Describe yourself your dating profile
But the way he talks now—which is large—he’s surely making up for lost time.When I tease him about his skyrocketing desirability, he deflects with a wisecrack about women on demand: Yeah, we call that Boob-er.
I signed up online like every other prospective driver, a relatively painless process involving a background check and an online tutorial. One of the guys sighs audibly—it’s a bar here in Los Angeles, apparently; Silver Lake, to be precise—and then he barks: Turn around and take a left on Sunset. Just for the record, I have been waiting in this brat’s driveway for fifteen minutes while he (I’m just guessing here) stared at himself in the mirror and (again, just guessing here) debated exactly how many rope bracelets still qualifies as I won’t notice the pimp cup he and his friends are sipping from until they get out of the car, which is probably a good thing—I’m a bit of a neat freak, and I’ve never enjoyed so much as a Nutri-Grain bar inside my car. For the past week, I’ve turned my 2013 Prius (fuck yeah) into a taxicab, driving nights for uber X, the low-cost arm of the ride-on-demand company Uber, which, if you live in a major American city, either has already transformed how you get around town or will within the next few years.Late last year, a snapshot of what appeared to be Uber’s financials was leaked to the website Valleywag, and though Uber declined to confirm the numbers, they told the story of a company in mid-boom.The story might have ended there, except that Kalanick’s callous directive about how to handle the fallout—he blamed the media for suggesting Uber was somehow liable for these incidents that aren’t even real in the first place—was accidentally made public.When asked about it now, he repeats flatly that the incident just didn’t happen and passes on the chance to walk back his remarks: I don’t know if I would do anything differently.The company’s reported valuation: $3.7 billion dollars.
Anecdotally, though, there seemed to be something vaguely, well, douchey about the way people talked about Uber.
(Not to stereotype, but mostly they looked like guys who drive cabs.) From there, Uber operates more like a pimp than a boss: Depending on the city, Uber gets approximately 20 percent; the driver pockets the rest. You pick people up, drive them where they tell you, drop them off. That first night, I pulled up to a house in Beverly Hills and watched a teenage girl with a backpack hug her mom good-bye on the porch, then climb into the backseat of my car. BOOM.) I don’t think I’ve talked to a teenage girl since I was a teenager, and it hasn’t gotten any easier. So rather than make potentially litigious small talk, I just turned up the radio. and logged on to Uber’s site to see how much total money I’d made after the company took its cut.
(I did my best Sherlock Holmes trying to work out the story here. She gave me an address in the Palisades and looked down at her i Phone for the next twenty minutes. (Uber bill: $26.)—but accidentally pressed play on a Tegan and Sara song instead. (A slow Tuesday night: four fares, $64.) That’s when I noticed my approval ratings.
Second, and just as important: I vow to look the other way while you, say, make out in the backseat (that happened) or refer a friend to your coke dealer (that, too). ) and thought, But the thrill—and it is thrilling—is the semi-sanctioned voyeurism. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t something sexual about the whole thing, too. We’re in the digital age, but people seem to crave old-fashioned human interaction wherever they can get it.
It’s an understanding, arrived at with no words: We’ll never see each other again, therefore you may act like an animal. Late one night, I stopped at a 7-Eleven for a cup of coffee, and I found myself all too happy to chat with a traffic cop who looked like Retta from But something happened around the third night: At the risk of sounding hippie-dippy, I started to give myself over to the experience. I dropped a guy off in an alleyway one night (speakeasy? Early one morning, I picked up a guy in West Hollywood and drove him to his hotel. And when you drive a taxicab, man, people tell you some weird shit.
I tried to think of a conversation starter, but really, anything a 35-year-old man says to a girl with a backpack sounds pervy. Or the time this massive dude riding solo sat next to me in the front seat (weird) and reached for his wallet at the end of the ride. Passengers rate drivers anonymously on a scale from 1 to 5; I needed to maintain a 4.7 rating to stay employed.