The One Star Uber Ride

Joanne Green
Sep 7, 2018 · 4 min read

Cw. Sexual harassment

I’ve always prided myself on being a vocal feminist. I work with women who have had men perpetrate violence against them. Supporting them to find their voice and advocate for their right to be safe.

But today I felt my voice waver. Today I feel torn.

Logically, there is no reason to feel torn. The path is clear. But that little voice in the back of my head is niggling. This is the story:

Last night I was excited. My friend had a baby a few months ago and it was our first chance to go out and enjoy each other’s company since. I did my make up while listening to some pump up tunes, squeezed into my probably too tight jeans. Decided on a shirt that flashed some cleavage. I’m young looking and my boobs are my proof that I’m older than I look. I ordered an uber. And this is where my blissful excitement went awry.

The red flags were popping up immediately. As soon as we pulled away he asked me if that was where I lived. I’m a terrible liar, so against my better judgement I said yes. It went down hill from there. We had just entered the freeway when he asked me if I have a boyfriend. I said no. He asked me why not? I made a joke that boyfriends are too much work. I said I like my life as it is. He responded “but don’t you get lonely sometimes?”. I didn’t reply. “I get lonely sometimes" he said, eyes boring into me. I squirmed in my seat. We were just crossing the bridge to the city. I was stuck with him for at least 20 more minutes. He asked me how old I was. I said 29. He then asked me if I like older men or younger men. My mouth said older while my brain screamed “oh my God, shut up Jo!” He told me that he’s 38. He asked me if he could pick he up and take me home later. I said no. After some silence he asked again. Two more times. I found my ability to lie out of self preservation. I told him that my friend lives in the city and I’m staying at hers.

My mind was going all sorts of places. Was he even taking me to this bar? Why are we in Richmond? I sent my friend a message to start a chain of evidence: “this uber driver is a creep”. “Worst” she replied, in that empathy all women have from being in similar situations all the time. He asked me if I live alone. I lied again. I have a housemate.

When the uber finally arrived at its destination I got out of that car as quickly as I could. I strode around the corner and stopped to catch my thoughts and my breath, trying to process that uber ride.

While I was waiting at the bar for my friend to arrive I sent a text message about it to my sister. Her response was frank, as it always is, “ewww 1 star him”. I closed the message without responding but didn’t open the uber app. I couldn’t do it.

When my friend and arrived and I told her she said the same thing. “Nah, I’ll just leave it. It doesn’t matter. It’s his job.”

But it does matter.

Today I was reading other women’s stories of sexual harassment. They spoke about how they didn’t have any power. They weren’t safe to speak up without jeopardizing their careers, family or physical safety. I was. I resolved to leave that one star review.

But as I opened the app and was confronted with his face, my resolve wavered. Part of me wanted to protect him from trouble. Was it really that big a deal, or am I just making a fuss out of nothing?

My heart was a lump in my chest. I felt torn.

Why? Why, as a woman, do I feel I have to protect this man from the consequences of his own behaviour? Why do we feel shame when the alarm bells in our mind and body go off and tell us we’re unsafe?

Society and the media send messages to women and girls every day that we owe men. That they are entitled to us, to make us feel uncomfortable and sexualise us. That if they harm us it’s because of something we did. Women, from the earliest times have been painted as trouble. From stealing apples and being cast out of Eden, to sending a nude and having it posted online. We deserve the bad things that they do to us. Were my jeans to tight? Was my shirt too low? Was I too friendly when I hopped in that uber?

We’re told that we should simultaneously protect ourselves but not “tar all men with the same brush”. So we feel we need to give them the benefit of the doubt, even if it means ignoring our instincts sometimes. And when it goes wrong, it' s always our fault. We need to be vigilant after all.

It’s fraught, it’s confusing to be a woman. And as much as we rally against them, those messages are are buried deep in our minds, to the point where our responses are almost a reflex.

  • It’s a judge’s concerns about the future of opportunities of the Stanford rapist, but not of those of his victim
  • It’s expressing yourself only to be called a feminazi, a c*** and a crazy bitch
  • It’s Louis CK and his comeback
  • It’s Roman Polanski not needing a comeback
  • It’s the fear of retaliation if you report sexual harassment at work
  • It’s the “relax it’s just a jokes”
  • It’s the “she was asking for its” and “why was she theres”

It is women who are held accountable for men’s actions. It’s women who agonise over the consequences. And on the rare occasions men have to deal with their consequences it comes as a complete shock.

Well, that fucker needs the shock. I should leave that one star review.

Joanne Green

Written by

I am a social worker, feminist, cat mum and true crime lover who lives and works in Melbourne, Australia.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade