Between Chardonnay and Resilience

Between Chardonnay and Resilience

It was Tuesday, January 21, and Madison had decided to remind me why I lived here—-10 degrees, sharp enough to freeze your breath. I stood at my house, waiting for the Uber to rescue me, while my husband’s car sat stranded at his gym. Family health issues were weighing on my mind, and nothing about the morning felt easy. It had been a while since I’d called for a ride, but in that moment, it seemed like the only option. As I waited, I thought back to a ride I’d had just a few days earlier—one that made me shake my head and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Jamie had been one of my riders. What was supposed to be a 10 a.m. pick-up turned into a 10:20 departure—she had kept me waiting, like I was her personal chauffeur. When she finally descended the stairs of her over-the-top McMansion in Bishop’s Bay, she waved apologetically.

“No problem,” I said, even though 20 minutes of sitting there was hardly the worst thing in the world. I was getting paid for it, after all.

Jamie was charming—chatty, friendly, and funny—but there was an earnestness to her complaints that was almost endearing. It was like she genuinely thought life could always be just a bit better, like she had some cosmic right to perfect service.

“I mean, Char-do-nay. What am I, a Real Housewife?” she asked, dramatically slumping into the seat.

I smiled. “They can’t treat you like that.”

“I know! So, I wrote the CEO of Delta,” she said, dead serious. “And to make matters worse, my seat wouldn’t recline, and the WiFi didn’t work!”

I could almost see her indignation hanging in the air, as cold and sharp as the weather. Was it privilege, or just human nature to complain when something doesn’t go as planned? Sure, her complaints were ridiculous, but weren’t we all guilty of overreacting when things didn’t go our way?

As I watched the cold world pass by, I realized I wasn’t the only one living through a tough moment. The absurdity of Jamie’s outrage was just a small piece of the picture—there were bigger things at play. Then, a gold Prius appeared, pulling me out of the cold and into something warmer.

Ramesh’s car wasn’t new, but it felt like an oasis. The heater blasted, but it was his smile that made me feel like I’d stepped into a pocket of warmth. The usual small talk about the weather quickly shifted when Ramesh told me that Madison schools would close tomorrow. It was so cold, even the kids had to stay inside.

He was chatty, and before I knew it, we were deep in conversation. I asked the usual question I get as an Uber driver: “So, how long have you been driving?”

“About 10 years,” he said. “I used to work for Oscar Mayer. But when Kraft Heinz took over, things changed. They eventually shut down the Madison plant. That was my life for years. When it ended... well, I had to keep going. Driving gave me that.”

I remembered the plant closing—the moment when everything shifted, leaving so many people, like Ramesh, searching for something new. He had found it in driving, meeting people, hearing stories. And it reminded me of my own story. I had left a job in Miami, unsure of what came next. Like Ramesh, I needed to keep moving. But for me, driving wasn’t just a way to survive—it became the bridge to something else.

“I’ve met so many people, heard so many stories,” Ramesh said. “It reminds me that there’s still a lot of good people out there.”

I thought about that as we drove. We all face unexpected change, moments that rewrite the life we thought we were living. Progress doesn’t come without its messes, but somehow, we carry on.

When Ramesh dropped me off at my husband’s gym, the cold hit me again—brutal, like a slap. I stepped out, thanked him, and headed inside, replaying the day in my mind.

Jamie and Ramesh—two riders, each with their own reality. Their lives were worlds apart, but in that shared moment, their stories intersected with mine. One made me laugh; the other made me think. But both reminded me of something crucial—Uber isn’t just a ride. It’s a space where lives briefly touch, where we glimpse something deeper, even if just for a minute.

Sometimes, it’s the warmth of a car on a bitter day. Other times, it’s the solidarity of two strangers navigating their paths. And sometimes, it’s just Chardonnay.