Atlanta snow

The moment I step into Demetria’s Uber, I know I’m in for a ride—not just physically, but spiritually, emotionally, and maybe even philosophically. She is a well-developed Southern black lady, draped in confidence and wrapped in a large wig that extended to big curls that waved up and down while she laughed. Her lashes extend so far they probably could touch the front window, and her nails? Lord have mercy—longer than a CVS receipt and brighter than the Las Vegas Strip.

“I take no shit,” she immediately declares with a grin, “but I am glad you’re ridin’ with me, baby.” And within two minutes flat, we are cackling like old friends at a family reunion.

Demetria is from Atlanta, and she wants to know why I’m here. But before I can explain, she drops this on me:

“You got a beautiful house, I just know it. You need to move back to Kansas and rent it out to me! I pay my rent on time, and I keep everything nice and tidy—even the yard! But if you got them crazy-ass colors in there? Child, I can’t live like that, I’m paintin’ over it. I’m just lettin’ you know upfront!”

And then she laughs. And I laugh. And it’s a moment.

She asks how long I’ve been married. I tell her, “Since 2006, but officially in the U.S. since 2016.”

“Damn! That’s a long-ass time.”

“Yep,” I say. “Long-distance relationships do wonders. Every time you start out fresh.”

Her face lights up. “My brother lives in LA! And he gay too! I love my brother. Best thing in the world. He got a partner, but guess what? One lives on one floor, the other on the other. Can you believe that?”

“Right,” I say.

“You say ‘right’ a lot,” she teases before launching into a monologue about how much she adores her big brother, how his partner gets on her nerves sometimes, and how she don’t tolerate nobody disrespecting them.

“I tell folks straight up: if you don’t like gays, don’t get in my damn car! The Lord don’t care if you Black, gay, or fat. He care what you did! It’s all love, baby. And love should reign.”

She pauses, looks at me in the mirror, and drops some Demetria wisdom:

“Look at me—I’m fat. And being fat ain’t good. But does that mean I can’t marry who I love? Hell naw! So why them people think they can tell gay folks or trans folks they can’t? God didn’t say that! And if anybody touches my big brother, I swear—I’ll kick they ass out my Uber!”

Then, outta nowhere, she shifts gears:

“Listen to this mess! Remember that big snowstorm? I got a four-wheel drive, so I was fine. But this one couple wanted me to come pick them up, and I was like, ‘Baby, your road is a damn ice luge. I ain’t riskin’ my life for no Uber fare.’ And this woman had the audacity to say, ‘Well, my husband does it all the time.’”

Demetria claps her hands mid-sentence, emphasizing every word.

“I. AM. NOT. YOUR. HUSBAND!”

So the woman cancels the ride.

“Can you believe that mess?! But I don’t give a damn. I took pictures of that death trap just in case Uber wanna ask questions. And guess what? I still got a 4.94 rating!”

At this point, I am in love with this woman.

Then a Cybertruck rolls past.

She scoffs. “You see that shit? People who drive those think they better than us. But you know what? They look like damn garbage trucks. Just flip open the back and toss your trash in.”

I nod. “Garbage in, garbage out.”

“And in the snow?” she adds. “Pure disaster!”

As we pull up to the airport, she leaves me with this gem:

“My two favorite words? ‘Bitch’ and ‘shit.’”

She cackles. “You don’t give a shit, bitch!”

“Wait, I do?” I say, caught off guard.

“Naw, baby! I’m just showin’ you how to use it in a proper sentence!”

And with that, she waves me off, still laughing.

PS Demeter, the Greek goddess of agriculture, fertility, and the harvest, is a powerhouse of maternal strength and seasonal drama. Best known for her role in the myth of Persephone, her daughter’s abduction by Hades sent her into such grief that she put the entire world on a starvation diet, inventing winter in the process. As the bringer of grain and growth, she’s basically the original farm-to-table goddess, ensuring crops flourish—but only when she’s in a good mood. Mess with her family, and you might just get an eternal famine as payback. You go Demetria!