The rainy, chilly Saturday night near downtown Chicago found me en route to the ultra hip Fulton Market area, home of 700 Google employees and trendy bars and fancy restaurants. On my phone screen was “Carissa”, my rider’s name. The pick-up was the popular Federales restaurant and bar. It was late and rainy so there was limited foot traffic.
On the opposite side of the street near the exit of the new Morgan Street CTA el train stop, a man stepped toward the curb, raising his arm at me which held a backlit phone. I expected Carissa and wrong side of the street, but, he seemed sure it was me. Some riders use the account of their wife or girlfriend or perhaps Carissa was still inside.
I stopped the car and looked closely at him. He wore a collared shirt and appeared well-groomed, but there were red splotches on his clothing and his head. He said something I couldn’t hear through the window and in the drizzle. That was blood. Lots of blood: on both sides of his forehead and on much of his shirt. He probably was in a bar fight… and lost. I thought his blood would stain my car’s fabric.
I guessed he was not Carissa, but, a guy from a bar fight. He probably needed an ambulance, not an Uber. I had a paying rider ahead and it wasn’t him. If he was my rider, I’d cancel because I didn’t want him bleeding in my car. I drove off, squeezed a U-turn at the intersection and, immediately, found Carissa and her friend waiting for me in the rain, directly in front of Federales. Bloody Guy wasn’t visible as we left.
***
Uber drivers must watch for the wrong rider. Most residential pick-ups are easy; you stop in front of 2654 West and your rider comes to you. It’s trickier in nightlife districts, especially at night end when most riders are inebriated. In theory, they will check your plates, verify your car’s make and model, and confirm your name. In practice, not so much.
Chicago’s River North area, centered on Hubbard Street, is lined with clubs. Gridlocked traffic- Ubers and taxis- try to snake through the chaos of drunks seeking their ride. Three times on one busy Saturday night, wrong couples or groups of four clambered in, seeming very confident they had the right car. I confirm the rider’s name, but, that doesn’t always get through to drunks talking among themselves. Twice, I started the ride, only to learn they were the wrong riders before finishing the block. It’s a hassle when it happens: the correct rider needs the trip canceled; the wrong riders may slam your doors and leave in a huff.
Another night in River North, I stopped in front of a bar for my rider. It was an unusual name – possibly Eastern European – something like Tryon. I said it to the young woman entering my car. She grunted something, which I took as accent that she was Tryon. A north side destination appeared.
She used her phone rather than talk. A few miles later, she looked outside and said, “Um, it looks like we’re heading north?”
“Yes. Your destination is in Lincoln Park, right?”
She laughed. “No, I live in Hyde Park.”
That was a problem. Hyde Park is on the South Side. “What’s your name?”
“Emily.”
Not Tyron. I pulled the car to the parking lane. “OK, you’re on someone else’s ride. Let’s cancel. You can request a new Uber ride and I’ll take you to Hyde Park.”
The implication to the driver is lost revenue because the canceled ride becomes free. Emily didn’t understand Tyron even was a name so she didn’t realize I was trying to confirm her identity. The lesson is be clear who your rider is.
Milwaukee Avenue 