Seeker Lover Keeper

Her name was Ellie. Ellie the Uber driver. Platinum blond, bronzed skin, leather jacket, tight washed out jeans. A mole on her left cheek. My age.

Ellie saved the day. Or should I say, the night. Last night. But let me start at the beginning. The beginning of the end. The end of the day.

“Photo ID, please!”

Excuse me?

“Passport. Driver’s license. No entry without photo ID. Club policy.”

We were standing in front of a club. An RSL Club. I mention that, because this wasn’t your average going-out-on-a-Friday-night kind of club. Not what you would expect when you get invited to a concert. Definitely not what I was expecting when I had agreed to join a group of colleagues to go see a local band play.
Looking like a community centre in a residential area, that’s pretty much what it was: a community centre in a residential area.

RSL clubs , standing for The Returned and Service League, I got told, used to be local clubs formed after WWI to support veterans and existed in almost every little town in Australia. Worried what I had gotten myself into, I was relieved to learn that today these clubs were places for the whole community to get together. Basically a community centre with a liquor license. A place to grab a feed and share a cheap drink or two. Hence the photo ID.

Except that I was not going to be part of that community. Nor the cheap drinks.

Not in the habit of taking my passport with me when I go out at night, I tried to convince the guy at the door that I was neither too young (!), nor too old (!), didn’t look like a terrorist (see photo below), had come all the way from a far, far away country (at least I had the accent to prove it), that people (aka my colleagues standing next to me, photo ID in hand, a mix of pity and annoyance on their faces) knew me and trust me, that I had all my proper documentation, just not in hard copy…to no avail. The guy at the entrance definitely had no heart. So much for support.

Photo ID please

Ready to give up, I said goodbye to my friends, wished them a good time and tried calling an Uber.

“No reception out here!”

The annoying security guard again.

Seriously? What the hell?

Just when I started walking in my extremely uncomfortable, but very cool shoes, to get some reception in this godforsaken place, she pulled up. Ellie the Uber driver. Out of nowhere, her beat up Citroen appeared. Stopped right next to me and said “Get in!”

Without any reception plus the fact that I had forgotten my glasses, I had no clue whether this was actually my Uber, or any Uber for that matter, but I got in. I like to do what I am told.

Disco lights and dress up clothes, colourful wigs and funny accessories. Lollies and a small cooler with water bottles wedged between the two front seats. And Ellie behind the wheel – my first female Uber driver, ready to rescue me from the deserted parking lot in this Northern Beaches neighbourhood.

The next 20 minutes that it took to drive to my place, run in, pick up my passport, and get back to the club, were indeed “an awesome adventure filled with fun intelligent banter” like Ellie’s insta account later promised.

Within minutes of the ride I learned that she too had 5 children, that she was around 50 as well, and that she (and this is where our stories diverged from each other) grew up in a cult in the Australian outback, that her mom was able to flee with her and her sister from the brainwashing and abuse, that she left her husband a while ago, who left her broke, and after a stint of wild adventures with much younger men, found the love of her life and lived happily ever after.

That life was short and she’d rather be broke but happy, than rich and sad.

And then it was over. Arrived back at the club, said our goodbyes, “Call me if you ever need a ride!”, and she was gone. Her bright disco lights disappearing in the night.

My phone buzzed. “How would you rate your ride with Ellie?” 5 stars. Without hesitation. And I never rate my Uber drivers.

But this one was different. A bit like Carpool Karaoke with Ellie, just without the singing. Like speed dating on wheels (hey, there’s an idea!). An apparition maybe? I got charged for the ride, so it did happen. Just not sure what exactly had happened.

The rest of the evening was fun. I was glad I had not given up and returned to my place to sit on my couch, nurse a glass of wine and watch yet another episode of the Bachelor Australia. Glad I had gotten rescued by Ellie the Uber driver.

Proudly presented my passport at the entrance, signed the temporary membership, and joined my friends. The evening was filled with awkward conversation (“Where are you from? You don’t sound from here…Wait, let me guess – Please don’t say USA – Canada? I knew it! French Canadian???), cheap wine in even cheaper plastic cups, heaps of middle aged people like myself, and really, really good music.

Remember Feist’s 1,2,3,4? Well, it was the writer of that song – Sally Seltmann – performing as part of the Australian indie rock music supergroup called Seeker Lover Keeper. Matching outfits, a capella voices, local jokes I did not understand. Swaying people, hippies dancing, I thought about Ellie and her disco lights. Making every rideshare trip an awesome adventure. And maybe teaching you a lesson or two while you are on the road.

Life is just a moment in time

Too short to run and hide

I just want you to know

Wherever you go

It follows like a ghost

The burden’s not yours to hold

You’re a seeker lover keeper