The Passenger Who Talked to Ghosts in My Backseat

I had just dropped off a rider when I got another ping — a longer ride, about 45 minutes, with a payout in the $20–$30 range. Pretty normal. The pickup location was a mix: a nice Japanese grill on one side of the street, and a rundown dispensary on the other.

I parked out of traffic, tapped “Arrived,” and waited.

Two minutes go by. Then three. Finally, someone approaches. A woman.

But she doesn’t open the door. Instead, she leans fully against my back passenger door — laughing. Not normal laughter either. It was like she was laughing into the paint. Then she suddenly bends backward — almost folding in half — her torso at a weird angle. Finally, she opens the door, and I realize my last rider left something in the backseat.

I put on my customer-service voice and ask, “Hi! Are you [rider’s name]?”

She replies in this creepily playful tone, “Yeah, that be me. Someone done dropped a thing in your backseat, Mr. Uber man.”

Weird start. But okay.

Something’s Not Right

She asks me to hold onto the item up front, and I agree. Then she stares straight into the rearview mirror and says, “Ain’t you gonna call her?” I explain that I’ll do it later when the app prompts me.

As we start driving, I try to keep things friendly. She asks if we can stop at a UPS. But she doesn’t tell me which UPS. Just… “the UPS.”

Then she drops this gem:

“I have to get my friend outta jail. If I don’t get this package, he gon be there overnight. Mhm. He in jail for killing.”

What?

I probably made a face, because she looked at me, smiled, and said,

“We don’t gotta stop. I know you Uber guys need your money. Y’all don’t got much, do ya?”

She pivoted hard, but I played along. I laughed nervously, not really knowing what to say. She then stared at me through the rearview again. Her voice soft, almost sing-song, she asked:

“I likes this cahr. What kind of car this be?”

I answered. She nodded.

“It’s nice. You like it?”

And then? She turned to the empty seat next to her and started arguing.

The Others in the Car

“No, it’s his car. No, I don’t think he wants to do that — stop it!”

I glanced back and asked, “Everything okay?”

“Oh, my friend just say this car is nice.”

Right.

It didn’t stop there. She asked:

“Mr. Uber man, do you think it’s okay to steal if you have to? Like, if I work at the store and I want bread... I should be able to take it, right?”

She yelled at my trunk, then argued with the seat next to her again. It was a back-and-forth between imaginary people and herself, debating about poor people, jobs, and stealing.

I tried to stay calm. I’ve worked with neurodivergent folks and those with mental disorders. I’m patient. I try not to judge.

But then she looked up into the rearview and smiled. A toothless, unsettling smile.

"You Sure You Ain’t Sleepy?"

We were cruising down the highway when she said, in the softest, eeriest voice:

“Aren’t you sleepy? Are you hungry, honey? They say you real sleepy. Do you like Boba?”

I gripped the wheel tighter.

“No thanks, I’m good. Appreciate the offer, though,” I replied.

“Oh, I’ll pay if we stop. ❤ Maybe pull over and nap a bit?”

She bared her teeth again.

Something in me screamed don’t stop.

Then came the line that really hit me:

“Well, you killed her, so it is what it is.”

...Excuse me?

She continued talking to the “others” in the car.

“He sleepy, ain't he? He gon kill someone if he don’t get some sleep. Someone gonna die. Mhm. He got two choices. He choose.”

That’s when I asked, “Who is going to kill someone?”

Her face shifted. “Nothing. No one,” she snapped.

The End of the Ride... and My Sanity

Finally — finally — we arrived at her destination. I parked. She slowly got out and said sweetly:

“Aww, thank you for being so patient. Make sure you don’t forget to… eat…”

She paused on the last word like it was laced with poison.

Then she walked around to the front of the car, leaned her face against my window, and smiled. Just… smiled.

I didn’t drive for Lyft for an entire week after that.

Let’s Not Meet Again

So… to the woman who talked to the empty seat, the trunk, and the ghosts — and tried repeatedly to get me to pull over and “nap”…

Let’s. Not. Meet.