“You know, we’re right here in the middle of nowhere. I could just ride away and keep you if I wanted! “
My Lyft driver smiled and assured me that of course he would never do that to a customer – but it was just another step in my ever-growing series of horrible driving experiences. I laughed with him because, frankly, it wasn’t surprising to me; I’ve been through that shit before. It wasn’t until my husband called in a panic to ask if I was okay that I realized this shouldn’t be normal.
I think we are all familiar with rides. It’s basically an app run taxi service where regular people take you from point A to point B. I still remember the first time I heard from them, back in 2014 when my friend recommended us to get an Uber from the downtown Austin back to my apartment. They became a de facto part of my college experience as I liked going places, disliked parking, and struggled to understand public transport after a childhood in the boonies.
But taking a ride as a woman always involves risks. You accept that you are essentially putting your life and safety in someone else’s hands. These are people who go through a short screening, but are generally left to their own devices unless they receive a complaint. And some, like my recent Lyft driver, try to protect themselves from complaints; the guy I was driving with last week wouldn’t let me out of the car until he watched me give him a five star rating and tip. I had to contact Lyft after reaching my destination to let them know that this guy was actually very scary.
Unfortunately, that’s not the first time a ride-sharing driver has been weird. I doubt it will be the last, although I have now reached the point in my life where renting a car is legal in most states; I really doubt I’ll leave myself to someone else’s mercy from now on.
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There was a time in college where I had a few drinks and then took an Uber home from the concert venue I was at. The driver parked but didn’t open the door until he asked if I wanted to get some food on the spot.
Or the other time a driver waited for me to buckle up before his friend appeared from the third row seat where he’d been lying; that friend then offered to sell me cocaine and when I refused, he tried to persuade me with a shoulder massage.
Or the time when a driver kept reaching back to touch my knee because he “wanted to see how my jeans felt.”
Or the time a driver got out of his car and tried to follow me to my apartment complex under the guise of making sure I got home safely.
Or the time a driver told me how much he hated driving women around because they were so hard to please to get a good rating, and then he asked me to get out of his car on the side off the highway with half a mile to go to walk to the airport because there was construction work and he didn’t want to drive through it.
Or the countless times a driver has asked me why my boyfriend / fiancé / husband allows me to travel alone because men like that driver can easily take advantage of me. That is usually accompanied by the assurance that they are not one of those guys – but seriously, my luggage is in their trunk, so even if I escaped, they would be able to find me through my address (and yes, they did).
I usually have decent ride sharing drivers. Most just want to chat about where I’m going or share a piece of their life story. Many like to sit in silence, and that’s fine with me. I’ve had a handful to give me a sales pitch for their side stuff. I’m usually happy to just hang out and enjoy the ride.
But there are enough creeps who use the service that if I travel a long distance, through an unfamiliar area, get drunk, or go out at night, I will pay the driver cancellation fine until I have a wife. I hate wasting someone’s time, but sometimes you wonder if one of those people will be the last person you ever talk to – or, at the very least, if they’ll make you so uncomfortable that your adventure is ruined.
And I hate being thankful that I was made alone to feel unsafe, because there are other women who have had it so much worse.