The Uber Ride I’ll Never Forget

It was a Friday night. I was exhausted after work, too tired to walk home, so I called an Uber. The driver arrived in minutes—older guy, clean car, polite. He asked me how my day was going, and we made small talk.

Then he missed my turn.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought I’d take a shortcut.”

I watched the map. We were off-route. I mentioned it, and he waved it off with a laugh.

But something about the way he gripped the wheel made me uneasy.

I texted my friend my live location, just in case.

Then the car stopped. Not at my house—at a dimly lit street I didn’t recognize.

“I just need to check something in the trunk,” he said.

He got out.

I didn’t wait. I jumped out, ran to a nearby gas station, and called the police.

The driver was never found.

But the car?

It was stolen earlier that day.

I still don’t know who that man was, or what he planned to do.