I drive Uber on weekends to help pay off my student loans. At 2:00 AM last night, I got a pickup request at a local dive bar. A guy got in the back seat, completely sober, but looking utterly defeated. He told me the destination was a bridge about ten miles outside of town. He didn't have any bags. Just a heavy winter coat. Red flags immediately went off in my head. I didn't say anything at first. I just turned off the radio. "Hey man," I said after a few miles. "You okay?" He snapped. "Just drive the car, please." I pulled over into a gas station parking lot instead. I put the car in park and turned around. "I'm not driving you to that bridge," I said flatly. He started crying. Loud, ugly, gasping sobs. He told me heβd lost his job, his fiancee had left him, and he felt entirely invisible. We sat in that gas station parking lot for three hours. I bought two terrible cups of coffee and just listened. I didn't lecture him. I just let him vent. At 5:30 AM, he asked me to drive him to his mom's house instead. When he got out, he looked at me and said, "You saved my life tonight." I don't care about my Uber rating anymore. Some rides aren't about the fare; theyβre about the destination.
Anonymous