Illustration by Em Roberts
We teach our kids not to do it. It’s unwise at best, downright dangerous at worst. So why on earth would an otherwise intelligent adult get in a vehicle with a complete stranger? And why would a sane person gladly welcome a total stranger into their vehicle?
Just a decade ago, this kind of behavior would have been unthinkable, but the unthinkable has now become the unstoppable. On any given day, all across the Richmond area, hundreds of soccer moms, retirees, college students, immigrants and the recently unemployed climb into their personal vehicles and drive off in search of digital hitchhikers.
A year ago, I was a retired, mild-mannered husband, father and grandfather minding my own business. I didn’t know it at the time, but now I realize that I’ve been an Uber driver for the past 40 years, chauffeuring my wife around, giving my kids a Lyft to school, music lessons and sports practice. Only I wasn’t getting paid for it. Now, thanks to some computer nerds in San Francisco, I’ve got these pesky little algorithms swirling around inside my smartphone telling me where to go and who to pick up. Odysseus never heard a siren song as seductive as the digital ping of my driver’s app.
For those keeping score at home, after 3,000-plus rides, I’ve driven more than 40,000 miles and welcomed more than 6,000 strangers into my red Mercury Mariner. I like to drive dangerously — picking up the inebriated in a car with fabric seats — and yet, defying all reason, logic and statistical probability, no one has thrown up in my vehicle. Like a lucky rabbit’s foot, my trusty medical-grade barf bags seem to have warded off any malevolent regurgitation.
Richmond is a perfect city for Uber and Lyft. The 4-mile stretch from Shockoe Bottom to Carytown is paved with ride-share gold, as are Scott’s Addition, Church Hill, the Museum District and downtown. With the burgeoning student populations of the University of Richmond, Virginia Commonwealth University and Virginia Union University, it's possible to snag a passenger virtually 24/7. I once picked up a kid at 2:30 a.m. to get him back to the dorm so he could prep for an 8 a.m. physics exam. Capital One’s network of campuses and the constant flow of its personnel to and from the airport, not to mention the flood of prospective job seekers at the company, provide more rocket fuel for ride-sharing services.
Ride-share driving is the closest thing to being in a full-size, real-time video game. The steering wheel is your controller, the driver app keeps score, and every other ride-share driver on the road is your competition.
“How much do you make?” is the question drivers are asked all the time. My favorite response is, “It’s proprietary information that I’m not at liberty to divulge.” My second favorite response is, “A whole lot less than you.” The most honest answer would simply be, “Not much.”
The pitch for ride-sharing — “Make some extra money in your spare time! Be your own boss! Set your own schedule!” — sounds great, doesn’t it? Just like taxing the rich, saving the ozone layer and snuggling with Angelina Jolie. In theory, they’re all great ideas but not that easy to make happen. A weekend warrior driving on Friday and Saturday evenings could save enough over the course of a year to take the family to see Harry and Mickey in Orlando next summer. Provided, of course, that their transmission doesn’t fall out in the meantime.
Ride-share driving is the closest thing to being in a full-size, real-time video game. The steering wheel is your controller, the driver app keeps score, and every other ride-share driver on the road is your competition — jockeying for the same rides. The driver app keeps track of money earned, driver rating (aim for a perfect five stars) and acceptance rate (the percentage of rides that you take). While trying to score big, you’re dodging pedestrians, missing potholes and slipping down side streets while rerouting around traffic tie-ups. They’re all a part of the game — close calls, hairpin turns, just missing a fender bender. All that’s missing is the background music from Mario Kart.
My friends at Mickey D’s recently hooked me up with the superheroes featured in the blockbuster “Avengers: Endgame,” and now the likes of Iron Man, Black Widow, Captain America and the Black Panther stand guard across my dashboard. Along with a green army man from “Toy Story” and Jack-Jack from “The Incredibles,” I feel right at home. Why shouldn’t I? As a free-range designated driver, I’m a unique kind of superhero. My superpower? Chronic sobriety! I tell my bar-hopping passengers, “It’s my job to remain stone-cold sober — so you don’t have to!” No wonder my driver rating is hovering near 5.0. There’s a rumor circulating through the River City that DUIs have dropped by 80% since ride-sharing rolled into town. I, for one, hope this is true. Pay me for a safe ride home now, and you’ll thank me later. Trust me on this one.
And if you live in a gated community, be sure and write the entry code on your hand before you start drinking. You’re welcome.
Mark Jordan is a Chesterfield County resident who drives by night and writes by day, and one day he plans to be Elon Musk’s chauffeur on Mars. This article is adapted from the forthcoming book “Hail Yes! The Adventures of a Ride-Sharing Superhero (Cape Sold Separately).”
