My strangest Uber ride of the summer:
In August, I arrived at Bradley International Airport at 5:00 AM to discover that my flight had been canceled due to the CrowdStrike issue.
I own stock in CrowdStrike, so this was a real punch in the face.
The Delta ticket agent solved my problem by arranging for an Uber to drive me to Logan Airport in Boston — about two hours away — so I could catch a flight there instead.
“You’re going to put me in an Uber and drive me to another airport?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Right now. I’ve already ordered it.”
Crazy. Right?
Just wait. It gets crazier.
The Uber driver was a woman who had never driven outside Connecticut. She was nervous about driving me to Boston and told me so as I climbed into the car.
I suggested she reject the ride and let me find another.
“No,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Do you have a fare coming back from Boston?” I asked. “Does this even make sense for you?”
“I’ll be fine,” she repeated.
She was not.
It started raining as we exited the Mass Pike, and the combination of heavy traffic and a downpour caused her to panic. Within minutes, she became weepy —actual tears in her eyes —and began audibly praying to God for help.
“Please, God, help me through this terrible decision.”
“Please, God, stop this rain and keep us safe.”
“God, I need all your help right now to keep this car on the road.”
You can imagine how I was feeling in the back seat.
Ten minutes later, she turned on the radio and tuned to a religious station playing upbeat music about Jesus and God.
It did not help.
As her panic increased and her weeping continued, I decided to get actively involved. I started by assuring her I had made this drive many times before. In fact, I had been performing in Boston the previous night and had just made the trip in reverse a few hours ago.
Then I began breaking the trip into smaller, more manageable parts.
“First, we’ll get to Grafton. Grafton is our target. Just a few miles down the road. Once there, we’ll start thinking about Framingham and then eventually Natick, but let’s just start with Grafton. One small piece at a time.”
It helped a little.
Eventually, she called her sister to receive spiritual support.
Her sister was on speakerphone, so I heard the entire conversation. Lots of talk about the Lord being on her side and having faith that he was watching over her. Eventually, the talk of faith in God turned into a conversation about making better choices in life, taking accountability for your actions, and “Growing the hell up.”
Not exactly supportive, but I didn’t disagree.
Then she noticed she was running out of gas—enough to maybe make it to the airport, but not much more.
“I can’t put gas in your car,” her sister said. “So figure it out after you drop that man off.” Then she said goodbye and hung up.
We arrived at Logan Airport without a moment to spare.
“Where can I get gas?” she asked as I climbed out of her car.
“Not here,” I said. “Logan Airport is on an island. You need to go back through the tunnel and find gas in Boston.”
She began to cry again. “I don’t think I’ll make it.”
There was nothing I could do. I needed to sprint to catch my plane, so I said, “God wants you to find gas, so don’t worry. Go back through the tunnel, and you’ll find what you need.”
As a self-described reluctant atheist, it felt disingenuous to offer these assurances, but she needed something, and her sister was done helping her.
Then I was off. Since the airline arranged for and paid for the ride, I couldn’t even offer her a tip, though if anyone deserved additional compensation for the ride, it was me.
I assume she eventually made it home to Connecticut.
When I arrived in Denver, I discovered that Delta had accidentally booked my connecting flight to Calgary for the next day, so I was forced to purchase another ticket to Calgary on the correct day. But because that next-day ticket was never canceled (even though the Delta ticket agent said she would), Delta classified me as a “no-show” and canceled all my flights home.
If you don’t make your flight to a destination, the airline automatically cancels your return flights at that destination — assuming you no longer need them — and resells the tickets without ever refunding or notifying you.
I’m unsure if this is Delta policy or an industry standard, but it’s criminal either way.
I did not discover this until two days later — at 4:00 AM, at a ticket counter in the Victoria airport — as I was trying to fly home.
Quite a couple of days of travel.
We say in storytelling:
“You have a good time, or you have a good story.”
I’m not sure if I had either.
