We don’t have the Uber Pool option in SA. Sounds like you drive in Jersey?
If you haven’t tried Lyft lately, you might consider trying it again. I have both apps on my phone, and the Lyft app now seems to work even more smoothly than the Uber app.
Wait, what? I almost always sit in the front. I didn’t know I was annoying drivers.
Yeah, if I were driving a stranger somewhere I’d want them in the back. Can’t you lock the passenger front door (assuming you are driving a 4 door) or alternatively keep a duffel bag or something on the front passenger seat?
As the more observant of you may have noticed, I am in San Antonio, TX, a city which translates to Saint Anthony. And as one would expect in a city given a name which is a Spanish derivation of a named saint, San Antonio is very:
- Catholic
- Hispanic
Which explains why a city of about 1.7 million people has no fewer than 5 Catholic Universities.
So I picked up Mary one night, a young student of Trinity University who was leaving some apartment complex near UTSA (U Texas, San Antonio, not Catholic). And Mary happened to be my introduction into the world of “Ubers of Shame”.
What is an Uber of Shame, you ask? Well, it’s just like a walk of shame, only in an Uber. Tends to involve a young woman who hooked up for the night and is feeling some form of regret… either she didn’t intend to hook up, hooked up with the wrong guy, hooked up with the right guy at the wrong time… something. A typical UoS goes like this:
Run to an apartment complex. There’s a young couple out there, a woman dressed in her evening clothes and a guy in a t-shirt and boxers. He’s hanging all over her, her back is to him as she’s just ready to leave. They exchange vague promises to snap each other, then she gets in and stares out the window the entire time while I drive her back to the bar where she left her car.
Mary is just the most extreme example of this.
Get a call, UTSA and 1604, one of the many apartment complexes on Chase Hill Blvd. About 4am, Mary gets in the car - I press “proceed to destination” and we’re off, headed to the Trinity University dorms. Now Mary is young… while 51 has blurred the differences between 18 and 19, I’m 99% sure that Mary is a freshman in school.
Mary is quiet for most of the drive, but getting onto 281 from 410 she begins to talk.
“You look like a nice person.”
“Well, four out of five dentists agree, so, yeah.”
chuckles. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you think a person is a slut if she sleeps with someone she’s not dating?”
Well, that’s definitely different than the “what’s it like driving for Uber” question I was expecting… this is possibly not just Mary’s first Uber of shame, it might be her first casual hookup ever. Like I said… young.
Pause.
Think.
“I’m going to tell you the same thing I tell my daughter: Your sexuality is your own agency. Do with it as you please. Understand, however, that other people are going to judge you and there’s nothing you can do about it except decide to use their judgments against yourself… or not. And that is your choice. So, to answer your question, the only opinion which really matters is yours - do you feel like someone who sleeps with someone they’re not dating is a slut?”
“I… uh… I never thought of it that way. It’s just something I was raised with.”
“Well, part of your age is unlearning some the things you’ve ‘known’ since childhood, which includes ethical standards we were raised with and taught by our parents and church. And it looks like we’re here, so to answer your question before I drop you off: No, I don’t think you’re a slut if you sleep with someone you’re not dating regularly.”
Mary thanks me, gets out and walks into her dorm. She doesn’t tip.
Elisabeth. Elisabeth is one of the few, very few, people I remember picking up multiple times - the spelling of her name and the tattoo on her left arm pretty much told the tale that this was a repeat customer.
Elisabeth was an older woman, mid-30s, anglo.
-
First ride I pick her up at a bar, we start talking about her 3 boys (all with developmental issues), her old man (long gone, but still sending child support), and why she’s leaving the bar so early (12:30am is early?). Drop her off at her home.
-
A week later, get a call at 6am. It’s Elisabeth. Meeting me in a completely different part of town, she’s at the end of the driveway, guitar in hand, looking absolutely wrecked. E had partied hard the previous night, apparently cocaine and sex were involved, but the responsible mother she is, she was making it home in time to wake her kids up and fix their breakfast. We all should be proud of E’s devotion!
-
A month later, another early call - Elisabeth again, this time in the east side of town. More of a traditional Uber of Shame because there was a guy with a t-shirt and boxers hanging all over her. A bit different in that there were two guys in tees and boxers saying “Good night, baby.”
I haven’t run into her since. Hope she’s OK.
Just ask the driver where he prefers you to sit. Front, back, it doesn’t matter to me. But it does others.
