Behind the Wheel

A Rideshare Confessional

[idrivesf]

For Whom The Uber Tolls

It’s Saturday night… not even late. A few minutes after nine. I’m at Mission and 7th. Get a request for an address on Market, a block and a half away. I take a right on 7th and pull into the far left lane. As I turn onto Market, a girl in cut-off jeans and a tank top waves me down. She’s practically in the middle of the street. Grabs my door handle before I can even stop. Climbs in the backseat. I ask if she’s Andrea, the name of the person I’m supposed to pick up. She mumbles something and rolls down the window. The rider destination has already been added in the app so I start the ride. 

“We’re going to the Richmond then?” I ask.

She says nothing. I look over my shoulder. She’s curled up against the door, passed out. I start driving. Turn off Market onto Hayes and then right on Franklin. As I approach O’Farrell, I get a text from the generic Uber number: “I’m on 8th and Market across from Chase.”

  I immediately pull over. Wake up the girl in my back seat.

  “Hey, I think you got in the wrong car.”

She comes to, but her eyes are blurry. She’s not all there. It’s obvious she’s wasted. I don’t smell alcohol though.

  “You got into the wrong car,” I tell her again. She’s confused. “Uhhmmm… I can get out…” She has an accent. Possibly German. As her voice trails off, she looks around. She has no idea where she is. Fuck. I was hoping to make the $38 an hour guarantee Uber's offering this weekend by staying online as long as possible. But I can’t just leave her on the side of the street in her condition.

“Where are trying to go?”

She tells me an address on Battery Street. I realize that’s what she probably told me when she got in the car. I have her repeat the address a second time, just to make sure. Ask if she’s okay. “Yeah.” She curls back up against the door. I cancel the original ride and click the fare review link. Select the option “don’t charge – wrong client.” My phone rings. The generic Uber number. It’s Andrea, the girl who actually requested the ride. I explain, as apologetically as I can, that I picked up the wrong passenger. I tell her that I canceled the ride and will make sure she doesn’t get charged. And that I’ll send a follow up email to Uber. She asks what to do next. I tell her to request another Uber. Apologize again. I drive to the Financial District. Fighting traffic and shitting bricks. I've read way too many news articles about fuck-ups in Uber cars not to panic. As I rush through Nob Hill, hoping and praying nothing bad happens with this unconscious girl in my backseat, another request comes in. Fuck! I forgot to go offline. I let it time out. Make sure I'm no longer in driver mode. I don't need to screw up my acceptance rate too.

I'm relieved when I finally reach the address. There's even a place to pull in. It's a high rise with a glass lobby and storefronts. I wake the girl up.

  "Hey! We're here!"

I’m surprised how easily she comes to. But she’s still really out of it. I ask if she needs help. She says no. Reaches around the seat and floorboard, seemingly for her purse or phone… It doesn't look like she has either. I notice there are twigs in her hair. I ask if she’s okay. She says that she is. Opens the car door and careens into the street, in the opposite direction of the apartment building.

