THE NARRATIVE ARC
Uber from Hell
A nightmare journey with two strangers
It’s midnight and I’m five minutes into a two-hour Uber ride between Miami and Fort Myers. My driver, who hasn’t touched the steering wheel once for more than ten seconds, is also running out of gas. How I got here:
At 9 PM I’m sitting on the runway aboard an American Airlines flight — I’m specifying because fuck ‘em — from Miami to Atlanta. Aside from the woman next to me burping every 17 seconds, everything is normal. The pilot comes over the loudspeaker to tell us the flight is canceled due to crew hour limits — a less than stupendous announcement considering no concerns that such news was on the cards had been raised previously.
Everyone panics to de-board the plane and rushes to the nearest ticket counter. The level of civility is at a 3/10 — the baseline at airports is 7/10.
The line at any ticket counter within eyesight is anywhere between 300 and 1 million people long, when I notice there’s a gate with a departing American Airlines flight and one lone agent at it. No one’s crowded at this counter because it’s not a ticket counter, just a gate during last call.
This is my chance to avoid the chaos and get on a flight first thing in the morning. I’ll soon realize this was a comically optimistic worldview.
I need to get on the first flight out because I have a job that starts every Monday morning in Atlanta — they’re very insistent on this — and it’s Sunday night in Miami.
The agent agrees to help me and starts booking me a flight on a different airline for 5 AM. Perfect. She confirms she can do it, given I’m willing to forego any potential credit or refund. I’d likely be willing to forego some not-so-distant relatives to get on that flight — to her, I just say “yes”.
A young couple walks by, realizing what I’m about to accomplish, and joins in. Fair — albeit annoying — move.
The agent starts trying to get them on the same flight I’m on, but due to the booking she’s trying to push through an already jammed system now being three people instead of one, is unable to push the booking through at all.
Now I’m realizing my worldview was comically optimistic.
The couple says fuck you and fuck this — literally— and leaves the counter. As they’re leaving they mention to each other that they’re booking a flight out of Fort Myers at 5 AM and Ubering there.
As far as plans you can easily eavesdrop into go, that’s as good as it gets.
I don’t know anything about Fort Myers except I’m sure I’ve been as a child, and that Google tells me it’s a two-hour drive. That’s a far and expensive Uber, but it’s one-third as expensive if I chase two strangers down and convince them to let me join them.
I’m at the counter for a few seconds trying any last-ditch attempt at getting American Airlines to do their job (pleading with a desk attendant who has little to no stake in the outcome of my experience).
Realizing I should just book the same flight as the couple and share the Uber, I take off after them.
Now I’m chasing the couple to try and convince them to let a stranger get in a car with them for a few hours.
I’m at a disadvantage insofar as I barely remember what they look like, or where they went. Assuming they followed the rideshare pickup signs helps with the latter.
After a brief but sweaty sprint (Rule #13), I find them and succeed at coming across sane enough for them to agree to share an Uber with me. Now we’re even for that booking they caused to not go through a few minutes ago.
146 miles separate Miami International Airport and Fort Myers Airport. I later learn that Fort Myers Airport is called Southwest Florida International Airport because Fort Myers doesn’t deserve an airport with its own name.
146 miles by Uber math is 2 hours in a car, and 3 million dollars (350 USD).
We book the first Uber we request, which is by long-distance ride standards, nearly impossible. The math rarely works out favorably for the driver, and most are unwilling to make the drive at Ubers proposed rate.
This usually leads to a period of negotiation, where you agree to pay cash at a much higher rate. I’ve had to do this before, in nearly the same circumstances, twice.
In hindsight, our Uber driver not attempting to negotiate the fare should’ve been a red flag.
I get in the front passenger seat, letting the couple sit in the backseat because any other choice is insane.
Five minutes into the ride he tells me that he doesn’t have enough gas to get to Fort Myers, and more importantly, also doesn’t have the money to acquire the gas to get to Fort Myers.
I look back and the couple is dead asleep, it’s just me and Fangio then.
He starts switching between calling and texting on his phone with the focus of someone who isn’t driving a car.
He hasn’t touched the steering wheel with both hands for more than 10 seconds at a time once.
After a few minutes of this, I make the mistake of asking him what he’s doing. Over the next 5 to 30 minutes I’m able to gather that he’s trying to reach whoever he thinks handles Uber driver cards. The card where Uber pays him what he’s owed.
He’s trying to get the money from the current ride to post to his account so we can stop for gas. This is the same money that is still a pending charge on my credit card. I chose no to mention this for fear he may implode.
Instead of trying to explain the impossibility of this endeavor to him, I offer to pay for enough gas to get us there.
He takes this message like I offered to shoot him in the dick.
Instead, he hands me his phone and asks me to speak to whoever he’s on the phone with to try and sort this out. At least now he can focus on driving — this it turns out is also an optimistic worldview.
The couple is somehow still asleep, and who am I to rob them of a peaceful death?
It turns out me being on the phone instead of him is worse for his driving, as he can’t talk to me without also looking at me. But more importantly, I think he’s of the opinion that the faster he drives, the less likely we are to run out of gas.
I know this because he looked over and said:
“If we go a little bit faster we make it no problem.”
However disappointing his statement is, it’s as clearly as we’ve managed to communicate to this point, I have to appreciate that.
After a few minutes of dialing who he tells me is the “Uber card person,” I hand him back his phone.
We’re going to die.
I notice the fuel gauge is pinned to “empty,” but the fuel light is coming on and off intermittently.
Every time the light comes on, he makes some sort of audible grunt. I think he’s trying to make sure I know he’s also displeased with the situation.
I’m unsure the fuel gauge works.
Distance remaining: 30 miles.
I decide to leave Fangio alone, he pins it to 95 MPH on the desolate road, as I lock in on the steering wheel in case I have to try to take over.
The fuel light comes on and he once again takes the news very poorly. More grunts.
The couple wakes up, and does their best bad Ice Cube movie impression:
“Are we there yet?”
We are, by the grace of some deity.
