IT’S ALL MY FAULT

Uplifting Lyfts, Lies and Life Lessons

By Duane Scott Cerny

I think it’s fair to say many of us have been in a bit of a funk as of late, somewhat dispirited or noticeably depressed; perhaps not clinically but if the elevator to the “dumps” is working correctly, we’re all moving downward.

 Given most of us were not responsible for pressing the DOWN button, it is further disheartening. Still, if one-third of Americans sent us in this direction, we’re all headed south together. And no, it’s not to a Mar-a-Lago pool party where the water ripples a murky orange, and the ever-so-handsome lifeguard is a former Fox News weatherman. Or was he a water sports announcer?

 Though I’m an upbeat, positive person, lately it’s been increasingly difficult to present my stand-up comedy self when it feels the world is sitting on me. I am rarely triggered by the news of the day, month, or administration, but the past few weeks have sent me spiraling into a person I do not particularly enjoy. I’m simultaneously sad and angry, often shouting at the television — scaring my cats — or crying in the bathroom. I bend the ears of equally depressed friends and sometimes strangers. I’ve been barred from a West Village coffee shop for using too many napkins to dry my latte-infused tears. In short, I’m no fun. And not funny. Not a good look for a humorist whose funny bone has been sharpened into an unused dagger.

In a state of dark moodiness I scheduled a Lyft service to LaGuardia. Nothing like a packed flight to Chicago to deflate one’s spirit. I am always pleasant to drivers but not in an overly chatty way. I ask how they’re doing, how’s traffic, have they had a colonoscopy (just kidding). Most acknowledge my inquiries with words, or a grunt, then continue chatting on their cell phones with someone who’s oddly come along for the ride. That said, I’ve also had drivers speak of their background, their family, or their thoughts on the end of the world as we know it, the latter often a wrong turn toward Staten Island.

 But today’s trip would be very, very different.

 “Hi, Duane,” says the driver. “What’s your security code?” (Apparently this a recent Lyft security feature.)

 “Hi, Raj!” I say, noting his photo badge on the dashboard. “It’s 0606.” I pause. “How are you doing this morning?”

 Raj says with a sigh, “You know, I’m just okay.”

 I half smile as I buckle my seat belt. “Exactly how I feel.” I pause. “So, the usual terrible traffic?”

 “I’m returning from the Bronx,” he says, turning up Bleecker. “Some people. There is no explanation for them. I’m on a single-lane street; the driver in front of me stops, gets out of his car and simply walks away and down the block. So many cars behind me honking, angry. But I’ve nowhere to go. I had to get out of my vehicle and find him.”

 “Wow!” I am intrigued. “Where was he?”

 “Picking up something from a store,” Raj continues. “And he was upset with me! But you can’t abandon your car in the street, in the middle of traffic. Every day I am continually shocked at the selfishness. That is the issue. No consideration for others.”

 “Do you think it’s worse since COVID or perhaps the election?” I ask, tiptoeing into such topics.

Raj then begins a soft, thoughtful, and slowly spoken narrative about life and living, and how we can be responsible only for ourselves and never the acts of others. He speaks eloquently about extending kindness, not only to people but the earth itself. Why do we not awake each day and embrace it as a blessing?  

Yes, shockingly, and most appreciatively, for the next 15 to 20 minutes, Raj gave Deepak Chopra a solid run for his master class. And Raj killed! His words are so powerful, I am hesitant to interrupt. “My favorite word is empathy,” I add simply.

“Yes,” Raj nods as he pulls onto Manhattan Bridge congestion. “The lack of empathy in others reflects their emptiness inside. We only occupy this space between birth and death. This time is all we know. And regardless of one’s troubles with family or illnesses, you move forward with your empathy, your compassion and concern. You must live in truth.”

Raj clears his throat. “The worst thing you can ever do in life is lie to yourself. That is fatal. Do not convince yourself of things you know are false. To lie to yourself distracts from the very purpose of why you are here on this planet.”

 “Oh, yes!” I echo in agreement. “Lies and lying. It makes me think of a certain someone.”

 “Oh, him!” says Raj, shaking his head in dismay. “He is a most damaged person. Very sad, really. And look at what his lies have done to the world. He lies to others but first he lies to himself. It will be a fatal mistake. These lies, tens of thousands of lies, he owns them all. Each lie has chipped away at him, revealing an empty man. Soulless. An empty suit.”

I half laugh as we pull into Terminal B. “And a badly fitted one, at that!”

Raj jumps from the car, laughing. “Oh, so true. Everything’s a mess… including him!” He starts to hand me my luggage, but instead, and without any hesitation, we embrace.

Today, I needed a Raj.

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Duane Scott Cerny takes the blame for most everything in his monthly satirical column, It’s All My Fault. Best-selling author of “Selling Dead People’s Things” and “Vintage Confidential,” he is the co-owner of Chicago’s Broadway Antique Market and is a guest favorite among fearless podcasters. Contact him at E-ThanklessGreetings@yahoo.com