I recently had a deeply uncomfortable ride home from a friend’s house.
It started off normal – I ordered the ride, waited for the driver, said hello, hopped in. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I’m usually the type to just sit there scrolling Instagram, avoiding awkward small talk, but the driver asked me about my day, my job, why I had a weird accent (I’m a Kiwi, and it’s not weird).
Then he said something that piqued my interest: “I’m in love with someone who doesn’t love me back.”
I was intrigued, so I started asking questions.
He told me he had a passenger a few weeks ago and the pair had hit it off. They’d exchanged a few texts and he’d given her a few free rides to work and back home.
“That’s nice,” I thought.
He then said she told him she wasn’t romantically interested in him and I was like “bummer, dude.”
He said she began ignoring his messages and rejecting his advances because she’s not interested, man, give it up.
But he persisted – “I just wanted to take her out for dinner or something, but then I found out she was lying to me.”
Lying? How so?
She’d told him her dad was picking her up from work one evening, however he then ‘spotted’ her walking to a bus stop. A bit weird, I thought, but probably just a coincidence.
“She told me she was sick the next day and didn’t need a ride to work,” he said.
By this point my eight minute ride felt like an eternity.
“…I wanted to find out if she was lying so I parked outside her work and waited. And she wasn’t sick, she was at work.”