MEDIUM COOL (Only Really Old People Will Get The Title)

In order to keep my brain working while I drive in endless circles in midnight DC, I take black and white photos of what’s out there at night and post on a Instagram account under the #lyftwriter and #dcnights hashtags. (Well, I USED to drive Lyft and it sounded better than #Uberwriter. That seems a bit egotistical. It started when a couple of bikers went at it right in front of me in the primary club zone. I couldn’t go anywhere, so I took pictures. I even bought a iPhone 8Plus supposedly for the bigger screen but really because that new camera is CRAZY.  

Don’t tell my wife. 

I’ve taken lots of shots of the poor souls who inhabit the night—begging, sleeping in doorways and bus shelters, looking beaten down and without hope. I’d like to be Weegee in Old New York but I still can’t match a Speedgraphic with a real flashbulb. Also, I don’t go looking for mobsters gunned down in Clam Houses. I avoid flashing red and blue lights, if anything. Slows down the ride. 

I’ve called 911 several times. Twice for cars stopped in the middle of a road with lights on and no one inside. Heck, no one in sight at 4am. One operator asked if there was evidence of gunshots. I asked if I should get out and check and she said “no” so fast, I didn’t get out at all. 

Oddly, the one thing I almost never do is take pictures. I’m using the phone as a phone for one thing but mainly I just don’t think about it. 

Two weeks ago, I actually got involved in someone’s troubles. 

I was waiting for three partiers to show up in one of the classier club zones about 2am and slowly realized that…

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In order to keep my brain working while I drive in endless circles in midnight DC, I take black and white photos of what’s out there at night and post on a Instagram account under the #lyftwriter and #dcnights hashtags. (Well, I USED to drive Lyft and it sounded better than #Uberwriter. That seems a bit egotistical. It started when a couple of bikers went at it right in front of me in the primary club zone. I couldn’t go anywhere, so I took pictures. I even bought a iPhone 8Plus supposedly for the bigger screen but really because that new camera is CRAZY.  

Don’t tell my wife. 

I’ve taken lots of shots of the poor souls who inhabit the night—begging, sleeping in doorways and bus shelters, looking beaten down and without hope. I’d like to be Weegee in Old New York but I still can’t match a Speedgraphic with a real flashbulb. Also, I don’t go looking for mobsters gunned down in Clam Houses. I avoid flashing red and blue lights, if anything. Slows down the ride. 

I’ve called 911 several times. Twice for cars stopped in the middle of a road with lights on and no one inside. Heck, no one in sight at 4am. One operator asked if there was evidence of gunshots. I asked if I should get out and check and she said “no” so fast, I didn’t get out at all. 

Oddly, the one thing I almost never do is take pictures. I’m using the phone as a phone for one thing but mainly I just don’t think about it. 

Two weeks ago, I actually got involved in someone’s troubles. 

I was waiting for three partiers to show up in one of the classier club zones about 2am and slowly realized that the shape in the gutter around the corner was a woman. She kept flailing her arms and managed to keep her coat and purse on her but she could not get up. I was fairly sure that she’d lead with her face on the way down so I called 911. My riders arrived and I asked if they would wait a minute until someone came to care for this woman. They agreed quickly—nice guys. 

Then a passing pedestrian helped the woman stand up and, damn, if she didn’t go staggering off down the street, across at the light, and into a hard-to-see boardwalk under a construction zone. I knew there was no way the police would see her. I’d followed along so I asked my riders if they minded me dealing with this. I still hadn’t started the ride and, as we all know, Uber Waiting Time is a joke. 

I got out and trotted across the street on my aching knees. Inside the construction boardwalk, she’d gone down again and this time, definitely smacked her face right into the concrete jersey barrier that was the base of the outside wall. 

The conversation was friendly, if strange. 

“Ma’am? Are you OK?”

“I need to get the 92. That will take me home.” 

“The what?”

“The 92 bus. It should be coming.” 

“Ma’am, you aren’t going to catch a bus. You’ve got marks and bruises all over your face.”

“I’ve got to catch the 92.”

“Well, you’re not. Are you sick?”

“(In a harsh whisper) Drunk. Just Drunk”

“Well, you still aren’t going anywhere.”

I folded up her coat, put it under her head, thinking of all those Good Samaritans who get blamed when they move the body. She seemed fine.”Someone will be here soon.” 

A police car and a bicycle cop showed up I’d suggested an ambulance but they were probably busy with club shootings. (Remember, club shootings are only dangerous if you’re in that sort of club.) 

I said I was an Uber driver and had riders to take care of. One of the police asked for my name and phone so I gave him my Book Author Card. He looked mildly surprised at the four published books—none about drunks or Uber drivers. My riders were completely cool and even gave me some props for doing the right thing. We drove off and I never heard about it again. 

Yes, I HAD FORGOTTEN THE DAMN CAMERA. 

Another chance for media glory gone to hell. I guess I’ll never have the interior frost that had the cameraman in Medium Cool film the family in the car wreck and then leave to get the film to the station instead of helping the injured. That’s the movie reference in the title I said only old people would recognize. It’s also the only movie to have a sequence of a motorcycle courier carrying news film — which is what I was doing some…48 years ago. 

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