11:00 AM airbus. The driver..
“… was 90 years old, Dad!” Darius claimed.
“90? How did he drive?”
“Very slowly, Dad. Everyone was honking at us. But he just shouted insults and shook his fist.” Darius imitated the driver’s look — which I have tried to recreate at the right.
Unfortunately, the 11:00AM airbus was very late.
[Aside: Based on their uncanny ability to cause transportation distress, I conclude that the airbus company is part of the United Airlines travel conglomerate.]
While Darius was waiting, a competitive ground transportation service showed up in a minivan. Opportunistically, Darius selected this alternative.
A mudslide-induced closure of the 101 tripled the normal travel time. Darius’ patience was wearing thin when he finally arrived. At disembarkment, the driver grabbed a suitcase from the bottom of a large pile. Gravity intervened and Darius’ briefcase (at the top of the pile) and which contained his irreplaceable computer, was pulled by the entire mass of the planet toward a high speed collision with terra (very) firma. (BTW: ‘collision’ was a weekend theme.)
“When I picked up the briefcase from under the pile, Dad, my computer ratlted.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I replied speaking as an expert on technology. “But the grand(est)son will probably like it. Are you ready to go to UCSB?”
“Do you have my office key?”
Later, Mitra found the office key in an old shoe. She’s added it to the pile of keys in Los Angeles. I’ve written a letter to UCSB suggested a switch to combination locks.
Back home after his meeting, Darius asked Nazy to teach him how to use an iron.
“An iron?” I asked.
“Christiane thinks my shirts are wrinkled,” Darius said.
“Really?” I replied. “Maybe you should ask Nazy how to use a ‘hanger’.” I thought.
Nazy, however, was thrilled with the teaching opportunity - especially after taking my advice to explain rather than demonstrate. As you can see from the photograph, Darius was a dedicated and serious student.
By the end of the week, Nazy was helping Darius pack for his return to Beirut. Prior to packing, he tried on the shoes he had personally selected as replacements for the ones we bought him.
“These are too small.” Darius observed tightly.
“They are the ones you chose at the Converse store.” I replied fittingly.
“But they’re too tight. Can I retry the ones you bought?” Darius repeated.
“You want the ones that Mom has packed to mail back to the store?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the situation.
“Yep. Those were a half size bigger.” Darius replied stretching the truth.
“They were ‘far too big’ a couple of days ago,” I expanded while Darius tried them on.
“Perfect!” Darius exclaimed.
“I’m skeptical,” I replied, trying to cobble a reasonable response together.
“My feet change size on random occasions,” Darius explained.
“He’s a size 8 and 3/4th,” Nazy interjected between my comments.
“If we ironed your feet, they'd fit the shoe,” I muttered.
This weekend, we drove back to Los Angeles to drop Darius off at the airport. We stopped in Marina Del Ray for lunch with Mitra. It was a great family event until we decided to leave for LAX. As I pulled out from the curb, an Uber Prius cut across a few lanes of traffic. A very low speed collision was inevitable.
“We were lucky!” Nazy shouted as the crunchy noise subsided.
“Lucky?” I grumbled.
“No one was hurt. And it was just a bump.”
“It was bump along the entire left side of our car, my dear.” I replied. Just like the car, I was crushed.
The same weekend, our niece, Darria, was visiting LA for a TV appearance. Nazy, Melika and the grand(est)son joined me between Santa Barbara and LA for a quick visit with her.
We also got a chance to see our good friends Susie and Rob who invited us for dinner at the LA Yacht Club which is where the photo of me imitating an Uber driver was taken. And..
“.. are you sure we can’t stop at Westwood in the Persian District of LA on the way home?” Nazy asked.
It just couldn’t be done.
For last week's letter, click here.
Melika, Darria Tiger and Nazy