I always had a feeling I was a shitty passenger.
It’s not that I’m rude, or nasty, or deliberate about spilling an entire bag of fries that time (no one won in that situation). I just was beginning to get the feeling I could try a little bit harder.
But I have a theory why people my age are not the best passengers.
It’s from growing up with taxis, not Ubers, see. That was like the wild west of ridesharing, young folk – you had to practically BEG a taxi to pick you up in the shift-changeover hour of 3am, and forget about making two stops en route: you were pushing your luck.
Taxis were a stripped-back ride of torn seat covers, random globs of rock-hard chewing gum, and drivers who smelt vaguely of cigarettes and shirt starch.
Imagine, then, the joy when Uber cars came into being. Free water? Free mints? A young, chatty driver? A guaranteed pick up time with tracking on the car? Heaven was in the backseat of a 2009 Camry.
Listen: Would you let a stranger drive your children? Introducing Uber for kids. (Post continues after audio.)
Perhaps this is why so many people my age are crappy passengers. We still feel – and therefore act – like Blair Waldorf every time our driver is waiting out the front. Newsflash: no one liked Blair Waldorf, and behaving like a brat will score you a very average Uber ranking.
All of this came crashing down upon me when last week, I was ranking shamed.
“4.7?!” exclaimed my friend, busting out of the seatbelt in the (very comfortable) Range Rover sport we were collected in moments earlier. “That’s terrible. What have you DONE?”
“What? Really?” I was shocked. I thought a 4.7 out of 5 ranking was actually pretty good. What had I done? Was it the chips?
My friend leant into the front seat, where a stately man with grey hair and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt was driving our car.