My Uber driver, Betty, pulled up to the curb outside the Pagosa Bar, and the receipt printer scrolled out a strip of paper showing that my Apple Pay account had been charged $8.49, for the ride from my house to my favorite downtown hangout.
Of course, I’m using the term ‘Uber driver’ loosely, because the autonomous vehicle has no actual human chauffeur. But I still like to think of the computer mounted in the dashboard as my ‘driver’. She does talk to me — and listens, as well.
I like to call her “Betty”. She calls me, “Al”.
“Where would you like to go this evening, Al?” she’d asked me a few minutes earlier. “Somewhere special? I see you’re wearing that new shirt you bought on Amazon last week.”
“You like the shirt, Betty?” I smiled. “Handmade in a little village in Nepal.”
“Very nice, Al. You have good taste in clothing.”
“Thanks for noticing. I’m headed for the Pagosa Bar. As usual.”
“Meeting up with Johnny again? According to my GPS search, he arrived there about five minutes ago, and has ordered a Coors Light.”
“Is he sitting at the bar?”
“No, he’s at a table at the northeast corner of the room, adjacent to the vending machines. A woman named Jeanette Closter, age 34, is also seated at the table with him. According to the national database, you and Jeanette Closter have not met previously. Would you like some information about her, Al?”
“No, thanks, Betty. I guess I’ll meet her soon enough.”
When we arrived, I climbed out, and Betty drove off to transport her next customer. I walked into the bar and waved my phone over the AutoHost scanner.
“Welcome, Louis. Your debit account has been accepted. Would you like a Coors Light this evening?” The AutoHost scanner calls me by my real name.
I told the scanner, “No, I think I’d like to start off with a Riff Raff Hopgoblin this evening.”
“Coming right up. Enjoy your evening at the Pagosa Bar, Louis. Your friend Johnny is already here.”
I saw Johnny sitting at a table in the corner, dressed as usual in a plaid shirt and denim jacket, and wearing his well-worn ‘MAGA’ hat. The gal sitting at his table had her back to me. She wore a long, tan, camelhair coat with a navy scarf around her neck; her purple-tinted hair was cut in a neat, neck-length bob. I immediately sized her up, without even meeting her, as a business woman.
Obviously, this was going to be a ‘business’ meeting. Johnny loves to talk business.
Johnny stood up, smiling, as I approached the table. We bumped fists.
“Louis, my man! I hope you don’t mind that I invited Jeanette, here, to join us? I don’t think you’ve met before.”
Jeanette turned to face me, but remained seated. She had a cute face. No makeup, except some dark lipstick. Her voice had a mature, civilized quality. “Nice to meet you, Louis,” she said, and extended her hand for a handshake. I took her hand and felt a surprisingly strong grip. Not a woman to dismiss lightly, apparently.
“Nice to meet you, Jeanette. Any friend of Johnny’s is a friend of mine,” I promised her. “My Uber driver told me you were here.”
“So? Did you have a chance to Google me on the way over?” she asked, in slightly defensive tone.
I smiled. “No, I prefer to meet people face-to-face. Start with a blank slate, so to speak.”
Johnny laughed. “You will find that Louis is the old fashioned type,” he advised Jeanette. “Old fashioned, in more ways than one.” He winked at me.
I settled into the chair across from Jeanette and pointed at her chestnut-colored drink. “And I see you’re having an Old Fashioned? Maybe we’re going to hit it off famously.”
“But apparently you’re an old fashioned beer drinker,” she observed, dryly. “Like your friend Johnny.”
She pointed her thumb at the tiny server robot who had just arrived with my beer. I took the glass and waved my phone over its little silver head. “Thanks for the tip, Louis,” it beeped.
I honestly don’t know why I always tip the server robots. Just habit, I guess.
Johnny leaned forward and introduced the topic of the evening’s conversation, which I already assumed did not involve the Denver Broncos.
“Jeanette, here, is a software consultant, Louis. Just moved to town. And her Google search is quite impressive. Quite impressive.”
Jeanette took a sip of her Old Fashioned and gave me a coy look across the table, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly.
Johnny continued, directing his comments to Jeanette.
“As I mentioned, Louis has come into a little bit of an inheritance, and wants to sink some of it into real estate.”
Jeanette wrapped both hands around her glass and spoke in a low voice. “About $360,000? Is that right, Louis?”
I gave Johnny a hard look.
“Don’t look at me,” Johnny protested, holding up both hands. “I never told her anything.”
“An advanced Google search,” Jeanette explained. “I’m a software consultant, remember.”
I leaned back in my chair, wondering where this was headed. “Well, Johnny’s right,” I told her. “I’m looking at investing in property here in Pagosa. But I haven’t actually picked a real estate agent yet.”
Jeanette rested her chin on her fist, cocked her head slightly, and clicked into business mode.
“Real estate agent? Johnny said you were a bit old fashioned, Louis. But really… you’re thinking about working with a human real estate agent? And paying a 6% commission?”
She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a red thumb drive, and slid it across the table to me. “Real estate agents are so 2020, Louis.” She pointed at the thumb drive. “This little app can handle the entire process for you, for a $10 a month subscription. It will find your ideal property, negotiate with the seller, run the title search, draw up the contracts, and verbally walk you and the seller through the signing process.”
I looked at the little thumb drive.
“This app can do everything I need? No need for a real estate agent?”
“Welcome to the 21st century, Louis,” Jeanette smiled. “Stick this in your pocket, and give it some thought. $10 a month subscription, and the commission on the sale is merely 1%. You’re covered by up to $10 million in liability insurance, in case anything goes wrong. But trust me. Nothing can go wrong.”
I looked over at Johnny to see what he thought about this very business-oriented idea.
“Just Google her,” Johnny advised me, nodding his head toward Jeanette. “She’s quite impressive.”
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.