  I yell after her, "You're going the wrong way!"  Fortunately there’s no traffic. She spins around and heads towards the right building. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I call out. She comes back towards me and reaches for my hand. “Thank you so much.”  “You’re going to be okay, right?” “Yeah.” She walks to the building and struggles to get through the door. A guy eventually opens it for her. She moves aimlessly through the lobby and then gets into an elevator. I can only hope this is really where she’s staying and that she makes it into her apartment. At least she’s safer here than in the Civic Center. I pull over and email Uber. I explain in my message what happened and that I’m worried about how this mix-up will affect my rating. Since I have to rate Andrea before I can go back online, I’m sure she still has the option to rate me, at least until the fare has been reversed. I’ve worked hard to maintain my 4.9 rating. I’d hate to get dinged for what was essentially an emergency situation. Why were there twigs in her hair? I checked the back seat after she got out. There was an enormous amount of crushed leaves and crap on the floorboard. More than usual. The girl may have been drugged at a bar and fell into some bushes as she wandered through the Civic Center looking for a way home. With the influx of frat bros in San Francisco, GHB is floating around everywhere now. A few months back, the wife and a friend were drugged at a bar just a few blocks from our apartment. The wife managed to stumble home, but her friend woke up the next morning in the emergency room. This shit is real. I also wish there was a way to find out if she had actually requested an Uber and just mistaken me for her driver? Or was she so fucked up that she just saw the U in my window and expected me to take her home? The use of rideshare cars in San Francisco has become second nature for most people. Maybe, in her incapacitated state, she just followed instinct.  Uber, of course, would have some of these answers. They have the ability to see, in real time, all the Uber activity on the road. This isn’t the first time I’ve picked up the wrong passenger. It happened once while driving for Lyft. But that was several months ago and I was able to talk to somebody on the phone who told me he could see that the guy I was supposed to pick up had gotten into another car. Of course, that’s not an option with Uber. They have no apparent telephone support. And it’s been three days since I messaged them. I haven’t heard back. And doubt I ever will. The person reading support emails probably deleted it since I wasn’t crying foul.  The fact is, we are hardly protected if we get into an accident under normal circumstances. Since there's no support number, we have nobody to call. We are told to use our personal insurance, which wouldn't cover the damages since I was engaged in commercial activity at the time. We can only email Uber afterwards and hope their insurance company decides to cover it. They also charge us a deductible. Had there been an accident while I was driving this girl home, I could have tried to use my own insurance and say she was a friend, or that I was just helping her out. But it would be difficult to explain why she was in my back seat unconscious. And I'd have to hope she would play along, if she remembered anything the next day. Yeah, a real sticky situation. It’s kind of crazy to think how alone we are on the streets while driving for Uber, of Lyft. This time, a potential disaster was averted. But what about all the other times? I’m sure I'm not the first driver to face similar circumstances. And what happens if somebody winds up in the car of a driver who isn’t as charitable? Every week there are new reports of Uber drivers assaulting and sexually harassingpassengers. It seems Uber doesn’t worry about the negative publicity, as long as Uber is in the news cycle. Despite a storied history of erratic drivers, ridesharing continues to become commonplace. For each person who decides to avoid Uber because of a potential violent driver, there are others who see the counterpoint that one could just as easily be attacked by a cabbie. Still, it’s kind of ridiculous that when they have a chance to extoll the positive aspects of ridesharing, they are just as nonresponsive. At the very least, they could have emailed me back. Told me something. As it is, for all my effort, I’m just left with an overwhelming sense of how vulnerable we are out there. Every single one of us. 

[idrivesf]

Taking a Lyft Zine and a Lyft to the San Francisco Zine Fest

DAY ONE:  Rush out the door in the morning for day one of the SF Zine Fest and the car won't start. Flashing lights on the dash, flickering needles, an ominous clicking sound...  Since the car spent the previous afternoon on the fritz, we have a contingency plan. I grab the two boxes of zines and dump them into our large rolling suitcase. The Wife calls a Lyft.  A few minutes later, a nice older gentleman in a minivan drives us to the Bart. He's a retired dispatch supervisor for the city of Oakland. Doesn't like driving in San Francisco. Says when he gets a fare across the bridge, he turns off his app and hightails it back to the East Bay. I tell him I do the opposite. It's not a long ride to the MacArthur station. With Lyft's recently implemented lower rates, the fare is a shameful $5. The Wife tips him another $5.  After some difficulty getting through the turnstiles and almost taking the wrong train (I never use Bart and the Wife, who does, is still half asleep), we race under the Bay at warp speed. The doors are literally shaking.  At 16th and Mission, the closest Bart station to the Inner Sunset, where the fest is being held, we request another Lyft. Our driver this time is a former cabbie. Says he loves working for Lyft, but gripes about the new low rates. I know, I tell him. I'm making about $200 less a week from a month ago. The Lyft guy who shuttled the Wife to my rescue when the car stopped working the day before in West Oakland had a long list of grievances and seemed absolutely grateful to have a opportunity to express them to another driver. Not to mention the chorus of complaints I read every day on the Facebook groups for drivers. Lyft and Uber drivers are in open revolt, pawns in the rideshare price wars...  We talk about metaphysics and relationships for the rest of the trip. Pull up to the venue only ten minutes late. 

