His name was Petro. “Petro like petroleum.”
He was a dirty-blond Lyft driver who picked me up at the peak of Mexican Independence Day celebrations two years ago in downtown Chicago. Bless his heart.
I know most people would prefer a silent and smooth ride home, but we barely made it two blocks before we were trapped between standstill vehicles in one of the worst nights of traffic in the city. So, someone was bound to speak.
(There’s a Christmas message in this September story, I promise.)
A frustrated Petro accepted defeat, turned to me and asked what I thought about people celebrating that way. I thought it would be the first and last question he’d ask, so I answered with a kind but dismissive, “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”
But Petro kept throwing questions my way while he tried to solve the traffic puzzle. Maybe talking to me helped him think. Then he asked what I do for a living and my answer left him even more puzzled.
“You’re an OPINION writer!? I just asked you what you thought about the traffic and you said ‘nothing’!” His obvious bewilderment and overall reaction to the irony made me laugh. I don’t know if it was his curiosity or his welcoming personality, but I let my guard down and decided to give a little piece of myself to a stranger I knew I’d never see again.
The rest of the drive home felt as if I was catching up with a long-lost friend. As if I was rediscovering the beauty in humanity after distancing myself from strangers during the pandemic.
Whatever it was, the human connection was very healing and powerful. So much so it gave me a form of release that made me cry when I got home, according to texts I sent my friends the morning after:
“... last night I had a deep conversation with my Lyft driver. He said he had never met a writer before, so he asked me a lot of questions in the 15 [mins] drive.
His name was Petro... ‘Petro like petroleum.’ <3
I felt really happy after we shook hands during the pandemic, because it was the first good conversation I’ve had with a person I didn’t know in a long time.”
I can’t pinpoint what exactly Petro saved me from. I wasn’t lonely or noticeably sad. He actually picked me up from a bar where I was with two great friends. But it was important enough to trigger something deep inside of me I didn’t know I needed help with.
That $24 Lyft ride was one of those unforgettable life moments where I believe fate stepped in by pairing up a chatty and curious driver with a closed-off and quiet passenger.
I think of that night around this time each year. When the sun sets at 4 p.m., when the day seems to end before our life after work gets started, and when Chicago clears out as people travel out of state, or back to the suburbs, for the holidays.
While you’re (hopefully) surrounded by those you love, you might be leaving some people you care about behind. Even if they’re just going to be alone for a week or two, the holidays might make isolation feel more extreme. But the good thing is, as Petro taught me, you don’t need a big and special gesture to make people feel seen and appreciated.
A simple hello can help people — whether you know them or not — through stressful, dark and frustrating times.
Write to Someone in Chicago at someoneinchicago@suntimes.com or fill out this form.
