An Uber Coachella Fest - My Life as an Uber Driver #5

I had been out of town visiting my mom for nearly a couple of weeks, so Ubering for the big Coachella Music Festival was not an option for weekend #1, even though Uber incessantly texted that they need me (and the hundreds of other drivers they have here in the valley).

Even when I got back to town in time for weekend #2, I was reluctant to drive, mainly because it is a long trek from Palm Springs to Indio where the festival is held (and once you take somewhere there from Palm Springs, I figured you were stuck there with hundreds of other Uber drivers waiting for passengers who wouldn’t materialize until the festival ended late at night). 

Plus, there were reports of drivers getting stuck in one hour lines just waiting to get into the dusty Uber drop off spot, and the fares Uber was paying were pretty low.  There were many street closures, and reports that police were writing tickets to anyone (Uber or not) for dropping people off along the street.

So, I passed on driving Saturday, but Sunday morning I decided to give it a try.  I’m glad I did.

The first few rides Sunday morning were from music fans recovering from the night before … searching for a cool breakfast place or coffee house.   Cheeky’s and Lulu were the places I recommended to them and they, not being from these parts, were happy with the recommendations.

It wasn’t until about 11:30 that I got my first real festival call.  The ping on the app went off, and I was on my way to meet Royce at a nice home that likely was the root of much frustration for the neighbors.  It was a Coachella crash pad.  There were no less than a half dozen cars crammed into the driveway, and more parked on the street.  This is a nice Palm Springs neighborhood with upscale homes, and while the city has tried to crack down on the home rental business because of overcrowding and big parties, the endeavor obviously isn’t 100% successful. 

So, I pull up on the street behind the cars that are choking the driveway.  Uber notifies Royce that I am waiting.  And I wait.  And I wait.  And I wait.  After five minutes with no activity.  I see two women on the side of the house, spraying what I assume is sunscreen all over each other … enough that they could have walked on the sun and not gotten a burn.  But still, no Royce.  So, I call him.   And he tells me he’ll be right out.

Number one, if you’re calling for an Uber, be ready to go when they arrive.  You think your time is more important than mine, well that doesn’t work for me.  And just as I am ready to push the cancel button on the app, Royce spills out the front door, juggling a hat, red bandana, cell phone, can of Red Bull, and some papers.  He gets to the car and says, he’s ready, but we have to wait for “the girls.”  Another minute or two, and the sunscreen drenched ladies emerge from the home, clueless that anyone has been waiting for them. 

They are all friendly enough, and are happy that I have the Coachella channel on the radio, and they entertain themselves for the 40 minute ride down valley.  Now, I am following the Uber app map which supposedly has been programmed to take you right to the Uber drop off spot.  Well, as is a frequent problem with Uber, the app took me to streets that were closed, and others that were so jammed with traffic, you couldn’t get through.  Royce, and friends, who I waited a good 10-15 minutes to pick up are now getting antsy because they aren’t at the festival yet, and a band they want to see they can now only listen to live on Dan’s car radio.  The irony.

Ah, but there is a silver lining in giving these clueless Coachella fans a ride to the festival.  Toward the end of the ride, one of the girls in the back seat pulls out a twenty dollar bill and gives it to Royce to cover the girls’ share of the Uber ride.  No mention of a tip for their most excellent driver.  They get out and leave.  I give them a three star rating, they give me the same or lower since my rating went down after they got out of the car.  And I go on my way.  By now, it is lunch time, so I head home to make a sandwich before the afternoon session.  As I do frequently, I check the car when I get back to see if anyone had left anything behind and to pick up the trash passengers throw in the back seat (passengers can be pigs).  I found a candy wrapper, an empty water bottle, an empty Red Bull can that Royce figured he would dump in the car.  And …. I found the $20 bill that the girl had given Royce for her share of the ride.  It may have fallen out of his pocket and onto the seat.  Nice unintended tip. Karma. 

The afternoon resulted in three more rides to the festival grounds, but by then, the demand was way up.  Uber fares were surging, 2-3 times normal.  But the fans didn't care ... many seemed to be on a company expense account. 

Case in point … Tim.  About 3:00PM I get a ping to pick up Tim.  He has no address.  It’s one of those where it says to follow the map to the little icon of the man.  That is extremely frustrating for the driver, because the app map rarely works the way it should.  It can be off by as much as two city blocks.  It is even more frustrating when the app takes you to a gated community where all you have is the person’s first name, and in this case, no address.   

