My 92-year-old Dad Still Drives. Fast.

My 92-year-old dad still drives. Fast.

When traffic slows, he barks at his contemporaries, “Damned shrivs! Probably forgot if it’s bingo or happy hour today.”

I won’t ride with him. I drive. Still, he prods me to beat the traffic flow on congested surface streets. “This lane slows ahead. Cut left. Now!”

On my last Florida visit, I told him I’d use Uber or Lyft from the airport.

“Does Uber-Lyft cost money?”

“Yeah”

“Bullshit. I’ll be there”

When I take the keys, Dad looks offended, “I can still drive good during the day — safe as ever.”

He continued, “You know, I’ve had double vision my whole life — not this bad and not with macular degeneration — but I’ve had it. I just shoot for the middle of the four white lines. I’ve never caused an accident with my kids in the car.”

It’s true. Dad was conscientious when he imperiled our family. On vacations — no falling asleep at the wheel. Friday night, after a long week of work, he’d load mom and us kids into the car and drive those dark two-lane roads of the 1960s through the night and the next day from Chicago to Valdosta, Georgia, just north of the Florida border, popping uppers as needed. He used his knees to steer the car while washing down No-Doz® with Coke®.

During my visit, I downloaded Uber onto Dad’s phone to prevent personal injuries and death. Curiously, Dad did not resist. Was he humoring me or could Uber possibly ease him out of the driver’s seat?

“Normal people make money driving their own cars?”

On our last night, I coached him through his first Uber rides to and from Watermark Grille. Mission accomplished. I returned to Oregon feeling proud and relieved.

Five days later, Dad calls — angry — because Uber rejected him as a driver.

Secretly, I rejoiced at their common sense.

Nevertheless, I’m a lawyer. But for my dad, I would not be a lawyer. He supplied one-half of my White privilege; he paid for school; and he modeled thrift and a strong work ethic. I owe Dad everything. So, I sued Uber, and it settled for $30,000.

Dad’s no dummy. He saw the money-making potential of a 92-year-old applying for jobs with free lawyer back up.

He applied to cashier at a McFood place. The manager asked — through the braces on her teeth — “You sure a man your age can handle a rush?” BINGO! $25,000.

Next, the hardware store job interview.

At retirement, they lauded Dad as “The Ultimate Hardware Man.” 45 years in hardware. He owned a hardware store in his 20s. He worked 363 days of the year until Mom jabbed, “Did I marry a man or a hardware store?”

Dad moved to wholesale hardware. He worked for founder Dick Hesse at Ace Hardware. He busted his tail to rise in the organization. Dad guided ACE from newspaper advertising to national television ads and picked Connie Stevens to proclaim, “ACE is the place with the helpful hardware man.” Later, he helped other wholesalers compete with ACE. He knows everything about hardware stores: from the product manufacture to check out.

So, bent-over-92-year-old Dad shuffles into the local hardware store with his cane.

The two interviewers look at my dad, they look at each other, look at my dad, look at each other. They start giggling, which turned into full-throated laughter.

Dad calls. This time, I’m more than sympathetic. I’m incensed.

Okay, Uber was right to reject my dad. Not a hardware store. You do not deny my dad, The Ultimate Hardware Man, employment opportunity at a hardware store because of his age!

While the interviewers laughed, Dad choked back his chuckle with gleam in his eyes. He knew what was coming. When the discriminatory fuckers paid $500,000, then Dad laughed.

“Dad, now you can ride in limos.”

“Now, I can afford my goddamn car insurance.”

©2019 by Jeff Merrick

Some of the above story is true, but not the fictional claims against Uber.