Please tell me this contains a typo. I don’t want to live in a world where mid-30s is “older”
“Older than Mary” is the intent behind that sentence.
I did, yep.
I’m about to get rid of my coupe and get a sedan, so I may go back to ridesharing. I’ll give Lyft another try.
I figure people knew to sit in the back - like a taxi.
They don’t have Pool outside of Jersey?
I don’t drive, and for various reasons suspect I will not ever be able to drive. So if I want to go anywhere, I have to take Uber or beg a ride off of someone. Uber is a lifesaver for me.
I don’t know about “outside Jersey”, but they don’t offer it in San Antonio. Likely because our city council isn’t as bought and paid for by taxi companies as they appear to be in the NE.
As the constant reader of this thread has likely noticed, I tend to work late at night, early in the morning. I do this for three simple reasons:
- This is the time when it is busiest
- This is the time when it is most profitable
- It’s the time when people need Uber the most.
I tend to earn about $25-50/hour from 12pm-6am – there are exceptions on both sides of that range, of course – and it’s because I’m constantly driving, being queued (having a ride assigned to you prior to finishing the current ride) for hours on end, etc.
San Antonio is a very spread-out city – rides of 20, 30 miles are not uncommon – and it is a very young city with 25% of the population being under the age of 19 (by means of comparison, Atlanta is 18%, San Fran is 13%, Chicago 21% (US Census Data)). And, as I mentioned upthread, lots of universities – over 100,000 college students attending 31 higher-education facilities/campuses, 1 of every 17 people in SA is attending college.
SA is also a party city. Let me ask you: Does your town shut down one Friday in April – governments (schools, PO, trash collecting, city services, more) and businesses – so a half-million people can gather downtown to watch a flower parade, a parade which is the culmination of a two-week city-wide block party which hosted events which had, in total, 3 million people attending (SA’s population is 1.7 million, btw)?
What this means… for the Uber driver… is that Thursday nights to Sunday evenings are insane. College kids! Bars! A party culture! A spread-out city! Surges!
So it’s two-whatever in the morning and I’m somehow on the NE side of the city. As expected, I get a call to the Blue Bonnet, a honky-tonk a few miles outside 1604 on 35, not too far from the new IKEA (we’re so proud!).
I get to the Blue Bonnet, a collage of pickup trucks, sequins, and cowboy hats, to gather Tiffani, a 30-something woman with her gaggle of friends all pouring into my car. Tiffani sits in the front passenger side, there are three other women in the back seat, one of whom… the errant passenger… decides to lean against the door and start snoozing (having people fall asleep is common).
I press “proceed to destination” – going to north New Braunfels, about 17 miles away. I confirm with Tiffani who asks
“Would it be possible for you to drop my friends off at their home after you drop me off? Can we do that?”
Of course we can do that. Adding stops or changing the destination to D2 upon arrival at D1 are the two ways to do this. Tiffani tries, but fails, to add a stop to the Uber app and I tell her not to worry, I can take care of it when we stop.
They’re loud. They want the radio turned to Kicks Country, they turn up whatever Alan Jackson song is playing and do the drunk woman sing-along bit for a while. But they calm down, start talking, a pretty normal ride.
We get off the New Braunfels exit and Tiffani starts discussing the drop off plans. Turning around she says, pointing from driver-side to middle to passenger-side, saying
“You’re going to take Angela to her home in Oakmont Downs. Steph… you going home or to David’s?” “David’s”…. “Oooh, you get yourself some, girl! OK, you’re taking Steph to David’s in south New Braunfels and… I don’t know that girl.”
They all turn to Sleeping Beauty.
“I don’t know her.”
“I don’t know who she is either.”
“Huh.” (Tiffani) “I thought she was with one of you. Honey! Hey, honey! Wake up! Steph… shake her.”
“… wha…?”
“Honey? Hey, are you OK?”
“… where am I?”
“Looks like you crawled into the wrong Uber, sugar. Where do you live? What’s your name?”
“Morgan.”
Tiffani went into immediate protector mode. The change in her attitude was palpable.
“OK, Morgan, we’ll get you home safely.” Turns to me. “So, what do we do?”
“Get the address from her, I’ll drop the three of you off, and I’ll keep the ride going until I drop her off. That way you can track her and make sure the car is moving until she gets home. I would also exchange phone numbers so you can text her, if you’re worried about her safety.”
