Ten Years as a Designated Driver, and Every Passenger Is a Monster or Immortal

I've worked as a designated driver for ten years and taken all kinds of bizarre jobs. But this one nearly scared the soul out of me.

My mother, who had kidney failure, was waiting for dialysis money. I was three months behind on rent, and my landlord was banging on my door. With nowhere else to turn, I accepted an exorbitantly priced job driving from a crematorium to a cemetery.

The old man who got into my car at the crematorium wore a burial shroud. His face was as white as paper, and the temperature inside the car dropped ten degrees the moment he climbed in. I still had the nerve to brag, "I've seen it all!"

It wasn't until the old man got out and stuffed a stack of hundred-billion-denomination ghost money into my hands that it finally dawned on me

I'd been driving a real ghost!