Getting a Lyft

Many of you know of the travails of my academic quest since 2001. For those that don’t, let me give you the elevator version, albeit an elevator that goes slowly to the top of The Freedom Tower. After I quit drinking in 2000, one of my friends suggested I apply for disability, and go back to school. Since I was such a stellar student in high school, not; and community college, 1.3 GPA, I was filled with fear and trepidation. However, I had nothing else to do, and returning to the automobile business was out of the question. So I registered at a local community college with absolutely no direction, but trying to find some sort of niche that may enable me to graduate from college.

I endured derogatory comments about my age and my missing limb. The academic part was a nightmare, due to my never having developed a process for studying and doing homework. After my first semester, I wanted to quit. My grades were not very good, and I felt like a fish out of water. The sad reality was I couldn’t quit. I had no marketable skills, and I was disabled. Reluctantly, I registered for a second semester. I soon discovered an affinity for history. I received my first two “A’s.” It was that the thought of becoming a high school history teacher entered my mind. I then took an education course that required a practicum. I couldn’t pass the FBI background check due to a 26-year-old felony conviction. It was then that obtaining a master’s degree became a goal. A professor who headed the hiring committee said he would hire me to teach at the school I was attending if I got my master’s.

After an undistinguished academic career, save for the scholarship I was awarded for the person who embodied turning their life around, I embarked on journey at Florida Atlantic University. Happily, I flourished, and received all kinds of awards and scholarships due to my academic excellence. While there, I tutored for the athletic department. I did so for free once I read the NCAA rules manual. I refused to adhere to the ridiculousness. Those I tutored were my friends. I went to class with them. I didn’t want to jeopardize their eligibility just by doing things that friends did for each other.

I networked while at FAU. It is one of the things I stink at. Or, at least when it came time to ask for favors from those within the network I developed, they never panned out. During my master’s program, I spoke for a friend at a local jail. I told of where I’d been, what happened, and where I hoped I was I was heading. I received a standing ovation from the over 150 detainees. A guard said he’d been working there for seven years and they’ve never stood for anyone. It was then and there I decided my career path. After graduation, I asked those within my network for letters of recommendation. These individuals carried quite a bit of weight in certain circles. The NCAA had just come up with the CHAMPS Life Skills program. All Division I schools would be needing speakers to address issues in these student-athletes lives. I was going to be one of those who brought them a message. Or so I thought. So many people had blown smoke up my ass about what a success story I was, and how all kinds of doors of opportunity were going to open, I believed them.

I spent the last of my scholarship monies on forming a business, buying supplies, and putting together a media pack that I sent to over 200 schools. In the meantime, I wrote a memoir manuscript. I submitted query letters to over 30 literary agents and publishing houses. All was for naught. I wound up filing for bankruptcy. I then began a job hunt that met with little success. Who am I kidding? No success. 51 job applications sent out, zero interviews. A friend from the FAU history department suggested I get my PhD. in educational leadership. She felt it was just the supplement and credential I needed to get me on the road to whatever achievements I would attain. Not so fast there buckaroo.

The doctoral process was a nightmare I never want to relive again, though I am grateful for the support I received. Nearing, and then upon completion, I received the same smoke up my ass. This time from different people, and those with substantial credentials. And guess what boys and girls, the results thus far have been exactly the same, except I haven’t filed for bankruptcy again. I fucking refuse.

I have been applying for positions for nearly two years. Positions where I have been overqualified, underqualified; positions from referrals from friends, friends have recommended me for positions. Blah, blah, blah, blah blah. I dusted off my memoir, revised the query letter. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Ziltch. However, there has been a couple of added kickers.

My disability has stopped. So has my health insurance. They, Social Security, say I owe a large sum due to my exceeding the earned income amount several years ago. They are keeping my disability until the sum is paid back. Someone made the determination that losing my paltry amount would cause no economic hardship. Tell that to the people who have been kind enough to loan me thousands of dollars. Tell that to the kind people that have done pro bono work for me for the last three years. I have discovered levels of humility I did not know I was capable of. Other life events that we all endure have occurred. I will spare you the details.

Recently, I begged for a graveyard shift entry-level position at a detox facility. Kind people went out on a limb for me. Besides being treated like I was gum stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe, I was physically unable to perform my duties on an everyday basis. Which brings us to the last 3 weeks. With 5 months to go in my lease and 6000 miles to spare, I have become a Lyft driver. Dr. Lyft if you will. The next few weeks will be blogs that focus on my observations of the job, the clients, the circumstances, and anything else that goes through my head while engaged in this endeavor.

This was cathartic. It was not meant to elicit sympathy. I don’t need or want any. We all have shit we go through. I am grateful to be alive. I know there are others much worse off than I. Please don’t lecture. I get it. People keep telling me my break is coming, be ready for it. I am not holding my breath. I’ve been down this road once before. I’ve heard it will happen in time. At my age, I may not be here to enjoy my big break. This shit can’t last forever, or can it?

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