The Hustler

I’m standing in front of Culver City’s city hall when a white compact swings in front of me. I get in, greeted by a heavy-set, black woman named Sonia, who starts making conversation in small pieces. I’m distracted, trying to make sense of evening plans on my phone. She informs me that her windows are manual, so I’ll have to do some cranking if I need some air. My focus strains between the information coming from my screen and her mouth. She adds that her car’s name is Whitney, that it’s her “white girl”. I laugh and put my phone away.

Sonia plans to quit her job selling mortar & pestles to drive 16 hours a day, three days out of the week for Uber. She wants to use her earnings to take her grandmother out of a rest home and get a small dog to ride passenger with her. I meet a lot of drivers clinging to Uber for consistent income, unaware their jobs are ripe for automation. I feel morally obligated to let Sonia know Uber has begun testing self-driving cars to replace its drivers. She appreciates the heads up; her expression changes. I can tell from the rearview mirror she’s chewing on the new information, that she will be for a while. We both think she’s got a good two years before the self-driving cars come for her livelihood.

Sonia holds city-wide membership to 24 Hour Fitness. She visits gyms around LA to take showers and refresh herself between consecutive shifts. She learned this trick from her brother. She also keeps a pillow and a jacket in the trunk for naps during downtime or when she’s charging her phone, usually in a Starbucks parking lot.

Sonia tells me about her husband. They had a summer romance 29 years ago and then parted ways, but he never stopped loving her. They reconnected and married a little over a year ago. Sonia told me her husband made a joke last night about her hair being boyish. She had cut it recently and liked the way she looked, but was feeling very vulnerable lately. While her friends had been traveling, shopping, and buying their first homes, Sonia suffered some serious leg injuries and was out of work for three years. Now, literally back on her feet, her primary objective is to remain positive, put her nose to the grindstone, and hope for the best.

We pull up to my home and wish each other well.