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When I first began driving for ridesharing apps, it just seemed like an easy way to earn cash quickly. I was living in California and the job market was horrible; I was doing multiple interviews without getting anywhere.
So, in 2015, I decided to become a driver. I worked on multiple taxi apps, but I was surprised at certain training processes. For some of them, I just had to watch a few video clips. I felt like when it came to managing my time, making money, or even just staying safe—I was on my own.
As a woman who's all of 5'4", it wasn't as though I failed to consider the safety risks. I knew I would be confined to a small space with total strangers. But, I decided I didn't want to live in fear. So, at the beginning of my driving career, I gave rides to almost anyone, male or female, and would let them sit in the front seat.
Obviously, I took some precautions. For example, I would never pick someone up from an isolated location late at night. If any passenger was drunk, belligerent or just had a bad attitude with me, I would cancel the ride or kick them out of the car. My thought process was: Do I feel calm with this person? If I was feeling anxious, they had to go.
I was making around $6,000 per month while working on average 60 hours per week. Most passengers were talkative, respectful and appreciative. But, of course, it's only a matter of time before you encounter an a******* who ruins everything.
A few months after I began working as a rideshare driver, I received a request to pick up a male passenger named Nate*. He wasn't far from me, so I drove to pick him up.
We exchanged hellos and locked eyes in my rearview mirror. Nate was handsome. I thought: "Now this is going to be a good ride!" We chatted throughout the drive and his fun personality won me over. I felt we had chemistry.
A few days later, Nate requested a ride from me again and I was happy to accept. It was 8 a.m. on a Sunday, so I anticipated nothing but good vibes.
When I arrived, he opened the right backseat door of my car and sat down. We chatted for a little while about our shared love of Jimi Hendrix, whose live BBC sessions were playing in my car, before another passenger entered the vehicle.
He was joined by a heavy-set woman of about 5'8", named Lydia*. She appeared to be wearing clothes from the night before: a white blazer and a see-through black nylon dress, cut a few inches above the knee.
Before I even drove away from Nate's apartment, the pair of them began feverishly making out in my backseat, a stinging confirmation of how off-target I'd been about our chemistry.
Within a few seconds of the drive, Lydia started frantically screaming at me. She was shouting incessantly, telling me: "TURN AROUND! YOU HAVE TO MAKE A U-TURN. YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!"
Despite Nate telling her I was going the right way, Lydia seemed to have no sense of direction or memory and kept insisting that I was not taking her to the right address. I suspect she may have been under the influence of something.
The hysterical outbursts were relentless and her decibels drowned out Jimi Hendrix's genius. She repeatedly yelled at me to turn around and threatened to jump out of my moving car—which I almost wish she had.
Once I arrived at Lydia's address, she started screaming once again, adamantly refusing to leave the vehicle, because she was convinced I had taken her somewhere other than her home. I looked back at Nate, who appeared deeply embarrassed.
I ended up standing outside the vehicle, with my engine still running, to prove I wouldn't drive her anywhere else. But as soon as I stepped out of my car and took a few steps away from it, Lydia got out of her seat and began furiously running towards me.
Fear-fueled adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I sprinted away from this screaming passenger. I was vying for the opportunity to win this impromptu race. The prize? More time on Earth it seemed. I couldn't fight an angry woman who was twice my size.
Lydia was chasing me down the middle of her long residential street, and while I had brief moments when Nate was able to grab her and hold her back, she always broke free and chased me until he managed to restrain her again. There was no end in sight.
I raced up and down the street, back and forth, using speed and stamina which I didn't know I had on reserve. I didn't look behind me, because that would be a time-consuming distraction and I literally couldn't afford any missteps.
I eventually made it back to my car and managed to jump into the driver's seat. Unfortunately, the window was down and Lydia tried to grab me through my open window, both hands reaching a mere few inches away from my face. I pressed down hard on my power button and raised the glass, which created a safety barrier just in time.
Not long after I had locked myself in my car, Nate finally got Lydia to approach her house, where she took out her keys, unlocked her front door and walked inside.
Stunned, I stared at them both in disbelief. How was it possible that she couldn't recognize her home until she walked inside of it? I reported the incident to the app I was working on and called 911 while parked outside.
A few minutes after begging the police to drug test Lydia after she had chased me down a street, a cop car appeared. I told a female police officer what had happened. Ideally, I was hoping she would arrest Lydia. I didn't want to discover if the outcome would be anything less, so I left the crime scene unaware of the outcome.
Within hours, I purchased a stun gun, baton and pepper spray online. When my self-defense tools arrived in the mail, I felt like a new woman. Luckily, I never had to use my new equipment, but from that moment on I decided I would never let myself get into a similar situation ever again.
Even after learning how dangerous being a driver can be, I continued giving rides for a while, and had plenty more crazy experiences. Drivers are taught to watch out for hazards on the road, but the biggest threat to my safety was often my passengers.
I've had a stripper who appeared to be doing drugs in my back seat, someone I suspected was making lean, a recreational beverage containing Codeine, and even someone who tried to use my vehicle as a getaway car after robbing an alcohol store. Customers would hit on me, once I was even physically harassed by a drunk passenger.
Many female passengers would tell me they felt safe with me, though there were some customers who made it clear they thought I was "the help." They would fake a phone call or just not engage when I tried to speak to them.
But, despite all the wild passenger behavior, what made me quit were the frivolous and false complaints some passengers would make, possibly to receive free rides from the apps.
When you're a driver, I believe you have to be an actor. Many passengers want you to act like a best friend, like you care about their story, conversation and questions. I feel you have to perform all the time; be intuitive and realize when people do or don't want to speak. It's a guessing game. You truly never know what you are going to encounter.
Joy Alicia is a freelance writer and stand-up comic who lives in Portland. You can follow her on Twitter or Instagram @TheJoyAllie.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own. Names in this article have been changed.
As told to Monica Greep.
