Uber in Beijing

Well, Uber in Beijing.  I requested a car.  The guy accepted.  He went to the wrong place.  I explained where I was.  He came over then, slowly.  It took forever for them to ring and ask me if he could enter.  “Yes.  He can.”   He got lost in the compound.  It happens.  I called him.  He figured it out.  It was an older guy.  I could tell in a minute he was not from around here.  Finally, he arrived. 

“Hi.”  “Hi.”  “So where are you going?”  I state the equivalent of “Union Square”, were we to have been in Manhattan.  He says “where?”  I repeat.  “Is that on the outer fifth ring road or fourth ring road?”  “You must be from out of town.”  “Yes!  I’m from Liaoning”  “Right. Great.  We’re going to Liangmaqiao  “Where’s that then?”  I see.  Look just head down the airport expressway to the third ring road and I’ll walk you through it.”  “Oh, but my car has the wrong plate number. I can’t go inside 4^th ring road today.”  “Are you serious?  My man, you wasting my time.”

This was the first time I was mid-Uber ride, and dialed for my next Uber. I could here my own request broadcast on his device. It all worked, out.  I got a young kid from Dezhou in Shandong, who looked like he could have been one of my wife’s cousins.  I got to my meeting about thirty minutes late, which is late, even for Beijing, but it was an old friend, and we had a pleasant conversation.  He had a call on the hour and so did I so we kept it crisp, there at the Deli in the Kempinski Mall, where we always go to celebrate Easter with their brunch.

Outside I hailed a traditional Beijing cab, which stopped.  I told him we were heading to a different mall, WuCai Cheng, which a dude from out of town would definitely not know, but this guy did.  We chatted a bit.  I appreciated the familiarity of his accent and pulled out my lap top signaling successfully that I didn’t want to talk any more, but  rather, get some work done.  Some times it’s good to have a professional