Set up next to our regular table mate, the lovely Sarah Bitely who does the comic Pimpkillah. While the girls catch up (it's officially been a year since we started tabling together), I make the rounds. Say hello to some folks. V. Vale. Joe Biel. Tomas Moniz. John Marr. Score a Flipside from '82 for a buck at a vintage zine booth. Head back to the table.  As suspected, the Lyft zine is popular. The other two zines I just reprinted, the Cult of Teddy Ruxpin and The Murky Realm, are moving as well. And people like the SHUT UP AND PUBLISH stickers. I give away a bunch. The "disrupt the disruptors" stickers are almost gone.  The fest ends sooner than expected. We say our goodbyes, eat burgers and walk out of the congestion along Irving as two Muni trains go by. We have to feed two cats in the Mission for a friend at Burning Man. Too exhausted to figure out how to use the Muni, we call a Lyft. The ride to the fest was only $11.  Within two minutes, a young guy in an Altima picks us up. Drives us over the hill into the Mission. Only been doing Lyft a few weeks, but after telling him I drove too, he goes off about the low fares. All those $6 rides, of which we only get $4.80 after Lyft's cut. The ride this time is $12. I round up again and leave a nice comment when I rate him 5 stars.  Hang out with the cats awhile, water some plants and make the long slog back to Oakland. Crash out. Still one more day of the fest. And plenty of Lyft zines to move.

DAY TWO:

We stumble bleary-eyed and half-caffeinated into the sunshine at ten AM on Sunday for day two of the SF Zine Fest. Walk to the Bart and catch a Millbrae train right away. After the last Oakland stop, it rockets under the Bay. Google says the Bart can go up to 80 mph, but with all the shaking and the deafening hum, it feels like we're heading to the moon.  We get off at 16th and Mission. Stroll up to Church to see where the N Line goes. Not Golden Gate Park. Call a Lyft. It's 25% Prime Time. We get an older guy. Says he just started driving for Lyft. Does it part time. Knows his way around without navigation though. Tells us he's lived in the Western Addition twenty years. A pleasant, friendly ride. We talk about the low rates. He asks if there's a difference with Uber. I tell him it's basically the same deal, price-wise, but there's no tipping and the passengers aren't as friendly. He likes Lyft. Says he prefers to talk. It makes the ride go faster. I agree. The three of us chat. Next thing I know, we're at the venue. 11:30. It took an hour and a half to get from Oakland to the Inner Sunset after a combination of walking, the Bart, a little more walking and a Lyft. Which was $11 with $2 extra for prime time. Wouldn't 25% be $2.75? I guess Lyft rounds down. I add four more dollars to the total. 

