This past spring, I spent a month in L. I was a bit skeptical. It sort of makes sense. In a quick Google search, I found an article that reported that at least one couple got engaged after they UberPooled to the same restaurant in San Francisco.
With this extremely deep thought in mind, I went on a Tinder date a couple of days later with a year-old actor, Ari fake name , who was in L. His jaw dropped. I thought it was just some new, summery name. You should come! A lot of models, a lot of muscles, a lot of girls who have 30K followers on Instagram for seemingly no reason—that type of thing.
And then they made sweet Uber love. The relationship never went anywhere, given the whole creepy fake identity situation. Ripley—psycho-murderer-type character, so I just never saw her again. I wanted the same bizarre luck, so over the next couple of weeks, I got all dolled up before ordering my UberPools. The second was with two deeply spray-tanned interns. No one wanted to bang me. I was being sneaky—I really just wanted his contact info.
Uber Guy was 25 and getting a Ph. Soon after their ride, Shonna emailed him, asking if he wanted to get a drink the next time he was in San Francisco. We went on a date a week later. A few days ago, I was in an Uber non-Pool , and my driver was a particularly enthusiastic and philosophical Nigerian man in his 30s.
I decided to ask him if his Pool passengers ever got romantic with each other in his car. They hook up themselves. He recalled driving a something woman from Harlem to JFK the previous week. On the way, they picked up a guy around the same age, and it turned out they were both on their way to L. Like Shonna, my driver thinks UberPool is a better way to meet someone than a dating site. But two people can write for a year and not know each other.
