Dealer's Choice

 It always 'delights' me to see what music is chosen for me upon entering my Lyft.  My favorite choice is silence because I usually have my headphones and make my own soundtrack.  

With an ethnically Black American first name, a hip hop station is usually the go to- but my picture is paired with this name. I have the face of an ethnically ambiguous biracial woman.  So the TOP Choice of music is usually a pop/dance station.  Something young and vibrant.  Most of the time I even know the songs and a lot of the time I am like 'what is this shit?'....but mostly I am pleased that I am thought to be young and possibly cool.

Then on Thursday, July 22nd I treated myself to a Lyft from work to the pharmacy where I was getting my 2nd dose of the 'pretty people' Pfizer shot.  As I got into the Surbuban, Ardi my driver animatedly tells me the tales of trying to get away from the Holland Tunnel.  Ardi was also cute and had a lil swag so I didn't mind listening.  He had some beats playing in the background...and then....and then....he changed the station to a smooth jazz/elevator music station and made quick eye contact with me in the rearview mirror.

What he saw in my eyes made him get quiet and focus on driving.  He saw shock, horror, disgust... This was the station my DAD would play because all the new fangled music was shit.

I leaned back in my seat defeated.  At least I was a little less nervous about getting my second dose.  Now I was in a full on downward narcissistic spiral of thinking my blacketh hath cracketh...and I look OLD AF now.  Or like a woman who listens to smooth jazz *shudders*.

Mainly I was hurt because Ardi was cute and he was lowkey letting me know that I wouldn't fit into his 'lifestyle' as I am old and stale.  So I put on my headphones to prove this gramma has wireless BEATS and could possibly be listening to some underground trance folk hip hop and NOT Nelly Furtado's debut album Whoa Nelly! (great album)....

When we reached my destination, I took off my headphones and was prepared to say peace and just run to get my death shot...but Ardi held me back and was letting me know he lived in Brooklyn and was tempted to just go home...and we chatted a little before parting ways.  I realized that perhaps Ardi saw a HOT INDEPENDENT CAREER WOMAN who needed some chill at the end of her day.  I keep forgetting that between these cheekbones, freckles and mysterious brown eyes...there's no way he would not want to stylize the inner walls of my vagina with his couture meat stick.  I needed to chill and accept that people not wanting to fuck me is just not in the cards.