Dear Lyft Support,
I'm really pleased to hear back from you regarding my last email- I really am. However, and maybe I'm overreacting here, I'm not sure you actually understood the nature of my complaint.
See, I've been a loyal Lyft user from the start. When you used targeted Facebook ads to tell me that Lyft had more lady drivers than Uber, whose drivers sat in the parking lot of my Coffee Bean and catcalled yoga moms. I even became a driver for a short time, getting high ratings for giving drunk riders water, willingly handing over my auxiliary cord and making sure late-night female riders got into their homes safely.
Safety is important to me. I assume it is to most lady-identified people. I'll be honest, your support team seems like a bit of a sausage party, but that's neither here nor there.
Anyway, I recently used your app to take me from my boyfriend's apartment in Mar Vista to my parent's house inland. It was $60, but I figured it was a small price to pay to avoid public transit and all the smells and characters that go along with it. Have you ever watched the human incarnation of a shadowy message board (complete with stringy blond ponytail and cystic acne scars) get into a fight with a homeless woman on the Foothill Transit bus into Whittier? It's not something you'd ever forget — or want to see an encore of, if we're being honest.
So I called a Lyft. Alfred answered. I'm calling him Alfred because he was creepy in a J. Alfred Prufrock kind of way, but also because his name was Alfred and I'm not going to protect his identity.
Fuck that guy.
When he arrived, I was a bit wary of him. His eager smile did nothing to set me at ease. His lips, stretched thin over his haphazard teeth, seemed more predatory than it did friendly, and his balding head was just the tiniest bit too large for his slight frame. But I figured he was small and likely harmless, and I was really looking forward to getting to my parents' house and setting up camp in their bathroom after pretending I didn't do lowly human things like poop all week.
Now, I’m not going to complain about a guy having a weird vibe. That would be crazy. Almost as crazy as said guy complimenting how shiny your nails are and then reaching over to tap on them to see if they’re “as hard as they look.” However, not as crazy as said guy asking to see my toes to check if they looked as shiny as my fingernails.
And then, when J. Alfred Prufrock the Lyft Driver was told that asking to see people’s toes could be taken the wrong way, he launched into a story about a support group of men he knows who have all been Gone-Girl’d; Weaving an uninvited tale about a friend who was tried for rape and kidnapping, but got off because he “only slapped her ass at work” and “they had been flirty” and, while there are several key elements missing from that story, I have no desire to know them.
Because that would be crazy. That whole thing. The entire paragraph. Crazy enough.
But then, after I voted him three stars so that he’d never be matched with me again, he attempted to contact me through your system. He claimed I’d left a phone charger in his car. This is patently untrue. I’ll have you know I don’t buy chargers anymore because I lose them all. When I did not respond, he followed up with Lyft support to send me his number through you.
And that’s where we left off, Lyft. Then I emailed you. You promised to look into it. You emailed me saying the matter had been “dealt with,” which is pretty vague considering this creepy Left-Swipe knows where my parents live.
So I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I’d like my $60 back.
