Uber vs. Lyft—Some Choices Are Easy to Make

For years I have been indifferent to which ride-sharing company I used in the highly competitive duopoly market controlled by Uber and Lyft, admittedly with vastly different shares of market. However, during a recent ten-day visit to friends in an array of towns in Florida, that indifference vanished. Here is the tale of my conversion from Uber to Lyft. By dint of habit, I chose Uber as my go-to company on this vacation. Perhaps it harkened back to my time in London last November when I found the Uber response rate to be impressive. 

Landing in Orlando, I ordered an Uber to take me from the airport to Lake Wales, fifty or so miles from the airport. After accepting a ride, and awaiting the driver, he simply cancelled the trip and literally “disappeared.” Apparently, that is the right of the driver. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in a two-hours long sojourn during afternoon rush hour. So I ordered a second Uber, accepted the ride and received a second “disappearance.” I was beginning to wonder if I should have rented a car—an unsavory option, as I adore my own car and get peeved when, inevitably, I discover that a rental car doesn’t have all the gizmos and gadgets of my car.

My third driver actually showed up and I felt lucky. Little did I know. Comfortably ensconced in the back seat of an unfancy vehicle, my giant suitcase safely in the trunk, and my copy of The Atlantic poised to keep me excellent company for the journey, I breathed out a long slow exhale, much like the mindfulness breathing I learned from a Buddhist monk many years back. “Enjoy the calm, the quiet, the warmth of Florida,” I told myself. 

So engrossed was I in my reading that I neglected to observe that, at some point in the journey—was it thirty minutes? Sixty minutes? —the vehicle had come to a dead standstill on the highway. I was flummoxed. Here I was in mid-state Florida, with its wide multi-lane highways in what looked like the middle of nowhere. How could I be locked down in traffic that felt more like the Bruckner Expressway than the bucolic countryside surrounding me? The aura of relaxation evaporated. The Atlantic fell off my lap onto the car floor and l looked anxiously at my watch.

“How close are we?” I asked the driver, who was unable to respond because he couldn’t understand me. It was evident that my two-hour trip was morphing into something much longer, maybe closing in on three hours. I called my hostess who reassured me that dinner guests were enjoying sipping their cocktails. All was well. Another long, deep breath. As we eventually exited the highway and drove along a narrow two lane road, I began to get that sinking feeling that we might be lost, but there was no use asking.

Dusk was falling, as we crawled to a stop at the side of the road and the driver turned to me and spoke one word, “Here.” Really, I thought. “Does he think I’m sleeping on the side of the road?”  He seemed ready to get my luggage out of the trunk. “Stop.” I said forcefully as I dialed my hostess’s cell phone. She laughed at my crisis— “He’s at the back entrance” (of the retirement community in which she lived.) Have him turn around and you’ll see the entrance on the right.”  Over a late dinner for eight, a couple of glasses of Chardonnay relieved all the tensions of the past few hours.

I let go of that nerve-wracking trip for the next eight or so days, enjoying time with friends, taking Uber after Uber to breakfast, lunch and dinner, even when I might have walked, were it not for the endlessly unsettled weather. And then on my last day in the Sunshine State, I found myself in a “déjà vu all over again” situation. 

My plan was to have lunch with a 90-year-old friend who was frail of body, but keen of mind. The Uber instructions were clear with the full street address. So, it was much to my surprise when the driver stopped in a miniature strip mall on Route 1A1. He turned and looked at me in silence. “Take a right,” I said encouragingly. That’s when I realized that he spoke not a word of English. It was obvious that he was trying to indicate that he had completed the trip. My attempts to help him navigate were fruitless, and in his frustration to get me out of his car, he said in English, “911.” I smiled to myself in the back seat as I called a nearby friend to see if she could take me the last mile to my destination, as walking in heels was out of the question. 

Some fifteen minutes later, she pulled up behind the Uber, precisely as a police car arrived on the scene. I shared my version of the story with the policewoman and when she addressed the driver, she understood my quandary. Long story short, the very pleasant officer explained that I was “trespassing,” by not exiting the vehicle. That led to my posing all manner of hypotheticals as my rationale for staying put until I could secure a follow-up ride. She smiled, agreed with my logic, and admitted that the law was complex. Handing back my identification, she told me to have a nice lunch as she awaited the arrival of a police interpreter. Unfortunately, the ride-share industry does not offer passengers the option to request a driver with a particular language ability.

After two disquieting trips, it was time to take matters into my own hands by resurrecting my long-dormant Lyft account. A few days later, in New York City, I had the chance to enjoy the benefits when the driver offered to make an extra stop so that I could pick up food to bring to a friend. “Please put that as an extra stop,” I said. “Don’t worry,” he responded. “It was only a couple of extra minutes. There’s no charge.” I smiled—I hadn’t anticipated my decision to reap benefits so quickly. 

Another inspiring feature of Lyft is the company’s “Round Up & Donate” program which has provided over 100 million donations and raised tens of millions of dollars for charities over the last decade. Final thought: Lyft is “David” to Uber’s “Goliath.” We know how that story ended.