Uber versus Lyft: One Uber Driver’s Confession

It’s no secret that many Uber drivers also drive for the competitor Lyft. Time for me to come out: I’m a traitor. I drive for both companies. To the Uber staff reading this, please don’t hate me. A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.

And why does this guy gotta drive for both? There are so many Uber drivers in my area that I’m not making much dinero. Uber feeds my vacation fund, and that fund is getting hungry.

Driving for both companies gives me a chance to make a bit more money and practice my favorite exercise from history class: compare and contrast.

Company Image
No doubt the two companies have different images. Uber’s is that of the fast-growing tech startup. They are known to be the bad-boys in the industry. It’s a reputation that might be deserved. Lyft plays the part of the good-guy. They are helping people make friends.

Uber typically shows a photo of a middle-aged man in a suit wearing gloves (until recently, now they show hipsters standing next to a new car). Lyft shows photos of younger women chatting in a car.

Uber encourages drivers to get out of the car and open the door for a rider. Lyft encourages drivers to invite riders into the front seat and give a fist-bump. I refuse to fist-bump.

I’ve asked all Lyft riders why they choose Lyft rather than Uber. None of them mention that Lyft is cheaper. Most say they hate Uber. I would say that Uber has an image problem.

Company Contact
When I signed up for Uber I received confusing emails for a few weeks, then my Uber phone showed up in a Fedex pack. It looked like someone had tossed stuff into a bag and shipped it out without much thought. Signing up for Lyft, I received a phone call from a real person in less than an hour. He chatted and laughed with me. Then Lyft sent a “mentor” to drive with me for 60 minutes.

The difference between the two companies is striking.

The Driver App
The Uber driver app gives off a terrifying alarm when a ride request is received. Lyft plays harp music then a gentle metronome ticking sound. The Uber app shows a shadow of a person standing on the street waiting for a ride. Lyft shows a pink balloon floating above the street. A pink balloon.

If a driver misses an Uber ride request, there is no notification but a driver’s rating goes down. If a driver misses a Lyft request, a pink balloon with a sad face shows on the screen.

The difference is striking.

The Riders
My Lyft mentor was an experienced Uber driver that I’ve known since I started driving. He warned me that the Lyft riders are a different caliber. He didn’t elaborate. He was so correct.

The typical Uber ride in Palm Springs is for a gaggle of smartly-dressed, middle aged gay men headed out to a fabulous cocktail party. The same group later at night would be chatty and flirtatious. They rarely cross personal boundaries with their driver. But sometimes they do.

The typical Lyft rider in Palm Springs is a McDonald’s employee late for their shift. I’m not making this up.

I’ve never felt unsafe with an Uber rider. I have felt unsafe with my Lyft customers.

My Story
The Lyft ride request was from the Spa Casino. Three young men had given all of their wages to the local tribe. They were not happy. The guy requesting the ride could have been a typical Uber rider. He was smartly dressed, well spoken, polite. His two friends were different. One of them looked like Jay from Kevin Smith’s movies. Long dirty hair, skull cap, sloppy clothes, stoner attitude. I didn’t get a close look a the third guy. The two in the back seat were loud and rowdy.

Something about young men shouting and cursing in my car makes me feel uncomfortable. Even more so late at night. I regretted accepting “one last” ride request.

The destination was an apartment building in Palm Desert, a good 20 minute ride away. At least it was a long enough ride to make it worth while, but it was not a pleasant drive. They wanted to turn up the music, which made them curse and shout even louder. Rather than saying anything, I discreetly turned the music down using the steering wheel button. They didn’t notice. They continued shouting and cursing.

I’ve grown accustomed to the behavior of people who have had too much to drink. These guys were not acting that way. They were talking in fast, staccato speech, always talking over each other. If alcohol is a depressant, these guys were surely riding high on some sort of stimulant. Something that makes them aggressive and angry. I didn’t want to know. I just wanted this ride over.

An observant person might have noticed that they weren’t cursing at each other. It was merely the way they spoke. Perhaps because it was so loud, I couldn’t see their possible innocence. All I saw was a group of gang-bangers planning their next move. I wanted them out of my car.

The Palm Desert apartments turned out to be a disappointment for me. It was the quiet front-seat guy’s destination. The two loud guys needed to be taken home on the same fare. Could I please do that? Of course. Where? Desert Hot Springs.

For those who do not live in the Palm Springs area, Desert Hot Springs (or DHS as it is affectionately known) is at the other end of the valley. DHS is the home of convicts, crack whores and meth labs with a minimal police department. Apologies to my friends who live there, but it’s not someplace to drive to late at night. Not with two loud young men. Off I went, determined to finish this ride quickly.

The long-haired guy jumped into the front seat. Maybe he was afraid I couldn’t hear him. The shouting continued for several miles, until a certain song came on the radio. All Of Me, by John Legend. The long-haired guy in the front seat reached to turn up the music.

“Oh man, this song is so my life right now!”

The guy in the back offered some support, “she doesn’t know what she is doing. She dumped you bad.”

Mister Long-Hair sang along to the song, “give your all to me, I give my all to you…”

I think he was crying. I didn’t turn to look. It might be a ruse to distract me before they pull out their switch blades and stick me in the ribs. What would that feel like? I was convinced these guys intended to do me harm, no singing to a love song would change my mind.

The two guys talked (shouted) about how wrong it was the way she dumped the long-haired guy. She didn’t know what she gave up. They fell quiet as the song continued.

A mile of blessed, musical silence. Long-haired guy in the front quietly said something to me.

“Thank you for the ride. It’s great to get a safe ride home after a night like this. We really appreciate it.”

I wasn’t taking the bite, but I told him they were welcome.

The guy in the back started a story about how much they hate taxis. They frequently get ripped off but they always stick it back to the drivers. His voice got louder and louder as he relayed his technique to me. He was no fool, no cab driver would stick it to him without regretting it.

His story of revenge didn’t make me feel much love. Seventy miles an hour on the freeway, I gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on driving. I needed to get rid of these guys. One second shouting and cursing, the next second singing a love song, then back to angry shouting. It was very disturbing.

I completely ignored them as I drove, but I did become aware that they were trying to converse with me until they fell silent again.

The guy in the back seat spoke softly to me, “we aren’t gang bangers. We gave that life up in LA and are living clean now.”

“That’s right, we are good guys now,” chimed in the long-haired guy. He began to give directions to his home.

“I’m a bit drunk. Okay, I’m really drunk but I’m not totally shit-faced yet. I just want to get home safe. Take this exit to the right.” His voice was low and almost normal sounding.

He directed me to his destination just outside of Desert Hot Springs. Both guys turned to me and gave me the most polite thanks possible. They patted me on the back then gave me fist bumps. I watched as they hopped the fence to their delapidated trailer park before I drove away.

A few miles later my bladder insisted that I pull over on a side road. The sky is very clear in Desert Hot Springs. It makes peeing by the side of the road a real pleasure. I thought about things. DHS has the best view of the mountains. Better than any city in the Palm Springs area. I’m told it can be a nice place to live. Not everyone is a crack whore.

These Lyft riders are just working-class folks who don’t want to risk a DUI or a crooked cab driver.

Perhaps the line about books and covers applies here.

Uber isn’t an evil corporation. Lyft isn’t my best friend. The riders are different, but at their core they are just people. It’s all just people.

Originally published at uberconfessions.com.