The tales of the Geneva Shore Report Uber driver.
There are all kinds of Uber drivers out there, but I almost never run into any of them. On Saturday night I finally ran into one of them because I showed up to get a ride that had been called in, and another Uber driver was there waiting already, for my ride. I should have known something was wrong because the application indication I got on my phone died before it finished waiting for me to respond and accept the ride. Somehow the app reloaded, and the other Uber driver got the nod.
There he was, in his crummy mini-van, sitting in the parking lot at Wal-Mart giving off lousy emanations of Uber to the world. I knew who he was because he had a lighted Uber sign in each of the van’s side windows. I thought that was neat, so I approached him to find out where he got them. That’s when I found out he’d gotten my ride. It wasn’t so bad until he told me he was from Madison, but had decided to drive down and work the Lake Geneva area. Even that wasn’t so bad, until he climbed out of the van and was wearing pajama bottoms and bedroom slippers. What kind of image did that present for the company that I’ve taken to working for as a full time career? To top it off, he got the signs because he’d done fifteen hundred rides, a goal I didn’t even know Uber had, much less that there was a reward for accomplishing.
The riders came out of Wal-Mart. They were a nicely attired couple with bags of stuff. I watched Pajama Man load them, and their stuff, into his tattered van. The male rider handed Pajama a twenty, as an extra tip before they took off, leaving me standing there in the parking lot like an idiot. An idiot with no Uber signs in his car and no ride. Really?