Taxi Driver

When I pulled into the Waynesville, North Carolina Enterprise Rent-A-Car yesterday afternoon, I had no idea how I would get to Nick’s mom and dad’s house in Sylva, eighteen miles away. Nick had gone back to LA to shoot more of his documentary, Jim and Marie were at their second home across the state, Mitzi was in Raleigh, my friend Sherry was busy with Memorial Day weekend preparations and I wasn’t sure if Uber was a possibility in such a small town. When I had rented the car a week before, the nice girl at the desk told me they would love to take me to Sylva when I returned, but they were only allowed to drive ten miles from the office. But she could recommend a taxi service. 

Not one to fly by the seat of my pants, I liked my travel plans firm and organized, but things were so hectic when we picked up the car, I didn’t have time to follow through and put the last leg of the trip in order. I decided to put it out of my mind and worry about my ride to Sylva when I returned.  

After a lovely visit to Wilmington to visit my girlfriends and catch up with Omar’s siblings, then spending the night with Mitzi in Raleigh, I headed back to the mountains. On the four hour drive across I-40, I listened to podcasts and talked myself into relaxing, knowing that, worst case scenario, I could keep the rental car until I found a ride. It was starting to feel like a good exercise in letting go and trusting.

I pulled into Waynesville at 4:00, drove to Enterprise, cleared the trash out of the car and unloaded my bags. When I settled up with the guy at the desk, he gave me a business card for the taxi service. I stepped outside to make the call. A woman named Ann answered and said she could give me a ride, but that she was in Sylva, twenty minutes away.

I asked her if she was able to take a credit card because I had discovered that I only had $30 cash in my wallet. She said unfortunately, no, she could only do cash or a cash app. I asked how much she thought the ride would cost and she told me she would match Uber’s price of $35. I didn’t have any cash apps but I did have Uber, so I told her I was going to need to try to get an Uber and if I couldn’t, I’d call her right back. She asked me to call her back either way so she’d know how to proceed. When I entered my info into my Uber app, it showed No Cars Available. I called Ann back and told her I could get hold of my husband who could Venmo her. She said that was no problem and that she’d be there in 23 minutes. Nick didn’t answer when I called him.

“Hey, guys,” I said to the two young men in the small office when I walked back in, “I’m in a little bit of a pickle.” I told the head guy about my dilemma and asked if there might be an ATM nearby that I could walk to. He thought for a moment and then said to his cohort, “Jason, there’s a Cash Points in the shopping center across the street. You want to drive her over?”

“Sure, I can do that,” Jason said.

“Oh, my gosh, thank you so much,” I said.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” I said to Jason when we got back into the Altima I had just returned. Only in a small town would this happen, I thought. What is it about small towns that are so conducive to friendliness, to consideration? Why couldn’t people in LA act like this? Were they just always so busy that there simply wasn’t time for compassion or acts of kindness? I asked Jason some questions about himself and learned he was from Winston Salem, he’d just graduated from WCU and was working his way up at Enterprise. I told him I guess I should download a cash app but that they scared me a little bit. 

“My bank told me not to use them,” Jason said. “They said they’re not secure.”

“Really? See, I had a feeling they’re questionable.” 

I got back to the Enterprise parking lot just in time to see Ann’s bright yellow SUV pull up. Ann, an energetic woman in her forties, long dishwater blonde hair, black hoodie, hopped out and helped me load my stuff into the back, asking me to excuse her appearance and the mess in the car because she’d had to take her 14-year-old Huskie to the vet.

“No problem,” I said. “Thank you so much for coming to get me. I thought I might be stuck in Waynesville for the weekend.”

“Where are you from?” she asked as I climbed into the passenger seat. 

“I live in Los Angeles, but I’m from Owensboro, Kentucky,” I said.

“I know where that is!” she said. Before we had pulled onto the main road, I knew she was from Indiana, she was having severe peri-menopause symptoms and she had gained sixty pounds due to hormonal issues. By the time we’d pulled onto Hwy 74, I knew she had moved to the area from Orlando with her two children, now 24 and 22 years old. I heard all about both of their college careers, how her son had been on the fast track for a high-tech computer career but had thrown it away to move to New Orleans and become a chef and how her daughter was paying for her own medical school education and had bought her first house before turning nineteen. Ann was only six credits short of finishing a degree in architecture before her divorce and subsequent move to the mountains. 

Going over Balsam, I learned that she owned a house on the Georgia/North Carolina state line but spent most of her time at her daughter’s house, which they were renovating together. She said she dabbled in antiques. As we pulled into Sylva, Ann told me she’d been employed by Uber but didn’t like the way the company was handling Covid, requiring her to just drive away if she was called to pick up a passenger who was not wearing a mask. She said she had enjoyed working for Uber except when she had to pick up drug dealers or prostitutes. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a person on a twenty-minute drive.

She commented on the beauty of the property as she pulled up into the driveway. We were mid-conversation about interesting passengers she’d picked up during her time as a driver, so we kept talking as we walked around the back of her vehicle to unload my luggage. We set my stuff down and I pulled out three twenty dollar bills and handed them to her saying, “Ann, thank you so much for making an anxious afternoon so pleasant and easy for me. I really do appreciate your help.”

“Well, that’s what I do,” she said, sticking the money in the pocket of her hoodie. Barely pausing, she said, “I mean, when I see a person in need, I can’t not help. I picked up this ninety-year-old man one time and drove him down to a car dealership in Atlanta because he had lost his keys and that was the only way he could get a replacement.” I stood in the driveway with my bags while she told me the whole story, how she realized on the drive down that this man must have been dealing with some dementia issues, growing more confused as the day progressed. She stayed with him for the four hours it took to get his key replacement.

“I dealt with the guys at the dealership and let the man take a nap in a chair. Then I brought him a cup of coffee.” She waited with him the whole afternoon and then drove him back to his car and made sure he could be on his way. “I mean, if that was my father, I would want someone to look out for him if they saw he needed help, right?”

“Wow, Ann, I can’t believe you did that. What a gift for that man. You’re one of kind, that’s for sure.”

“Every day this week, I’ve been driving a young mom to the hospital to visit her new baby, who is a preemie and has to stay in the incubator. This woman has three young boys at home. They just moved here, sort of escaping Atlanta where it’s so dangerous and came up here looking for a better, safer life for her family. But her husband doesn’t have a job and they don’t know how they’re going to make it work. I won’t let her tip me. I mean…” Here she raised her hands and looked up at Nick’s parents’ large house and gestured to the sloping yard. I knew she meant that she felt okay accepting a tip from me. 

“I knew there was a reason I wanted to give you a nice tip,” I said. “Your generosity doesn’t go unnoticed, Ann. It’s already coming back around to you.”

I thanked her again for making my ride so easy and told her I’d be sure to call her again if I needed a lift. She was out of cards, but said I could look her up. I waved to her as she pulled off and then noticed that the grass had sprouted Buttercups and the flowers and trees had blossomed in the week I’d been away.

I felt like I’d received some sort of blessing. I don’t know if it’s because people in small towns are just nicer, friendlier or whether they have more time on their hands, but I felt cared for. Could it have been my own attitude? Or maybe it’s because I let go and trusted that I would be okay? Maybe it’s a combination of all of the above. All I know is that my ride home, starting with the cheerful assistance from the guys at Enterprise and ending with Ann’s compassion and kindness, made me smile.