The fest starts off slow. And stays slow. Our table mate Sarah drops in for a little while, packs up and leaves to take a brief tour of the city before she heads back to LA. She doesn't miss much. On Saturday, I used my Square card reader at least ten times. Today, not once. Some cool trades though. I make the rounds again, talk to folks, sell a few Lyft zines and give away a bunch of stickers.  Around 3:00 things pick up, but an hour later, the fest is over. We load up and say our goodbyes. Walk down Lincoln. I'm dragging the suitcase, leaden with unsold zines and books, wooden display boxes and a full bottle of wine.  Six blocks later, I check the Lyft app. No drivers. We summon an Uber instead. Within 2 minutes, a former cabbie in a suit and cap pulls up and tries to load the suitcase for me. I protest. Heft it into his trunk myself. We get in the back. He suggests Oak Street and off we go. Traffic is bad, but he and the Wife are talking about his career as a cabbie and subsequent transition to Uber. He says he does UberBlack as well. Hence, the suit. Started with Uber when he was still driving a yellow cab and Uber just had UberBlack and UberTaxi. At first the cab companies didn't mind Uber, he says. They were getting more rides from the referrals. But after UberX was introduced, business went down. He switched over to rideshare and drives a taxi one day a week to keep his place on the cab medallion waiting list. He's also looking to get a TCP license. After that, he's legal no matter what. I tell him I've been noticing a lot of TCP cars around town. This is how Uber will win, he tells us. Regardless of what happens with ridesharing, they will always have the TCP drivers and the ability to lure cabbies away from the taxi companies with the promise of starting their own businesses. And he has a point. His car looks more like a cab than somebody's vehicle being used to ferry people around town as a side gig. There are credit card stickers on the window and a huge GPS system on his dash like you'd see in cabs. He seems happy, chatting away as he weaves in and out of traffic with a keen eye to the fluctuations in traffic. Like a pro. He is a much better driver than me.  The Wife is looking at the map in the Uber app which shows our car moving through the city. She suggests we go to the Civic Center Bart instead of the one in the Mission. Our driver agrees. It's about the same distance by car but one stop less on the train. He takes Franklin to Grove. I tell him to just let us out a block away where it's safe to pull over and get the suitcase out of the trunk.  We head to the station entrance. The escalator is not working. Lug the suitcase down the stairs as people scoot by on the left. A Pittsburgh train arrives as we reach the landing. The train is packed. With each stop downtown, more people pour in. The Giants game just let out. While we grasp the handrails and do the herky-jerky with our fellow passengers, the Wife completes the Uber transaction. Our ride was $11.34. The same rate as Lyft. I can't tip, she says. Then it hits me. Uber doesn't allow tipping through the app. You can't pay more even if you want to. But I have cash! It just totally escaped my mind. I feel like such a tool. After complaining bitterly in the past about not getting tipped as a driver, I do the same thing! Oh well.  Our weekend of using rideshares is adding up. But it saves us from having to take the bus, which would increase the already long commute by an hour or so. And we get to meet some interesting people along the way.  Like the guy on the Bart who calls himself Elvis. He's standing right next to us and, gesturing at our suitcase, says, I take it you're not coming back from the game. We tell him about the zine fest. He's curious. We explain zines and independent publishing. The Wife gives him a Lyft zine. Another guy behind me asks if I go to APE. I say I had in the past, but the APE is more for comics. All the while the conductor is yelling over the intercom, pissed about somebody jamming his doors. A few people wonder aloud if he's having a nervous breakdown. It's a relief to finally reach our stop and make the final slog home. That bottle of wine has our name on it.

[idrivesf]

TEN REASONS WHY YOUR UBER DRIVER HATES YOU

[idrivesf]

How to Get Kicked Out of A Lyft Driver Lounge: Write a Blog Post

I started driving for Lyft in March of 2014. From the beginning, since I fancy myself a writer and publish the occasional book and/or zine, I planned to keep a “driver’s log” of my experiences as a Lyft driver. In July, I published a zine called Behind the Wheel. Some of the material I’d written for the zine didn’t make the cut. For whatever reason… perhaps it wasn’t good enough or maybe it was too technical… who knows. (Just don’t ask the Wife about it… she a brutal critic.)

Anyway, for the hell of it, I posted several outtakes on my Medium page, including a very ad hominem take on the fanaticism of Lyft drivers:

The Cult of Lyft: Inside the Pacific Driver Lounge

A few weeks later, in a late night, pot- and alcohol-induced flurry of impulsivity, I posted a link to the piece on a Facebook group for rideshare drivers called Uber, SideCar, Lyft Drivers Community. Not expecting much but a few page views (who doesn’t love clicks), I woke up the next morning to a shit storm. Somebody from the community forum had posted it on the Pacific Driver lounge. Other drivers had reposted it on Lounges for their cities. I had over a thousand pageviews! Not only were Lyft drivers reposting the story, Uber drivers were propagating it as well. The response was overwhelming. People laughed, people got upset, people talked smack, people did all the things people do on the internet… It was hilarious that people would get so upset over a half-baked rant written on my iPhone as I was passing out from a hard night of Lyfting in the city (and a few stupefacients when I got home).

Some of the comments were pretty funny so I collected a bunch and posted them on my blog:

Lyft's Pacific Driver Lounge is my Honey Boo Boo

Since it seemed germane to the group, I posted a link on the Uber, SideCar, Lyft Drivers Community forum. I tweeted a link to it as well. Which isn’t saying much. I only have 190 followers.

Shortly after that, Matt Jensen, a community outreach person for Lyft, or something called a "Lounge mentor" (if anybody can clarify his position, please leave a comment), tweeted at me asking for suggestions to improve the Lyft experience. I posted this constructive and very earnest -- at least in my mind -- response: 

An Open Letter to Lyft: Since you asked...

After posting links, I was no longer able to access the Pacific Driver Lounge. 

