2. Confessions

Driving your car is easy. Being an Uber driver is hard.

See, an Uber isn’t just a ride, it’s a weirdly intimate space. Some say it’s like being a bartender, others compare it to a priest’s confessional. Both analogies are close, but not quite right. Bartenders see the same faces. Priests remember your sins. But an Uber? It’s a one-time encounter, a conversation with an expiration date.

Maybe that’s why people tell me things they wouldn’t say anywhere else.

There’s something about a car that turns people into open books. Maybe it’s the seclusion, the soft hum of the engine, the way the city blurs outside the window. Or maybe it’s the anonymity, two strangers matched by an algorithm, unlikely to ever meet again.

Unlike a bar, there’s no crowd, no distractions. Unlike a confessional, we’re not part of the same church. It’s just us, suspended in this quiet, in-between space, halfway home, halfway gone.

Most nights, my car is a moving theater of confession. I’ve heard it all: breakups, job losses, regrets, half-baked business ideas. I once had a wife ask me to help with intimacy; her husband isn’t romatic anymore and only plays video games. One time I had this man huffing on galaxy gas the whole ride from the liquor store to his apartment. He invited me to party with him, just the two of us.

And the funny thing? I remember these people, not their faces, I could pass them on the street without a second glance. But their voices? Their words? The way they sighed, or laughed, or hesitated before revealing something painful? Those details stick.

Once I picked up a guy setting up Christmas decorations in his yard, candy canes, twinkling lights, the whole thing. Fast forward to spring, I picked up someone from work, and as soon as he spoke, I knew it was him.

Did you win the competition?

His whole face lit up. And that’s the thing, passengers think we forget them the second they leave the car. But some stories linger. 

One time, an English student said that driving Uber sounds like going on a blind date.

I laughed, but she wasn’t wrong. Uber matches you with a stranger. You make small talk, you gauge each other’s vibe. Sometimes there’s chemistry, sometimes there isn’t. But the best part? When the conversation gets awkward, the date ends. No weird goodbyes, no waiting for the check. 

Sometimes, the conversation could and should go on. But it doesn’t. It can’t. The ride is over. We’ve arrived. They leave and I drive on.