I read an article about how Lyft and Uber drivers are staying off the roads because of this new boogeyman.
Guess who has been nonstop busy for a few weeks, making buckets of money? Me.
Which leads to a fairly funny story, if I say so myself:
Today I picked up a girl who seemed to have some form of ADHD. She was very chatty (which I don't mind; honestly it sort of gets my brain and mouth going a mile a minute whenever a passenger seems to want to chat), but kind of scattered. Her first topic of conversation was girls who sell nudes and I had to double-check her age. She looked young but turned out to be a 19 year old Navy wife. Common here in Norfolk. It was a relatively long Uber ride. Around 20 minutes and 8 miles on surface streets. She was coughing quite a bit early in the ride and I jokingly asked if she had the coronavirus. She laughed at the weak attempt at humor and didn't cough for the rest of the ride.
Eventually, and naturally, conversation ended up on a friend of mine who passed on Thursday, Jeff Hewitt. And by friend, I mean "dickhead I used to argue with endlessly over the nuances of leftist politics. And by "passed", I mean "ran over by a box truck that blew a stop sign at 40 miles an hour in a residential area, obliterating him on his beloved moped".
I didn't get overly emotional. The night he died, a reporter came to the bar where people were gathering to hoist a few beers in his honor, and somehow ended up talking to me.
@HulkOnViagra would have been proud of my sheer alcohol consumption that night, even if I'm trying NOT to drink. I must have been 10-15 beers and a few shots in at that point when the Virginian Pilot Online reporter asked me about my relationship with Jeff.
I won't quote it, but even in the report, it was very clear that the dude was struggling to find a nice quote from me. I genuinely loved the dude, but alive or dead, I knew he wouldn't be happy if I tried to be flowery about our "friendship". I named his name and the publication if anyone is interested in googling it. He was a very prominent poet in the Hampton Roads area, since the 90's. He won't be hard to find. If you find the article, you'll see that I (who has been doxxed on this site for other reasons in the past, and don't give a shit if you know my full name) was hard to mine for a quote. I vaguely remember talking to this dude and probably called Jeff a dickhead and a cunt 10 times.
I went to a vigil at a poetry venue that he built the stage for. Metaphorically, as in he was almost singularly responsible for growing and promoting the local poetry scene through the 90's and early 2000's. But also physically: He literally built the stage by hand, 12 years ago. I was nervous to speak. It was organized last-minute. It was overcrowded. Maybe 200 people in a room meant to hold 50. Surely a violation of some sort. A sheet of notebook paper for people to sign up to speak if they wished to say some words. I was the seventh person on the list.
Hearing everyone speak, sing, recite Jeff's poetry or even their own in eulogy, I grew anxious. Badly. I had no more Xanax to calm nerves. The rest of my stash had been used to help me function after drinking heavily until 4am the previous morning. Everyone had such flowery and lovely things to say about Jeff. He was uncompromising in his politics, and championed local progressive candidates all along the way. He was a sweet guy who would help you through a writer's block by using his conversational skills to get you to express yourself until the moment you said the words that became a eureka moment: Everything you wanted to put on paper, you had just said to Jeff. He loved his two kids. He left behind one daughter and an adopted son. 17 and 12 if my math holds up.
I got up on stage. Everyone had been looking fondly on the man, and I started my personal story with the truth everyone had been afraid to say at that point:
"Jeff was a dickhead". The room was silent, briefly. Then it filled with laughter, because everyone who knew Jeff knew it was true. My entire relationship with him was arguments. Not debates or friendly conversations. Arguments. We'd start friendly and end with a handshake or a hug, but the middle bits would be full of piss and vinegar. I told a few stories about Jeff on that stage, and for the first time, the room lightened up a little. A bit more laughter and a bit less crying. People hearing about Jeff as a human and not just a warm corpse really opened up the room. And I was terrified of speaking that truth before anyone, but I'm glad I did. Jeff would be FURIOUS if I stepped on that stage, in particular, and only said flowery bullshit about him. A few 'doggers have met me in real life. I used to hang out with
@fingercuffs IRL when she briefly lived a few miles away. I think I may have met
@oldshadow at one of her shindigs, but I may be thinking of the wrong crotchety old bastard.
@Fawlty and I used to have phone chats, and also users who have long since abandoned the site.
Any of them could tell you: I'm not your friend at your funeral. Especially if you want people to deify you. Jeff? He wouldn't have wanted that. I shoot straight and I shot straight with a crowd of 200+ people, most of whom I'd never seen. He had a lot of clout and lot of friends from a lot of backgrounds. I was only privy to a small portion. I once drove him and his cat to an emergency vet, because all he owned for transportation was that fucking moped. Of course that piece of shit would die on a Thursday and ruin all of our weekends.
And all of that spilled out of me to this girl I had never met, who was in my car for a short period of time but I've been carrying it and it was a set of ears eagerly ready to listen.
When I got her home, I thanked her and told her it was nice to meet her.
But I couldn't help myself. Before she could close the door, I called back to her coughing from earlier in the ride. It felt like a lifetime ago after letting out some of my pent-up emotion about a friend who survived a meth addiction and died on a fucking scooter. I couldn't help myself.
"And thanks for the coronavirus!"
Without missing a beat, and with a look on her face that was weirdly contorted; between absolute pride and absolute terror: "You're welcome, you'll be seeing Jeff very soon!"
For a moment, her face was frozen in that expression. Not sure whether or not I would take that joke well. And by "a moment", I mean for the fraction of a second it took me to just start laughing. It was gloriously morbid. I had poured a part of my soul onto this random poor girl and she spit it in my face in a way that could only be taken with a heavy dose of humor.
God bless the Coronavirus for making that quip possible today.
And bless any Sherdogger who got through this story. I only just now realize that it was my drunken way of eulogizing a man I barely liked, but dearly loved.
RIP Jeff Hewitt, a man it's unlikely anyone on Sherdog would know existed if it weren't for a savage coronavirus joke. I will miss you, but mostly because your absence means a lack of your cereal to piss in at the cafe in the morning. You fucking dickhead.