At first, I told myself I was being dramatic. Maybe it was just allergies. Spring, mold, pollen, someone’s dog dander hitching a ride on a hoodie. Nothing a little over-the-counter magic couldn’t handle, right?

So I did what any full-time rideshare driver would do when weird symptoms start popping up mid-shift: I raided the pharmacy aisle like I was stocking up for allergy armageddon. Claritin, Benadryl, Zyrtec—if it ended in -ine, I probably took it. I even kept a stash in my glovebox like a mobile apothecary.

But the reactions didn’t stop. Not really. They morphed. Some days it was a headache with intense pressure dispersed in certain points in my head. Other days it was that hives on my neck. Once, I had to pull over and catch my breath. I imagine it’s what drowning feels like, or a fish out of water

That’s when I graduated from “maybe I’m allergic to something” to “maybe I’m allergic to someone.”

So I got techy. I bought a portable air purifier that hangs around my neck—a tiny little contraption that makes me look like I’m trying to repel ghosts. It scared some passengers, I joked that I was demoing my Bain costume for Halloween. Not completely, but enough to breathe easier on most rides. Which was more than I could say for the seasonal allergy meds that were starting to feel like expensive Tic Tacs.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the pattern: no passengers, no symptoms. The moment I switched to food delivery, my body calmed down like it had been on edge for months and finally got a break. The minute I accepted a rideshare passenger again, eventually, boom—back to square one. Scratchy throat. Blurry vision. The air in the car felt different. Heavier. Wrong.

That’s when the paranoia kicked in. Was it perfume? Laundry detergent? Some freaky chemical in hair products? What about clothes washed in certain fabric softeners? Could it be drug residue? Fentanyl? Meth dust? Who knows what rides on the soles of people’s shoes?

I started wiping down the seats after every trip. I deep cleaned the car more often than I cleaned myself. I even wondered if I should invest in a hazmat suit, or at least some N95s.

This wasn’t normal. I knew that. But I also knew this wasn’t just in my head. Something was making me sick, and I had no idea what. The only thing I was sure of was that I couldn’t keep driving like this forever.

Coming up next: Part 3 – “Evidence in a Condiment Cup”
Because the day I found reddish dirt on my floor mat was the day this mystery got its first clue.