Let’s Call An Uber

So, the other night, I found myself with a group of friends in Manhattan. Having just seen Livingston Taylor at the City Winery (a great show, by the way) we all decided to go to a restaurant that I used to frequent when I was a steady commuter to the city. “Let’s call an Uber”, one of my friends said and before I knew it, Kelly whipped out her cell phone and said “Our driver’s on the way”.
I am from the generation whose mothers preached, “Don’t ever get in a car with a stranger!” So right from the start, Uber had me nervous.
Let’s see. You download an app onto your phone. You type in where you are. A driver you never met before suddenly appears, knows your name and has a loose connection to your credit card. The vehicle may be a Lincoln, an SUV or a 6-year-old Kia, the same car the driver just took to the grocery store, or, for all you know, a drug pickup.
You get in.
My generation is more afraid. Actually terrified. And, perhaps, in the end, more practical.
We are also dinosaurs.
So while young people, like my colleague Kelly and her husband Jeff gleefully hail Uber cars on their way out of bars, and cities everywhere argue over whether Uber unfairly competes, avoids taxes or influences legislation, baby boomers are still mumbling, “Wait, you just get IN the car? And the driver could be ANYONE?”
The long and the short of this story is that we got to our destination just fine and Manny, our Uber driver couldn’t have been nicer. I guess I just needed to shake my head and return to my planet, waiting for yellow cars with black checkers to take me to restaurants or train stations or airports.
I know. A dinosaur. But look at how long they lived.