Not that I was surprised. After all, I collected all the comments because I figured I would be kicked out. I knew, from being a member of the Lounge that people got expelled from the Lounge all the time. And not just for getting in an accident, but for the silliest of offenses, like talking bad about Lyft.

C’est la vie. No more Honey Boo Boo for me.

About two weeks later, I found a personal message from Matt Jensen about being removed from the Lounge in my “other” inbox on Facebook. (Why do we need an “other” inbox anyway?) It was rife with paranoia, suggesting I shared “lounge details” with Uber. As if I had some connection to Uber, besides taking $500 from them for that one ride deal they offered back in May. (More on that later…)

Even though I had been feeling a little offended that I never received a real email letting me know that I was banned from the Lounge, sending a Facebook message that he had to know would go to my “other” folder on Facebook since we weren’t friends was a little… unfriendly. Still, I was nice to get some communication about it. I took a screengrab and posted it on my blog:

My Official Removal from the Lyft Pacific Driver Lounge Notice

So that about wraps it up.

Well, not exactly.

Recently, a lawyer contacted me about a case she was working on for another driver who was kicked out of the Lounge. Something about unlawful retaliation in the workplace or discrimination in the workplace… Wanted me to discuss my experience with Lyft and the Lounge… I wrote this blogpost instead.

I don’t know, man… lawsuits are a bit of a stretch. If you're able to sift through all this social media/blogpost nonsense, it’s obvious I was toying with Lyft. They made a play, I countered and they cried foul.

Wah.

The Lyft folks are a bunch of big babies. Somebody needs to call them a wahbulance.

The only downside to all this tomfoolery is that I got kicked out of the Lounge. Which sucks. Not only is the Lounge a place for drivers to get information about changes to Lyft policies and the driving experience in San Francisco, it’s also extremely entertaining. Is there anything better than gawking at a collective lack of self-awareness?

Lyft, please let back into the Pacific Driver Lounge.

I miss my Honey Boo Boo!

[idrivesf]

The Ten Most Annoying Questions I Get Asked As A Lyft Driver in San Francisco 

a listicle on buzzfeed

[idrivesf]

Taking a couple from the Mission to the Haight. The guy is new in town. Beth is pointing out landmarks to him along the way. As I wait at the light at 16th to cross Market, he asks her about the Lookout.

“Is that a gay bar?”

“Well, this is the Castro.”

“They should put disclaimers on gay bars.”

Beth says nothing. I wonder if she regrets getting mixed up with this dumbass. Or at least thinks what I’m thinking, What about the rainbow flags? This is San Francisco after all. You make no mistake walking into a gay bar.

[idrivesf]

“I need pizza!”

Virginia’s drunk. Hanging out the window and screaming at pedestrians.

She and her companion, the guy who actually requested the ride, Will, have decided they need pizza before they go back to her place in SoMa.

“I know the best place for pizza. And it’s open late!”

She’s telling me about the place and anybody else who might listen, even people on the street. “We’re getting pizza!”

On Mission, I pull up next to a cab. Virginia starts haranguing the driver.

“What’s so Luxurious about Luxor?” She sneers.

I glance over and see the cabbie look at me, the phone on my dash and the drunk girl in my back seat. Shakes his head. 

Virginia yells at his two passengers, “Who takes cabs anyway? What’s wrong with you people?”

I cringe and stare straight ahead. When the light turns green, the cabbie speeds off.

“Stop right here!” Virginia screams in front of the pizza joint.

I flip a bitch but don’t quite make the turn. Have to back up. An SUV is speeding towards me down Mission. Swerves to make the light. A girl in the passenger seat yells, “DUMBASS!”

“FUCK YOU!!” Virginia yells.

She and Will get out of the car. They both shout, “PIZZA!” and take off down the sidewalk.

[idrivesf]

At Post and Buchanan, in front of the Japantown Peace Plaza, three obviously drunk guys and a totally wasted chick stumble towards my car. They are blonde, Abercrombie and Fitch types, nothing like the vaguely middle-eastern guy named Dan I’m looking for.

“Are you our Uber?” one of the guys demands.

“Are you Dan?”

“No. I’m Steve.”

“I’m looking for Dan.”

