ride-sharing

I almost died because my Lyft driver didn’t know how to drive. (Ride-sharing hazards – Lyft & Uber PSA!)

That Asian-Looking Chick 6 Comments

I’m happy to be here to publish my Tuesday blog post today, because after I posted last week Friday, I got into a Lyft and almost died. Then I wanted to tell someone in charge about my near-death experience, so the next business day – yesterday – I called the Lyft mothership and spoke with a very nice woman who promised they’ll look into my grievance without hurting anyone’s feelings, which was my primary concern.

One thing about Lyft: the quality of the customer service call was exemplary, and I only had to listen to the loop of 70’s-inspired, acoustic guitar elevator music for five minutes! In my opinion, five minutes can seem like five hours if it’s, say, Vivaldi’s “Spring” of The Four Seasons, which has been the torture hold music du jour for the last 15+ years, or for however long cell phones have existed. 

(By the way, I’m not a terrible person. I used to enjoy The Four Seasons before “Spring” became the default hold music.)

But enough rambling. I’m writing this post as a Public Service Announcement:

If you can’t drive but you insist on driving, at least don’t imperil others by signing up as a Lyft/Uber driver.

Because Lyft does not regulate their drivers in terms of driving and navigating ability. They do not examine potential drivers to determine whether they’re capable. There is no system in place to ensure that people are actually qualified to drive other people around. Lyft (and probably Uber) will check for credentials (license, driving record, etc.), and if all looks good on paper, you’re hired.

The customer service woman said that she drove for Lyft, herself, and she’d had a “mentor” who went with her on a “mock drive” before she was allowed to drive people for real. “I don’t know if they’re still doing that, though,” she said.

Well, they’re not. Callaghan drove for Lyft for a few months in 2014, and he never had any such experience. He filled out a form, and some guy did meet with him, but the guy never observed Callaghan’s driving.

Anyway. I was in the back seat of this Lyft and I texted Callaghan so if something happened, he would know why.

 

 

A Lyft driver should be able to:

  • Find you (Granted, our house is tricky to find, especially since our street sign vanished during a bro-house party a while back and the City of Tempe hasn’t replaced it yet)
  • Navigate without holding the cell phone two feet away from your face and looking at it more than you’re looking at the road as you’re driving one-handed, especially on the freeway.
  • Merge onto the freeway without almost getting hit.
  • Stay within the lane, rather than driving like you’re asleep at the wheel.
  • Change lanes (she kept trying to get into the next lane, then finally gave up when she almost got us killed twice.)
  • Drive at the speed limit, rather than below it, especially on the freeway where the flow of traffic is always slightly faster than the speed limit.
  • Focus on driving rather than trying to make small talk and glancing back at the passenger while also trying to see the GPS on your phone that you’re still holding out in front of you.
  • Be aware of other drivers on the freeway, which can’t be done if you’re glancing back and forth between the back seat and your phone.
  • Drive confidently, so you don’t have to fluctuate your speed on the freeway because you’re afraid of other drivers.

PRO-TIPS.

I did rate her accordingly, and I made that phone call to Lyft’s safety concern line. I didn’t like doing it (she was really a nice lady), but it was my civic duty. She shouldn’t be driving at all, much less for Lyft.

Thanks for reading my tale of woe, and please pass this on!

BEWARE – Serial Plan-Ruiner Running Amok in France

That Asian-Looking Chick 2 Comments

I can’t believe it’s already April. I can’t believe it’s already April fifth. The last time I wrote here, it was still March, and it doesn’t even seem that long ago! But there’s a lot of craziness going on right now. I’ll come back to that later because what I’m sharing with you right now is a story per Callaghan’s request. Last week, we went down to visit his family and friends on the French Riviera via covoiturage ride-sharing, and afterward, Callaghan was all, like, “YOU HAVE TO WRITE ABOUT THIS.” (The last time I wrote about covoiturage, I praised it for its entertainment value.)

This is our story about being epically late because of someone else.

The idea behind using covoiturage for transportation is that a driver can get you from Point A to Point B because he’s heading the direction you’re going. It’s basically hitch-hiking, but you organize the ride in advance, online. Passengers are picked up and dropped off at designated points along the way, and the whole thing is based on scheduling… if you’re driving south to Cannes and you want to make a little money, you post on the covoiturage site that you’ll be cruising through Valence at 2:20 in the afternoon. If anyone in the area wants to catch a ride, they can meet you there.

So this guy said. And we replied, “Sure! We’ll meet you in Valence at 2:20pm! We need to get to Cannes.” We chose that particular guy’s ride because the time he’d advertised was going to be perfect for getting us to the birthday celebration dinner on our agenda.

Maybe we brought the shenanigans upon ourselves when Callaghan pulled up the posted photo of the vehicle, and we laughed because it was a white van that looked like it should have the words “serial killer van” painted on the side in black block letters. And when we found the photo of the driver, we laughed again because he looked like he belonged with the van.  Do not laugh at the photos of your driver and his vehicle. He will know, and he will get his revenge.

As it turned out, the driver wasn’t hiding bodies in his van. But he was three hours late.

There were four passengers already in the van, and they were all alive. The front seat held a rat (in a cage) and a girl, who were not together. In the middle row sat a woman and a young guy – they weren’t together, either. Callaghan and I climbed in to sit in the back. (We were together. Ha!) We settled in and cracked open our iPad to watch Zombieland again, which seemed strangely apt for the circumstances.

“C’est le Magic Bus!” said the driver, whose name was Alex. Magic, indeed!

The first passenger to depart was Middle Seat Lady. Instead of dropping her off somewhere along the route, Alex exited the highway and meandered around to a specific bus stop in Le Teil. Callaghan was furious.

But since we still weren’t late enough, there was the second passenger drop-off. Front Seat Girl was moving back in with her mother. We exited the highway again and pulled right up to her mother’s doorstep in the middle of Aix en Provence.

This was now looking more like a limousine service than covoiturage. It was also looking like a house-moving service. And like a van with undead people in it. With a rat in a cage, and a driver who’d only gotten two hours of sleep the previous night (true story).

In Aix en Provence, Callaghan and I stood back on the sidewalk to stretch while Alex, the girl and her mother unloaded her things into the house.

The third passenger off the van was the rat, who had come down from Paris. This one was okay… Alex cruised into a rest area in Fréjus, where an old couple sat waiting in their car. (They had my sympathy, because by then, it was 10:30pm. I know I’d be annoyed if I had to sit on the side of the highway at night for five hours, waiting for someone to bring me my rat.)

And half an hour later, Alex took Middle Seat Guy to his stop in Mouans-Sartoux.

That left us. Callaghan, seething mad, asked the driver to drop us off in Grasse, instead of in Cannes, as planned. We’d missed our restaurant celebration, and we were by then entitled to our own special drop-off request. Plus, there was no one left to inconvenience, so it didn’t matter.

We got down there a total of five and a half hours late.

The next day, Callaghan checked the covoiturage website and found an explosion of negative driver reviews for Alex from the hapless passengers of the last two days. People were furious. For two days, from Normandy to Nice, Alex had plowed down through France in his white serial killer van, scooping people up anywhere from three to five hours late and pissing them off. There was only one good review, and that was from the girl he’d helped move to Aix en Provence. She was thrilled with the service she got – as well she should be, since she got personal door-to-door moving service for practically nothing!

I still think Alex might be a serial killer, though, since something about him did kind of set off my serial-killer-dar. Or maybe I was just imagining it because I’m watching The Following right now, and I’m obsessed.