We used to run the Uber driver – now they run ushttps://www.telegraph.co.uk/columnists/ ... the-power/The wedding was over, the day before there was a funeral and today I’d been best man. Now, at around six in the evening, I was standing on City Road, outside the gates of the Honourable Artillery Company. I was elated at landing some gags, squiffy after the bottle of wine I’d downed straight after my speech, tired after several days of travel, costume changes and ceremony and excited at the approach of an Uber.
I normally cycle in London. Everywhere and in all weather. It means I’m the master of my itinerary and I get exercise. But last Saturday evening, I was bearing two suit carriers and a large case and I made the call that the weight, awkwardness and mileage meant the bike option could be reckless.
So I stood there, clutching my phone, watching that little animated car wiggle along the streets towards me. I knew the make of car, the registration and soon I’d be safely in the back of Hassan’s Toyota Prius and en-route to Paddington. I revelled in the genius of the digital revolution and how Uber, with its cartoon of cars approaching, makes waiting for a car charming.
Then, as the car was just a hundred yards away, a note flashed up: it was cancelled. No reason, just cancelled. But no problem, Uber was scouring the area for someone else and, a few minutes later, another was coming to the rescue. The car was on a street just parallel to mine. Some friends passed by, leaving the party and asked if all was well. “All good, thanks – I’ve got an Uber on the way.” So they flagged down a passing black London cab.
Then, moments later the Uber cancelled. And then two more after that. So I stomped off down the road dragging my weary body and possessions in search of a busy junction and the yellow light of a cab.
Some 25 minutes later I flagged one down and hopped it. Then my phone flashed: “Your Uber is arriving.” Yeah right, I muttered. And then, I can’t quite recall due to the mental breakdown I was suffering, I either closed, or deleted the app or flung my phone to the floor. But a few minutes later a notification arrived to state that I had been charged for cancelling. And you try protesting this. You can more likely scale Everest without so much as a chilly toe.
And, of course, I remembered that this wasn’t the first time. Which made it even more painful. To book this Uber, I had had to upload the app again having deleted it the last time I abandoned my bike for a reckless attempt at cab ride. I’ve yelled “God I hate Uber” in the past, which made my loathing this time visceral.
It’s not all Ubers. In Melbourne last year, consistently, they arrived, time after time, day in day out, literally within 30 seconds.
Although not in our glorious metropolis. Because, you see, finally the drivers have worked the system. When it began they were at our beck and call. There was a market of drivers, jostling for our business. But the digital revolution wrought by the likes of Airbnb switched the focus from client to customer. You can rent my room, but not until I’ve sussed out your rating, looked up your track record, analysed the hosts’ comments. Your digital footprint bears your [edited by admin] rating and I, as a driver, will be the one who decides if I want your custom, thank you very much.
Then there is the proliferation of city cab apps. Where once the black cab monopolised the bustling metropolis, now they are mere bit players. And there’s nothing to stop drivers from signing up to all of them, save the sainted Hackney carriage. Thus the metered Free Now and Gett compete with Uber, Ola and Bolt and countless others no doubt (they’re Whac-A-Mole, like social media apps. You block them from your kids’ phones and another half dozen pop up).
Which means the drivers can mooch about town accepting fares and then deigning as to whether they will fulfil them at no loss to themselves. Why should they honour my poxy City Road to Paddington job when a juicy Heathrow number pops up two streets away? We used to run the Uber driver, now they run us. We must genuflect and compete for their custom and be the best possible customer. Which bearing in mind the fruity message I left in anger in response to “Your Uber is arriving” will doubtless mean that, while I’ve deleted Uber, they’ve almost certainly cancelled me.
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