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Second, and just as important: I vow to look the other way while you, say, make out in the backseat (that happened) or refer a friend to your coke dealer (that, too). ) and thought, But the thrill—and it is thrilling—is the semi-sanctioned voyeurism. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t something sexual about the whole thing, too. We’re in the digital age, but people seem to crave old-fashioned human interaction wherever they can get it.It’s an understanding, arrived at with no words: We’ll never see each other again, therefore you may act like an animal. Late one night, I stopped at a 7-Eleven for a cup of coffee, and I found myself all too happy to chat with a traffic cop who looked like Retta from But something happened around the third night: At the risk of sounding hippie-dippy, I started to give myself over to the experience. I dropped a guy off in an alleyway one night (speakeasy? Early one morning, I picked up a guy in West Hollywood and drove him to his hotel. And when you drive a taxicab, man, people tell you some weird shit.Though I did wonder what kind of fool would climb into a stranger’s car. But first I have to drop off Rope Bracelets and his drunk ladies at da club.Even more worrisome question: What naive idiot would invite a stranger into his car? Listen in as he moderates a C-SPAN-worthy debate on the definition of Uber capitalizes on what economists refer to as slack resources or underutilized capacity. One of the guys sighs audibly—it’s a bar here in Los Angeles, apparently; Silver Lake, to be precise—and then he barks: Turn around and take a left on Sunset. Just for the record, I have been waiting in this brat’s driveway for fifteen minutes while he (I’m just guessing here) stared at himself in the mirror and (again, just guessing here) debated exactly how many rope bracelets still qualifies as I won’t notice the pimp cup he and his friends are sipping from until they get out of the car, which is probably a good thing—I’m a bit of a neat freak, and I’ve never enjoyed so much as a Nutri-Grain bar inside my car. For the past week, I’ve turned my 2013 Prius (fuck yeah) into a taxicab, driving nights for uber X, the low-cost arm of the ride-on-demand company Uber, which, if you live in a major American city, either has already transformed how you get around town or will within the next few years.Late last year, a snapshot of what appeared to be Uber’s financials was leaked to the website Valleywag, and though Uber declined to confirm the numbers, they told the story of a company in mid-boom.The story might have ended there, except that Kalanick’s callous directive about how to handle the fallout—he blamed the media for suggesting Uber was somehow liable for these incidents that aren’t even real in the first place—was accidentally made public.

Uber will not divulge how many drivers are working the Uber grid, but the day I picked up my phone I saw a good 300 people doing the same thing.City by city, Uber is upending the taxi business, even though its rides can be pricier than cabs. Instant gratification, a hint of glamour, even some sex appeal. bit The Girl You Wish You Hadn’t Started a Conversation with at a Party? As I merge into traffic, I begin to understand how my parents must have felt all those years ago chauffeuring around me and my idiot friends. Here’s how it works: Download the app and enter your credit card information.That's what GQ's Mickey Rapkin discovered after spending one week as an Uber driver. The door slams shut, and a voice from behind me shouts: 4100. When you need a ride—in anything from a town car to a Prius—open the app and press a button. Drivers in Uber’s network are circling your neighborhood, and by the magic of GPS, the closest one is arriving at your door, oh, right about..(Don’t get the idea that Uber is just for illicit thrills. No one feels like a baller getting out of a yellow cab. Without getting too far into the weeds, it’s currently against the law for a black car to be dispatched in under an hour.One night I picked up two very sober, very intelligent doctors.)If there’s one thing these fares all had in common, it was the need to escape: a bad party, Mom’s house, a too crowded post-concert clusterfuck. This surely protects limo drivers, who’ve invested in medallions. Says Kalanick: I’m spending a lot of time with city officials in Miami when I would much rather be at the Shore Club. (Those are swanky boutique hotels in South Beach, by the way.

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