I’m riding in an Uber in Long Beach, California, from the airport to my hotel. I’m in Long Beach to work with an aerospace company.
The driver, Ken, is listening to a terrestrial radio station.
About 15 minutes into the ride, Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” begins playing. Ken and I have said very little to each other since I climbed into the backseat, but then I hear Ken, under his breath, sing:
“Tommy used to work on the docks, union’s been on strike
He’s down on his luck, it’s tough, so tough”
As Bon Jovi begins the next line, Ken goes quiet.
Maybe he’s become self-conscious?
Maybe he prefers a female lead for the lines about Gina?
Could he not know the next lines of this song?
So I jump in, a little louder than Ken was:
“Gina works the diner all day, working for her man
She brings home her pay, for love, mmm, for love”
Ken laughs, then, when the next lyric comes in, Ken and I begin singing together:
“She says we’ve gotta hold on to what we’ve got
It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not
We’ve got each other, and that’s a lot for love
We’ll give it a shot”
Then something sort of magical happens. It’s probably the logical conclusion to this odd confluence of events, but it feels like something more. As the chorus rises, so, too, do Ken and I, and we begin singing at the top of our lungs, together:
“Whoa, we’re halfway there
Whoa oh, livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand, we’ll make it, I swear
Whoa oh, livin’ on a prayer”
We finish the song together, singing our hearts out.
When the song ends, and the station goes to commercial, Ken almost whispers, “That’s never happened before.”
“First time for everything,” I say.
“I wish every ride was like this,” Ken says.
I remind him that he started it by singing first. He was the one who brought me into the moment.
He says, “I’ve sung a lot of songs in a lot of rides just like this one. Usually without even realizing it. And when I do realize it, I stop. No one wants to hear me sing. You’re the first one to ever join in.”
“I like the song,” I say. “I was 15 years old when it came out. It’s a teenage anthem for me.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But I think you’re just a different kind of guy.”
“I think you are too,” I tell him. “Don’t forget that you sang, too.”
When the commercials end and the next song comes on, it’s “Everlong” by The Foo Fighters. A fine song, but not exactly a rock anthem. I know some of the words, but not all.
Ken apparently agrees. “Too bad,” he says and turns down the volume a bit.
“What were you hoping for?” I ask.
“Sweet Child of Mine,” Ken says and laughs. Then he adds, “Lump” would’ve been fun. Or maybe “Glory Days.”
Ken has good taste in music.
When I climb out of the car a few minutes later, I step aside before entering the hotel. I sit on a bench beside a flowering bush and write down every bit of the ride that I can remember, which I used to write this.
Some things in this world you never want to forget.
