and the stop sign . . . and the highway . . .
After only a few weeks using Uber, I have already been obsessing about my Passenger Rating. When I was in school, the ability to check your progress real-time, electronically did not exist. We had to wait for our report card to be mailed to our parents’ address, sans the “e”. I earned mostly A’s during my education, peppered by the occasional B, in what I, to this day, believe was an attempt by certain teachers, to learn me some humility, and not because I deserved the second grade from the top. And look how that turned out: humble as pie, I am!
Now, decades later, I am once again being graded, with stakes equally as high. Whereas once I wanted to please my teachers and make my mom proud, now that little girl inside me still desires the same. Just because I can no longer see the “E” on th eye chart, the Type A is still bold and highly visible. I may no longer be self-driven literally, but figuratively I am Dale Earnhardt. And so I will do everything I can to achieve th e highest rating. I may not be a gourmet-loving-gal, but I am now striving for a 5-star Michelin rating. And Goodyear. And Bridgestone. And Toyo. And Perilli . . .
