I hinted last week that there was a “Part II” to that story. This is it.
At the end of last week’s ride, I found myself more than an hour away from where I usually drive. As soon as I dropped her off, I got a ding to go to a trailer park within a few blocks.
A few minutes after I arrived, a young man stumbled down the steps, holding a suitcase and a small bag. I took his suitcase, placed it in the cargo area in the back, and got in the driver’s seat.
“Do you mind if I ride up front?” he slurred. “I’m not used to Ubering anywhere.”
Well, this is going to be fun, I thought to myself. This ride would also be more than an hour. I usually make some humorous remark along the lines of, “Sure, you can drive if you want to!” Not appropriate this time.
“I guess you can see where we’re going,” he said. “The court is ordering me to go to rehab for 30-60 days. I don’t want to go.”
He would be confined to an isolated area for his first three days. In his current state, it was obvious he wasn’t going to arrive sober.
He was very upset. This was one of dozens of times I witnessed men cry in my car. I once asked a psychologist rider why so many more men than women do that during Uber rides with me. He said it didn’t surprise him at all. For some reason, many of them feel safe with a stranger.
He showed me his phone. I have no idea what held the glass in place. I’ve never seen a glass face more cracked.
“My ex-wife did this during a fight. I know I have to go through this, but I really don’t want to.”
I had served on the Board of Directors for the Home of Grace for Women years ago. I tried to encourage him.
“I’ve seen people change their lives by going through what you will go through in the next several weeks. It’s not easy, but not trying just means that you will continue a downward spiral,” I explained. “I’ll be praying for you. It won’t be easy, but it will be worth every minute if you want to make it work.”
He quietly sobbed for a while, then started receiving phone calls. The first young lady tried to encourage him. He alternated between thanking her and telling her that she was one ‘hot’ lady. They hadn’t met in person, but she was the sister of one of his friends.
He spent the next several minutes trying to call as many people as possible. Most were aware of his problems, but he made a point of telling them he was doing this under court order and that he had no choice.
He asked me for a pen and paper so he could write down his friends’ numbers. I’m guessing they would be confiscating his phone for the first part of his rehab, but I wasn’t sure why he needed to write the numbers down.
“I don’t have any family, only a few friends,” he said. “One of my friends is the reason I am having to do this. He told me that we had permission to go to a dumpster behind a parts store and get some things. The police caught us and told us we did not have permission.”
“I was drunk. They told me later that I had tested positive for meth. (Again, more tears.) I smoke weed and drink a lot, but I don’t do meth. Somebody must have put something in my weed.”
“My friend got a felony, and I got a misdemeanor cause I didn’t know we didn’t have permission. The judge told me I had to go to this rehab or I would get it much worse.”
He asked me to stop at a gas station so he could buy a lighter. He wanted to smoke a cigarette before he got there.
“I know you don’t want it in your car, so I’ll just smoke it right in front of the store. I promise to be quick.”
The overhang was only about a foot wide, not nearly enough cover for the storm that began. He hurried, finished the cigarette, and hopped into the car. We arrived at the rehab center a few minutes later.
The rain was picking up again. We saw someone just inside the gate.
“I’m supposed to go in here,” my rider said.
The gentleman used a key card to open the gate. I grabbed my passenger’s suitcase and told my rider to stand under my raised tailgate.
“Do you have any pills or other paraphernalia in your suitcase?” the attendant asked.
“Just these two packs of unopened cigarettes I was told I could bring. I’m going to smoke one more cigarette before I go in.”
By now it was pouring. I handed the suitcase to the attendant so he could at least take it inside out of the rain. He seemed miffed, but took it.
Then my rider spoke up. “Can I just keep that suitcase with me out here until I finish my cigarette? I have all my clothes in there.”
There we were, standing in the rain with his suitcase. I reached out to shake his hand, but he awkwardly tried to hug me instead.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
“I promise to keep you in my prayers. As I heard several of your callers tell you, ‘You’ve got this!'”
I drove far enough out of his sight and watched to see if he was going in. He knew it was his only choice, but I had to leave before he entered.
Please keep him in your prayers. Throw a few my way, also. That was a lot for one day!
God Bless,
Tommy