Beneath the Surface—An Unforgettable ER Trip

When I started driving for rideshare back in 2017, one of the most common questions I got from riders was why I started driving rideshare. I'd joke that I was saving up for my divorce, which always lightened the mood and encouraged conversation.

Fast forward to a cold December afternoon of 2019, I was getting remarried and needed to save up money for the big day. My routine was simple: I’d finish work around 2pm, jump into rideshare mode, and be home by 5 PM to have dinner with my fiancé.

So, when riders asked me again why I was driving for rideshare, I’d respond with a grin: “First to get divorced, now to get remarried.” But honestly, there was a lot of truth behind that joke, as it truly motivated me to drive for rideshare during the early years of my gig working career.

Afternoon shifts before rush hour were often my favorite. The traffic was lighter, and demand was usually high—averaging about $25 per hour while staying local. I was still learning the ropes, trying to discover the best spots to wait for profitable rides.

One of my preferred staging spots was the executive DuPont buildings in the Wilmington suburbs, where I could conveniently pick up business travelers heading to downtown Wilmington's train station, hotels, or the Philadelphia Airport.

Another dependable location was Christiana Hospital, where I frequently picked up hospital staff or discharged patients. I often had great success there, and occasionally, I'd receive requests to pick up fares from the Hilton hotel across the street for profitable trips. All in all, it was a smooth and hassle-free trips.

So, on that chilly December day while I waited in the hospital parking lot, I had no idea that my next ride would be one I’d never forget.

A Lyft ping came in for a well-paying 20 minute trip with a small surge, and to top it off, the pickup location was at the hospital. After accepting the ride, the app guided me to the emergency area. Typically, I pick up hospital administrators, nurses, or maintenance staff, so I didn’t think much of it as I made my way to the emergency entrance.

When I arrived at the emergency area, I found a man in his late 40s waiting for me. He was quiet and reserved, and after exchanging pleasantries, I asked, “How’s your day going?”

“Not great,” he responded. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said sincerely, adding, “I hope things improve for you.”

He quickly shot back, “I don’t think so.” It was clear something was weighing on him, but I didn’t press for details. Instead, I turned up the radio, sensing this ride might be a quieter one. He didn’t seem like a hospital administrator, nurse, or maintenance worker, so I figured he was just visiting someone at the hospital—perhaps they were in critical condition, which could explain his bad mood.

At the first red light, I glanced in my rearview mirror, noticing that he was shivering and rubbing his arms. “Are you cold?” I asked. “Do you want me to turn up the heat?” “No, I’m fine, I’m good,” he answered with a trembling voice, and I could have sworn I heard his teeth chattering.

I thought to myself, he better not have some serious illness or disease. I couldn’t help but keep glancing at him in my rearview mirror. As he stared out the window, shivering and rubbing his arms, I noticed he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Then came his moans. I had never heard a grown man sound like that before, and I could see his teeth chattering so violently that his head seemed to shake. Yet, he kept staring out the window in silence, seemingly fixated on something. Little did I know it was his pain. With less than ten minutes left in the trip, things were starting to feel really strange.

The silence was finally broken when he asked, “Is it okay if I roll down the windows?” I usually go out of my way for my passengers, but I had to remind myself that it was a chilly December afternoon and we were driving at around 35 miles per hour. I really didn’t want to lower the windows.

“It’s kinda cold outside, can I turn the AC on instead?” I suggested. “No, I need some fresh, cold air,” he replied, rolling down the window without waiting for my permission.

At this point, I honestly thought he was going to puke, as that’s usually how riders behave before they vomit. “Do you need me to pull over?” I asked, noticing his moans and shivering intensifying to the point where it sounded almost like he was yelling. He didn’t respond, probably because he was in so much pain.

“Just let me know if you’re going to vomit, and I can pull over,” I said, trying to elicit a response. I also mentioned that I had vomit bags on hand. Then came the truth: “I’m not going to throw up; I’m just going through alcohol withdrawal!” he shouted back at me, clearly wincing in pain as he spoke.

I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just gave him an uncomfortable acknowledgment, like “ah, okay” or “mmhmm.” After that, there was an awkward silence for a few minutes. Still, I felt relieved that he wasn’t going to puke in my vehicle.

It was only a few minutes before the ride ended when he began to open up. I think the pain prompted this, as he started to berate himself. “Don’t be a piece of shit like me and drink,” he said, staring out the open window while shivering and rubbing his arms, his head tilted to catch the breeze.

I didn’t know what to say. And to be honest, I didn’t respond at all. I was totally caught off guard and just speechless. Now I was the person just staring in silence, waiting and hoping for him to say the next words.

Perhaps this self-humiliation was his way of coping with the physical and mental pain of being an alcoholic. “I’m a terrible husband and father,” he admitted. He shared that he had been two years sober before he missed his daughter’s recital, only to get drunk after work and drink for 48 straight hours. This led to a night in the ER to manage his withdrawal symptoms.

As we pulled into his neighborhood, I noticed the stunning homes, each worth around three-quarters of a million dollars. On the surface, it seemed like he had it all: a beautiful house in a nice area, complete with a loving family and new, expensive vehicles—probably a very sucessful carreer. But beneath the surface, he was dealing with internal struggles just like anyone else.

As I dropped him off, I couldn’t help but think about the importance of compassion and understanding in our everyday interactions. You never know what someone else is going through, and sometimes, just listening can make all the difference.