Uber

So, I’m an Uber driver now. Which basically means I’m a taxi driver with a super cool app on my phone. Emphasis on super cool. Except not so much. All of my Uber experiences thus far have scared the motherfucking shit right out of me. All both of them.

That’s right. I’ve only taken two fares. The first of which was almost a month ago. It was Sunday night. Maybe eight p.m.. I thought, to hell with it, I’m gonna give it a shot! My driver account had been active for 24 hours by this point, but every time I psyched myself up for actually, you know, GIVING A STRANGER A RIDE, I’d find something that needed to be done first (like getting a car wash and buying a taser).

On and on the excuses went until that Sunday night when I finally pressed the “go online” button on my super cool Uber Partner app and made myself available for ride requests.

And sure enough, the surge. Uber has implemented “surge pricing” to meet demand during peak times. Simple supply and demand. If there’s a high demand for drivers, the price goes up. They say it’s to entice drivers to get out on the road, thus supplying the demand (see how that works?), but Uber is a $40 billion dollar company so you tell me.

Within a minute of going online, I received a request. And here’s where shit went downhill.

Peeps, I’m going to let you in on a secret. Driving to random places to pick up random people to drive them to other random places is FUCKING SCARY.

When you accept a ride, you have no idea who you’re picking up (sure, you get a first name and a rating, but still). You have no idea how they’ll behave. You have no idea where you’re taking them (at least, not until you’re picked up your passenger; then you get an address but for all you know, it could be the address to a deserted house where they fully intend to rape and murder you). It’s almost like you’ve been willingly abducted.

In this case, his name was Eric. He sat in the back seat. (Still not sure if I prefer that or the passenger seat.) When I asked if he had a preference for music, he said, “Whatever you want. Stephanie, I just want to experience you.” (Fucking creeper!)

Later, during our 20 minute drive to a deserted rape/murder house in Long Beach (I was convinced that’s where we were going), I casually asked where he was from. To which I got the extended version of “Europe.” I was in such a panic at this point that all I heard was “blah blah country in Europe blah blah went to war blah blah people are so strange blah blah blah.” And then: “would you give up your religion to save the world?”

I grew up with a mother who told me that when God came back to save the world, Satan would go door to door and ask people to choose him or God and if they chose God, he would chop off their head.

So, yeah. I had Satan sitting in my backseat. And I was about to get my head chopped off. Thanks, mom.

I can’t remember anything else about that trip. I just know I didn’t want to go out by way of beheading. Owie.

We got to the deserted rape/murder house (which was actually a crowded bar in the middle of crowded downtown Long Beach) in one piece. He said thank you as he got out of my car. I think I said something in response. I immediately gave him 5 stars for not killing me. And after I drove away I immediately pulled back over, in no shape to drive, as my heart raced, my teeth chattered, and my hands shook uncontrollably.

I earned $1 per minute during that trip. I normally wouldn’t share that kind of information on my blog because it’s kind of tacky, right? But $1/minute is, like, triple what I currently make in my day job. But dangerous jobs are usually high-paying, so I guess that makes sense.

In hindsight, I’m sure Eric was a totally normal dude. Okay, well, not totally normal, but I’m sure he wasn’t a rapist or murderer. That’s something, right? But the whole not knowing thing… not knowing who or where… it freaked me the fuck out.