Dear Lyft Driver of My “Fresh Ride,”

Dear Lyft Driver of My “Fresh Ride,”

Thank you for arriving promptly for my trip this morning. Unfortunately, the moment I opened your car door, I was immediately transported into what I can only describe as the aftermath of a Yankee Candle factory explosion.

Sir, the potency of your “Ocean Breeze Meets Midnight Musk Meets Grandma’s Potpourri Basket” air freshener cocktail was so intense I nearly blacked out before we hit the first stoplight. My nostrils staged a walkout, and I’m fairly certain my lungs are now 40% Glade.

By the time we pulled into my driveway, I had tears streaming down my face—not from emotion, but from the sheer chemical warfare happening in your Suburban. If your goal was to fumigate my soul and embalm me alive before I even made it home, mission accomplished.

Sincerely,

Passenger in the Back Seat (now Googling “how long until Febreze leaves your bloodstream”)