“I’d Rather Spend Christmas Alone Than Get in Another Uber”
Freedom comes at a high price
Last Saturday, at a coffee shop, my friend fell apart in front of me. “How am I supposed to go to my parents’ house for Christmas when I can’t even get into an Uber without having flashbacks?”
Two years ago, an Uber driver destroyed her life. What should have been a simple 15-minute ride turned into a nightmare that still haunts her.
“People tell me to take Uber because it’s safer. Safer? I was raped in an Uber.”
Now, she faces a 900-mile journey to her parents’ house for Christmas.
For most, it would just be a matter of logistics. For her, it’s a traumatic puzzle.
“Every option is a potential trigger.
Uber? I can’t. Night train?
The panic suffocates me.
Bus? What if I’m trapped with someone like him?”
“You know what’s more fucked up?” she tells me.
“Everyone says ‘oh, but Ubers are safe now, they have tracking.’ They had that when it happened to me. What good did it do?”
Unlike me, who has a car, she depends on public transportation. But since the rape, every journey is a survival exercise.