“I can be Dan.”

“Sorry.”

The girl approaches and asks why they’re not getting into my car.

“This isn’t our Uber,” the guy tells her.

“Why not?” she squeals and leans into my window. “Can’t you be our Uber?”

“Sorry.” I smile.

“C’mon. I’ll show you my tits.”

“Sorry.” I shrug. 

“Don’t you want to see my tits?” She pushes her shoulders together to emphasize what little cleavage she has. Gyrates her shoulders and winks like she’s Marilyn Monroe, not some drunk preppy girl who probably works in PR because it fits her bubbly personality. “They’re kinda great.”

She’s a B cup at best. I resist the urge to tell her I'm not impressed. I have a pair of DDs waiting for me at home.

Her male friend careens closer and chimes in, “I’ve seen them and they’re fantastic.”

“Look,” I say. “I’m sure your tits are awesome. But I can only pick up designated passengers. Sorry.”

The girl continues to jiggle her goods at me until a couple approach my car from the other side of Post. The guy matches the profile pic in the app.

They slide past the drunk girl as they get in the backseat.

“Sorry about that, Dan,” I say.

“That’s okay.”

The drunk girl waves and shouts as we pull away.  

“That girl is pretty drunk,” I say with a chuckle.

“We know,” says the woman with Dan. “They were in the restaurant.”

I can tell by her tone of voice that the girl and her rowdy friends had interfered with their night out. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. We’re going home to watch the new Game of Thrones.”

I drive them to one of the new high-rises in South Park. 

[idrivesf]

[idrivesf]

Driving in San Francisco is the Worst

[idrivesf]

POOR GEORGE

Middle-aged tourist guy and his twenty-something daughter. In town from Texas. Ron and Lisa. Ask if I know George. 

Who?

George was their Uber driver before me.

"I don't know other drivers," I say. "We basically stay in our cars."

"George drives for Uber to support his wife and three kids," Lisa tells me. "He never has time to even see them because he drives all the time. Not like you. You're probably just doing this to support your marijuana habit."

"What'd you say?" I ask with an uncomfortable laugh. 

She doesn't reply. 

"Poor George," the father goes on. "He probably saw us together, father and daughter, and felt jealous of our close relationship."

Lisa scoffs. "Well, looks can be deceiving. 

Ron keeps making small talk with me. They're staying at an Airbnb place in Telegraph Hill. Spent the day going around town getting drunk and shopping. I'm taking them to the Macy's on Union Square where the girl saw a purse she liked earlier but didn't buy. 

"It's a tote!" she clarifies. 

Traffic around Union Square is always the perfect example of a clusterfuck. On Saturdays, it's the epitome of a clusterfuck. 

I point out the traffic when we're two blocks away.

"Don't worry about it," Ron tells me. "We're in no hurry. Long as purse is still there."

"It's a tote!"

Five minutes later, about a block away from Macy's, I tell him, "It's gonna take forever to get there with all this traffic. Macy's is right there."

I point at the giant sign looming over the street.

"I suppose we can walk one block," Ron says. "Maybe hit up Johnny Foley's." He reads the sign on the Irish pub across the street. 

I take a left on Powell and a right on Ellis. Go offline and drive away from downtown as quickly as possible. I've made the mistake of trying to get rides downtown on a Saturday before. Never again. Let the cabbies have the business. They can have all of downtown as far as I'm concerned. It'll be like the airport: rideshares can drop off but they can't pick up. Since all the one-way streets are split into taxi and bus lanes, it's designed for cabs anyway, not regular cars. 

I go back online after I cross Van Ness. Pick up a guy in the Haight going to the Haight. Drop him off and track down a woman with an accent and her equally foreign gentleman friend. 

"Oh, is this your bag on the seat?" she asks. 

"Bag?"

I reach around and take a paper shopping bag from a boutique. Look inside. See a scarf and a flask. Instantly realize that girl Lisa must have left it behind. I remember she had several bags when she got in.

"I know who this belongs to," I say. "A girl I drove before you guys." I don't even want to think about why the guy between the two rides never said anything a bag. 

"What's in the bag?" asks the gentleman. "Lingerie?"

"No, a scarf."

"Boring. Never mind then."