But, yeah… from Morgan’s perspective, she was drunk, in a strange man’s Uber, 30 miles from her home… it is a worrying situation.
Morgan lived near Lackland AFB, on the SW side of the city. There are plenty of honky-tonks there, why she needed to go to one 30 miles away was unknown, but she did. I take Tiffani… then Angela… then Stephanie home. I text Tiffani at each stop, letting her know when each friend left. Then took Morgan home, to her mobile home near Lackland. Texted Tiffani when I dropped her off, closed the ride. 59 miles, 200% surcharge, $141 to me.
I asked Morgan… forgetting this was done… if she wanted Tiffani’s number so she could be reimbursed.
“No, I’m good.” Gets out, walks into her trailer.
:rolleyes:
Not really long enough for the full story treatment, but Elvis was in my car this weekend. Oddly, Elvis is now a pudgy Hispanic guy in his 20’s so it may not be the same guy as the King, but you can’t take chances, right?
Anyway, Elvis allowed me to create and fulfill an instant Bucket List item when I exclaimed before he shut the car door upon exiting:
“Elvis has left the Uber.”
… a pause, then he mutters
“… dammit.”
So what does it mean for a potential passenger to have a low rating? Can the drivers see this and opt not to accept?
here in la county we have the uber pool but no one uses it im told ……
Few passengers have lower than a 4.xx, but I have noticed the lower the score, the more likely it is to have an unpleasant drive.
We can refuse ride requests, but are cautioned not to do it too often. I refuse ride requests because of (a) distance to pick up point, or (b) request is “behind” me while I’m on a freeway. Just don’t like turning around and backtracking. 
The vast, vast, vast majority of my passengers get a 5. All others get a 1. I’m pretty binary like that - if you irritated me enough to care to change your rating, you’re getting a one. Period.
Disclaimer: While it would be easy to discount the following story as a “Lib* trashing a Trump supporter”, I attest that every word is true… well, true to the best my narrative abilities and memory can bring about. I am not adding words or concepts to his quotes. I am not removing things he may have said… like how much he loves his kids… to make him look even worse. If he sounds like the modern liberal cliché of what a white conservative male would sound like, the blame lies with him, not with me. I don’t know what else to tell you.
Also, definition of local usages: “Mexican” = Person from Mexico. “Hispanic” = US Citizen of Hispanic Descent. “Anglo” = White People.
Late at night, Friday, the bars are closed. Heading out of downtown when I get a request: Lyft, behind me. Cancel. Another Lyft request, behind me. Cancel. A third Lyft request, also behind me, but… holy shit! Look at this ride**! ACCEPT! ACCEPT! ACCEPT! ACCEPT!
I pick up two guys, Jorge and Michael (Jorge was the guy who called the ride). Both are mid-30s, Michael is looking a little rough – cuts, bruises on his face. Both have been drinking. The conversation begins, and for the entire ride… which took almost an hour… was like this.
Michael: “Man, I’ve never been hit so hard in my life.”
Jorge: “Dude, just let it go.”
“I can’t. Why should I have to be afraid because I’m a Westerner, that I support Western Civilization?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with that, man. You were just being obnoxious.”
“What is so obnoxious about wanting somebody to speak English?”
“Dude, this is San Antonio. It’s the biggest city close to Mexico, so you’re going to get a lot of Mexicans mixing with the Hispanics.”
“Man… did you see that guy? He just sucker punched me.”
“Dude… ” (Jorge seemingly has a degree in Dude-Speak) “Dude… he stood in front of you and asked you to repeat what you said, then he hit you.”
“Yeah, and I wasn’t even finished repeating it! Seriously, all I said to him was ‘Hey, ese, you know English is a good language too!’.”
“Look, dude, you can’t be approaching Mexicans with that shit. They aren’t your typical Hispanics that you’re used to…”
“Hell, I can’t even be proud of being a Westerner around them, either! All I wanted them to do was speak a real Western language, not that Spanish crap.”
Me: “Spanish is a Western tongue.”
(Really, I know better. But sometimes I can’t help myself.)
“Bullshit.”
“No, it’s part of the family of Romantic languages which are derived from Latin. It is far more close to the classic Western Civilization ideal than English is, which is a mongrel language derived from Norwiegian and Germanic tongues.”
“I think he’s right, dude.”
“The fuck he is!”
