Nothing worse than that feeling of missing the last BART home. But my being a little bit tipsy and zoned out on my cell phone got me into this mess. So, I ascend from the station to let the cold wind sober me up enough to snap out of it. I hail a Lyft and lean against a sidewalk billboard to bide the eight minutes until my driver arrives. That’s when you show up. You’re in a black sedan of some make I can’t remember, and you pull alongside the curb in front of me to offer me a ride. It’s late. The street’s eerily empty. I can see you don’t have the Uber or Lyft insignia on your car—and you’re very pushy. “Come on, baby,” you keep saying, insisting you’re harmless and just want to get to know me. I wave you off and start getting a little panicky, counting down the minutes as my real Lyft driver’s avatar moves toward me on the map. Then, just in the nick of time, I’m whisked away.
I Saw You is an anonymous “man on the street” column. Email your rants and raves about co-workers or any badly behaving citizens to
iS*****@me*******.com
, or send to 380 S. First St, San Jose, 95113. Submissions should stick to about 100 words.