I drop them off in the Mission and email Uber. Parked on 24th, I look through the bag for the receipts to see if it has her name on them. There's a stuffed porcupine and a swimsuit bottom as well as the scarf and flask. About $100 worth of stuff. I feel bad. She must be freaking out. She seemed too uptight not to have a cow over losing her hard-earned purchases. 

Oh well. There's a link on the confirmation email from Uber to click if you think you might have lost something in a car. Perhaps she'll notice it when she realizes she's one bag short.

I put the bag in my trunk. Smoke a cigarette. I'm about to go back online when my phone rings. The generic Uber number. 

"Is this Kelly?" 

"Yeah, Lauren?"

"Lisa."

"Right. I have your bag."

"Oh, thank god!"

I get her address in Telegraph Hill and her phone number, just in case. "I'm in the Mission, so it'll take a little while to get there. I have to drive all the way across town." 

"That's fine."

I take Cesar Chavez to Guerrero, cruise to Market Street, down to Franklin, up and over Pac Heights to Broadway, through the tunnel and into Chinatown. I forget to turn on Powell, so I have to circle around on Kearney to Columbus. My phone rings. It's Lisa. 

"Just checking to make sure you didn't get lost."

"I'm a few minutes away. It took a while to get to North Beach from the Mission." 

After struggling to dodge taxis and tourist vehicles driving slowly up the hills, backing up out of alleys and making a general nuisance of themselves, I reach the apartment.

Lisa meets me outside. Thanks me as I take the bag out of my trunk. Gives me a folded ten dollar bill. 

I acknowledge the tip. "Happy to help." Then drive away thinking, Ten's alright, but I was hoping for a twenty. I spent about an hour dealing with her stupid bag.

Whatever. It's all about good service, right? 

[idrivesf]

YOUR UBER DRIVER HATES YOU ... But Your Lyft Driver Thinks You're The Bee's Knees (Unless You Act Like You're in an Uber, Then They Hate You Too)

[piltdownlad]

Piltdownlad #10. This one did not come easy but it’s finally in print.

[idrivesf]

https://www.etsy.com/listing/195330463/behind-the-wheel-a-lyft-drivers-log

[idrivesf]

Downtown Lyfting: San Francisco Style

[idrivesf]

A few days ago, I published an excerpt from Behind the Wheel: A Lyft Driver's Log about Lyft's private Facebook group the Pacific Driver Lounge on myMedium page. As I was going to sleep that night, I posted a link on the public Facebook group Uber, SideCar, Lyft Drivers Community. Somebody then reposted it on the Lounge. This is what I woke up to.  

[idrivesf]

BULLET POINTS FROM THE CLASS STRUGGLE IN SAN FRANCISCO

[idrivesf]

A request comes in. I pull up to the pinned location on New Montgomery. Nobody looking my way. Get out of traffic and pull into a loading zone a few spaces down. Call. No answer. Wait. Look around. After a few minutes three guys approach. They have a bunch of bags. I pop the trunk. 

Two stops. Jeff and the other guy in back are going to a coffeeshop at Divisadero and Fulton. The guy up front is going to Turk and Masonic. They are unmistakably tech workers. They talk shop. Then weddings. Jeff is a Universal Life minister and performs weddings for his friends. Has one coming up. 

“I was thinking of wearing Glass during the service so the couple can have a unique perspective.” 

After that, they discuss the new TV show Silicon Valley. 

“It was all right,” Jeff says. “It’s done by Mike Judge, you know the guy who did Beavis and Butthead and Office Space. So you kind of know what you’re getting into.” 

“My friend watched it with Zuck,” his friend in back says. 

“I actually thought it would be more harsh, since tech has become such a major sore spot here in San Francisco.” 

“They say San Fran has lost its soul. I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been here six months.” 

“I grew up here,” Jeff says. “That’s why I returned… to bring some of the soul back.” 

I try not to gag. Approach their destination. Pull to the corner. Jeff and the other guy get out. 

The last guy makes idle chitchat with me about moving to San Francisco a month before. At his place on Turk, I pop the trunk so he can retrieve the bags. I’ve gotten good at remembering when passengers put things in the trunk and not just driving off while they yell after me. Shit like that has not been good for my rating.