Riding In Cars With ________.

Thanks to the struggling MTA and a little bit of laziness, I’ve been in and out of rideshares pretty frequently this year. I’ve been a loyal Uber patron since 2014 and recently found Juno and Via. On most days I am grateful for this alternative way to get around Brooklyn. I’ll never get over the […]

Thanks to the struggling MTA and a little bit of laziness, I’ve been in and out of rideshares pretty frequently this year. I’ve been a loyal Uber patron since 2014 and recently found Juno and Via. On most days I am grateful for this alternative way to get around Brooklyn. I’ll never get over the idea that in just a few minutes I can be picked up and whisked to my destination, either just a few neighborhoods away or clear across the borough. I often think about the money I could be saving by just swiping the MetroCard I prepay for, but the time saved? The air conditioning? It’s all worth it. I’ll also never get over the ease with which I hop into these cars with drivers I don’t know. It’s the same ease with which I hop into my father’s car, into a friend’s car.

As a native New Yorker I pride myself on having my guard up at all times, but for the past few years I’ve been in and out of cars with complete strangers more often than with people I trust and I’d never given it a second thought. I trust the app and I trust these drivers to get me to my destination safely and they always have. But I’m realizing now that getting to point B doesn’t always mean a safe ride.

The weekend of August 24th to August 26th I was in three different Ubers and each time there was something to complain about. It wasn’t the kind of complaint that Uber assumes you’re going to make—“I was involved in an accident”, “I lost an item”, “My vehicle wasn’t what I expected”.” Not even “My driver was unprofessional” best expresses just how uncomfortable and unsafe I was made to feel in two of my three rides.

On Friday evening I selected an Uber Pool to get me to the other side of Brooklyn. As the last person to join the ride, I was designated to the front seat. It started off well enough; my driver was chatty, but that had never been an issue for me and it was clear he had been in a friendly, lively conversation with my co-riders. It wasn’t until he switched his focus to me that it took a turn toward unprofessional and unsafe.

I laughed a lot. It’s my “I feel uncomfortable” tick. It’s also how I’ve always navigated unwanted interactions with men. The conversation started with him questioning my nationality. Telling the other rider that I must be familiar with African soup because I look like I’m from Senegal. I am not. I laughed and stated that my family is actually from Jamaica. He responded to this normally at first, turning up the reggae he was playing in the car, saying “Wha gwan?” sounding very much like Barack Obama when he visited the island. I laughed. He then asked me if I could teach him some patois. Again I laughed…and said no. I wish the conversation had ended there. It didn’t. Because then my driver said “Oh come on. We can trade. I’m sure I’ve got something you want.” And suddenly I was very aware of how much time I had left on the ride. I took my phone out to check my exact location and to shoot a text to the friend I was on my way to meet:

“pretty sure my uber driver just propositioned me…”

I could have been wrong. I could still be wrong, but considering that we were complete strangers to each other I can’t imagine what else he could have meant by “I’m sure I’ve got something you want.” I responded with “I really don’t think so” and laughed…again. The conversation kept going but my mind was elsewhere. I looked down at my bare thighs in my short shorts and kept wishing I’d put on a different top. But I quickly dismissed those feelings because I know better. I know that the circumstances had nothing to do with my choice of dress that day and everything to do with the choice this driver had made.

I got to my destination and out of that car. I even gave my driver a friendly goodbye because I was so relieved. I felt safe again and laughed some more when I told the entire tale to my friend. He advised me to let Uber know about the ride, but I kept thinking about the gig economy, about what I’d read about Uber ratings, about struggling drivers. I didn’t want to “mess with his money”, instead I’d decided to bury how I was feeling and tried to move on.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that what I’d experience wasn’t right. And I felt that way again on Sunday night when in another Uber ride with a different driver, I was made to feel that exact same way. Somehow the most awkward part of that ride was not when my fellow passenger and the driver got into a heated exchange and she exited the ride early. Once she left it was just me and the driver and he had some questions. He wanted to know if I lived where we were headed or where he picked me up. And for some reason I answered—“where we’re headed. Park Slope.” He considered that for a moment, looked me up and down and said “So, what were you doing there?”

I keep describing that moment as the last straw. You might ask why. The question seems innocent enough, right? But no. Not with the way he looked at me, not with the way he leaned back in his seat—too smug, too comfortable. Fortunately, I was just a few blocks away from home and when we pulled up I jumped out of that car without a goodbye. Unlike with Friday’s ride, I reported this one immediately. It was easier to since there were other factors that made that ride a negative one. I threw in a line about the driver asking me a “personal question”, like an afterthought. Uber responded immediately and refunded my fare. I felt better, but not for long. I kept thinking about Friday, about “I’m sure I’ve got something you want.” I slept on it. And when I woke up the next day I knew I had to say something. It wasn’t about the money, it was about the fact that a line had been crossed with me and who knows how many other women and Uber needed to know. I went into the app and recounted the story of Friday’s ride.

I started with:

“It’s imperative to report that my ride Friday night with this driver made me extremely uncomfortable”

and I ended with:

“I’m requesting my fare for this ride be refunded and that someone from uber reach out to let me know what kind of work you’re doing with your drivers to make sure that this line doesn’t continue to be crossed.”

And in between I was sure to mention:

“I’m sure I’ve got something you want.”

I hit submit and was relieved. I didn’t expect an immediate response, but minutes later there it was:

“Thanks for letting us know, Rudine. We’re sorry to hear that you’re unhappy with this ride. We’ve added $3 of credit to your account which will automatically be applied toward your next trip. Drivers who partner with Uber agree to maintain a high standard of professional service. We believe that this includes respect and politeness toward riders. We appreciate you taking the time to get in touch, let us know if there is anything else we can do to help. Thank you!”

$3 and a canned response? Surely this was incorrect. In 2018 a company like Uber would definitely take more time with a complaint that included the words “extremely uncomfortable” and “incredibly unsafe.” … Right? Wrong. I waited for a follow up that never came and felt defeated. That response, to me, doesn’t seem to be that of a company that takes rider safety as seriously as they should. I can only assume they didn’t even read my message. And if they did? They think my experience is worth just $3. Which is worse?

While I haven’t been in an Uber since this happened, it is more than likely that I’ll be in one again and soon. Whether I like it or not it’s ingrained in my day-to-day life. But in this time, I’ve been reflecting on my hesitation to report Friday’s ride—trying to get to the bottom of why I was so willing to deprioritize my own comfort, my safety, my feelings because I didn’t want to rock the boat. And while it took me just two days to change my mind, that was two days too long. I feel like there is more to be done. Sharing my story here doesn’t feel like enough. I want to hear from Uber. I have some question for them.

Why should I continue to trust you? Why should anyone?

How is a canned response about policy acceptable to you when it is clear that your drivers don’t give a shit about policy?

Just how far was my driver supposed to go before you consider him to be more than “unprofessional”?

Providing some answers, Uber, is the “anything else” you can do to help. And even that is just a start.