I was (pleasantly) shocked a couple of years ago when I saw Uber was available in the little town south of Nashville where Hubby and I live. Since then, we’ve used this service (with varying degrees of satisfaction) quite a few times.
Parking prices in downtown Nashville have gotten so ridiculous we’ll drive to a friend’s business where we can park for free, then UBER to wherever we’re going for just a few dollars. We’ve also found it a convenient way to go to and from the airport when we’re both traveling.
This past weekend, hubby spoke at a conference in NC, and I went with him. Our return flight landed mid-afternoon, in time for us to get home to watch the Titans/Seahawks game on TV. Our UBER driver was from IRAQ and hadn’t mastered English, so instead of chitchatting, we were left to our thoughts.
Hubby had hopped into the front seat, which was unusual. Typically, we both would sit in the back. But, I was alone in the backseat, buckled in, checking my phone to see if the game had begun.
After we exited the Interstate, our driver stopped to see if traffic was coming before pulling onto the busy country road that leads to our home. Unfortunately, the car behind us didn’t stop. BAM! “What was that?” I asked. A Camry had plowed into the back of us.
Both cars were drivable, so they pulled them to the shoulder to wait for the police to fill out a traffic report. In the meantime, Hubby and our driver snapped I-photos of the other driver’s insurance and registration and got his number.
When the cops hadn’t arrived after about 40 minutes (and a full half of the ballgame–score Titans 9-Seahawks 7), Hubby called the police again to get an ETA. They told him because of a church shooting earlier in the day it could be hours. Why they didn’t say that initially, I don’t know. They said if everyone agreed, we could leave the scene.
Hubby and our driver went to talk to the driver of the other car who had already admitted fault. (Hubby doesn’t even think he braked.)
The other driver said he’d just flown in, too. He’s a doctor joining a local medical group. Hubby told him he was a doctor and gave him his card. When they got back in the car, our driver said, “I’m a doctor, too.” It turns out he was an orthopedic surgeon in Iraq. He said he operated on a man’s hand and it didn’t heal well. The man came back and threatened to cut off the doctor’s hand. At that point, our driver let the US Army help him leave the country, even though his medical license isn’t honored here.
It was amusing to sit back and watch three doctors try to figure out how to proceed during the aftermath of the collision. Hubby (the passenger) finally took the lead; I guess because he spoke the best English, lived here the longest, or knew how to get things done…could be any or all of these.
It was not amusing when my neck and back began to hurt. I have an appointment to see my doctor tomorrow. It’s always something!