Me, into my phone: “OK, Google. ‘Is Spanish a Romance Language?’.”
Google, out loud: “The Romance languages (also sometimes called Romanic languages) are a language family in the Indo-European languages. They started from Vulgar Latin (In the Latin Language, “vulgar” is the word for “common,” so “Vulgar Latin” means “Common Latin”). The biggest Romance languages are Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italianand Romanian. They are called “romance languages” because they originate from Latin, the language spoken by the western Roman Empire. Their grammatical inflection system is simplified; especially they have lost most of the complex case structure of classical Latin…”
Me: “Stop.” (I really love voice activation.)
“…. I never been hit so hard in my life. Did you see that?”
“Dude, you were asking for it.”
“The hell I was! All I wanted to know is why he couldn’t speak English if he’s in America!”
“Dude, if that guy was a Mexican, he could’ve been Cartel.”
“So? I ain’t scared.”
(I could hear Jorge’s eyes rolling.)
“You know, what? I’m a Libertarian! I just want to be allowed to do what I want without other people being offended***. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, dude, it’s just you need to remember what’s offensive to you may not be offensive to others, and the other way around.”
“I mean, maybe I was a bit too aggressive. But that didn’t give the guy the right to punch me. Man, I’ve never been hit so hard in my life! One second I was standing there, the next second I was on the ground, you asking me if I was OK.”
“Yeah, dude, got to say – you picked the wrong fight.”
“But fuck him! This is America and you need to speak English in America! I am so sick and tired about how it’s OK to hate conservatives, nowadays. We don’t hate anybody, we’re all about inclusiveness, but everybody feels it’s OK to hate me because I’m a conservative****. It’s not fair.*****”
“Dude, it wasn’t your beliefs that he hit. It was your mouth which insulted him.”
“How? By asking him to speak English? Why is it insulting to ask somebody to speak English in a Western country?”
(For brevity’s sake, Mike and Jorge went on like this for an hour. Literally, the only topic of conversation was Mike getting knocked out by the Mexican and why it was unfair for Mike to be knocked out when he’s just “speaking truth” about Western Civilization. Jorge was a fuckin’ Saint, and if he’s still friends with Mike after this, he’s still a Saint, just a Stupid Saint.)
So we get to south Austin and I drop them off at Jorge’s house, Mike to get his truck and drive home. Wanting to keep my 300% surge ride going, I asked Mike if he would prefer to continue the drive to his house, maybe he can pick his truck up tomorrow? Mike declines.
I leave Jorge’s neighborhood – fortunately, he has a Valero at the entrance so I get some gasoline, seeing Mike leave, turning right onto whatever road, barely pausing at the stop sign.
WHOOP-WHOOP! Blue lights flashing, Mike gets pulled over about 100 yards down. Should have not rolled that stop sign, Mike! That triple Lyft fee is looking pretty cheap right now, huh?
I put the app in Destination Mode for the SA Airport and start driving from Austin to SA. Ten minutes later, got a call from somebody in Kyle who needs to go to the SA Airport, which was really cool because I got paid $46 for a ride I would’ve had to make anyway.
So, to conclude: I got to listen to a Trump supporter whine about how he got his ass kicked in a bar fight with a “Mexican” while getting paid $162 in the process (and the $46 made it a $200 round-trip – not bad for two hours “work”.) Might be my Best Ride Ever.
*And for a guy who volunteered for Gingrich, Dole, and Forbes in the 1990s, and voted for Dubya in 2000 and 2004, this is always funny when hurled at me. But, when thinking about how hard the R’s have moved to the Authoritarian Right, this is probably true by modern Overton Window standards.
** A 300% surcharge on a drive longer than 45 minutes. Damn straight I’m taking the 3X pay ride which will last about an hour.
*** Actually, not the worst definition of “Libertarianism” – the freedom to act without personal responsibility.
**** Being an asshole racist about it might have something to do with it, Mike.
***** An actual thing he said. “It’s not fair”.
I saw this “The K Chronicles” comic this morning and the first panel almost made me spit coffee out of my nose after reading this story from JohnT yesterday.
$141 for the ride home after a night out? That seems like a lot to spend, especially for college students. But then again, I was never a partier.
And the “All I wanted them to do was speak a real Western language, not that Spanish crap” was hilarious.
It is pricey, but I drove over 70 miles on that one ride, so I’m OK with it. 
(And these were 30-somethings, but I can see how this was unclear.)