I’m the daughter of an Uber driver, and have some news to share.
Dad and I were having dinner together this week when, out of nowhere, he looked up from his chicken parma and said, “I’ve told you about the front-seaters compared to back-seaters, yeah?”
“Uh, no, Dad. It sounds like you’re speaking another language.”
It was then that he launched into the simplest, most ridiculous personality test I’ve heard; one that Uber drivers have apparently been conducting since the dawn of time (2015).
It turns out your decision of where to sit in an Uber has been psycho-analysed again and again, without your knowledge.
It sounds very serious, when really it’s not at all: My dad is just a slight weirdo who clearly gets bored when driving people around the city of Sydney.