Occasionally, I drive for Uber and Lyft. Not because of the great pay, but for the chance to meet new people and hand out my business cards. The other day, I picked up a middle-aged man and his dog from a cheap, local hotel. As I pulled up, I rolled down my window to greet him and confirm his name.
“Good afternoon, John,” I said, expecting some acknowledgment. But he didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me. Instead, he opened my car’s back door, letting his dog jump into the seat. I wasn’t happy about it. Usually, I place a towel down to keep the dog from messing up my car, but this time I hadn’t had a chance. I sighed, already thinking about the cleaning I'd have to do later. How rude, I thought. No introduction, no apology for the dog. I decided then and there to give him a one-star review and ask Uber not to pair me with him again in the future. Problem solved, I figured.
As his dog settled in, he tried to place a large, fluffy dog bed on the back seat, but there wasn’t enough room for all three—him, the dog, and the bed. Without a word, he decided to shove it into the trunk. He sat beside his dog in silence, gently petting its fur the entire ride. The dog was quiet too, like it understood how I felt about its owner’s behavior. Its big, sad eyes just stared out the window.
Twenty five minutes into the ride, we arrived at the local animal shelter.
That’s when it hit me. There’s a difference between being rude and being sad. Sometimes, they might look the same.
He wasn’t rude. He was beyond sad.
This wasn’t just a regular ride. It was their last ride together.
I watched as he slowly got out of the car, his dog by his side. Without a word, he opened my trunk and took out the massive dog bed. I sat there, frozen. He didn’t glance back as he walked toward the shelter doors, his shoulders heavy with a grief too deep to share. I realized he wasn’t avoiding me out of rudeness. He was simply trying to hold himself together—too proud, perhaps, to cry in front of a stranger.
I pulled into an empty parking spot and stared at my now-empty back seat. The dog hair, the dust—it no longer mattered. A tightness gripped my throat, and I struggled to hold back my tears. He had just said goodbye to his best friend.
Later, when I opened the Uber app, I gave him a five-star review. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through. Hours later, I got a notification from Uber. He had left me a $3 tip.
"Thank you, sir," I whispered. "I appreciate it."
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