When I get this gated community where there is no guard on duty, but simply a call box. I am stuck.  Tim has not given me the gate code.  So, I call Tim.  He says he doesn’t know the gate code because he was visiting a friend who had already left.  He says just follow another car in when the gate is open.  So, I loiter out in front, getting the evil eye from security people roaming around in little golf carts, just about ready to cancel the ride, when someone pulls up to the gate.  I follow them in and wind through this huge complex to the spot where, if the Uber app was correct, I would have just run over Tim.  But you guessed it … no Tim.

I call him again, and he says he is a block away, but sees my car and he will head to me (a block away from where the app says he was … that’s about right).  In my rear view mirror, I see Tim, another guy, and a girl.  As he opens the passenger door, we say hi, and I see that he and his two pals all have big beer cans they are chugging away on.  “You got any problem with us drinking in your car,” asks Tim.  To which I say, “Yep, sorry, but it is illegal in California.”  Not to mention the fact that the place is crawling with cops just looking to find something to do.  So, they set their open containers in the parking lot of the complex at the exact same moment one of the rent-a-cops on the golf cart comes around the corner.

“Hey, what are doing?  You can’t put those there.”  So, another delay as Tim’s pals grab up the cans and have to search for garbage.

Finally, we are underway, and I find that all three are actually very interesting people.  They all currently live in Hong Kong and came to the desert just for Coachella.  Tim is originally from Florida, his pal in the back is Scottish, and his girlfriend is from China.  They are well educated, successful, and worldly.  They talk politics and current affairs, and they also know their music, spouting off names of bands that are as foreign to me as The Animals, Byrds, and Stones were to my parents.  They make me feel old.  But my passengers are good entertainment, and very nice.  Good thing, because we were stuck in the car for more than an hour. 

The traffic leading into Coachella by this time is dreadful.  Fifteen minutes to go two blocks.   The wind is strong, dust is blowing across the road.  That dissuades Tim and friends from bailing and walking the rest of the way, so they hung in there.  As we finally arrive to the giant Uber lot where an endless stream of vehicles are entering and exiting in an endless loop, Tim and friends say how much they enjoyed the time they spent with me.  I did too.  As he’s leaving, Tim says “Five stars?”  I say, “Yes, for sure.”  He smiles and says, “I’m giving you five stars and a comment.” Cool.  Later, I looked at my comments.   “XOXOXO” from Tim.  Go figure.  Right back at ya, Tim.

My last ride of the day was for Mike from San Diego and his friend visiting from Phoenix.  Again, two really nice guys.  Happy.  Engaging.  A real pleasure.  As we get ready to pull into the Uber staging area, Mike looks at the adjacent staging spot set aside for taxis.  While the Uber lot was jammed with cars moving through, one solo taxi car was waiting in the taxi area.  "Wow," he says, "Guess no one is taking taxis much anymore."

For working Coachella, I made the best money yet (about $150 for the day), but it could have been much better had I worked late.  One group I took to the festival said they had to pay $385 the night before to get back to Palm Springs because the demand was so high.  I said to them that’s so extreme.  Their response was, “Oh we’re on a company expense account.”  I remember those days.

Finally, some observations about the Coachella crowd.  Trends are cyclical.  I listened to Coachella radio all day.  The music I heard reminded me a lot of the cutting edge stuff we were listening to in the mid-60s, less raw, more refined.  I just don’t know the names of a lot of the groups.  But the ones that seemed to have the biggest buzz among my passengers were The Chainsmokers, Chvrches, Calvin Harris, and James Bay.  Most thought Guns n Roses were dismal. 

As for fashions, many of those I gave rides to could have been cast members in “Rowan and Martins Laugh In” or the “Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour” from the 60’s and 70’s.  Big floppy hats, tie died shirts, beads, worn out jeans, vests.  If only I would have saved my clothes from high school!  I have hope for the next generation.

Tomorrow, I meet with the local manager of Lyft, Uber's competitor, and I hope to be driving for both by this weekend ...  just in time for the Stagecoach Country Music Festival in Indio.  I’ll tune to the C&W radio channel and get behind the wheel.