When your Uber driver brings a time machine

The word must exist in some language, maybe French or Italian

The name next to the tiny photo of my Uber driver looked familiar, and so did the face. If it was him, I was in for one awkward (or interesting) ride with the ex-husband of the woman now married to my ex-husband.

Wrapping up a business trip, I was standing outside a hotel in Silicon Valley. My meeting had ended sooner than expected so I was headed to the airport to try to catch an earlier flight to New York. Since I wasn’t in a rush, I had chosen the shared ride feature.

I had two minutes to decide whether to cancel,