Uber-selfish. Uber-sad.
This column was originally published in July, 2015.
*****
This is a sad, pathetic story. It really makes me sad to write it; I hope it makes you sad to read it.
On June 17th I was offered two tickets to the Patrick Brown Leader’s Dinner at the Toronto Convention Centre. Tickets were $950 each (!!! It’s not cheap to be a political supporter!) and a business associate whose union had purchased a table could not attend; she asked me if I’d like to use her ticket, and as a lifetime Conservative, I jumped at the chance.
As it turned out, every person at the table was a guest of my associate and her union. There weren’t any actual union members at the table, but they had done a good job of spreading the tickets around.
Seated to my left was man about 30 years old, who introduced himself as a Caucus researcher for the Liberal Party of Ontario. I had lots of experience with PC Caucus services when we were government; no matter to which political party you belong, the daily grind of the work is the same. We traded war stories, and quickly fell into a fun and easy conversation.
Until the topic turned to Toronto’s taxi industry, and Uber. I have been a part of Toronto’s licensed taxi industry for almost 30 years: first as the Editor of Taxi News; then, as the co-ordinator of Toronto’s Taxis on Patrol program; later, communications advisor to Beck Taxi and now, Executive Director of the Toronto Taxi Alliance. Toronto’s taxi industry is a byzantine network of players including drivers, owners, fleet garages, and brokerages. It wasn’t designed: it evolved over decades, responding to consumer demand and government regulation, eventually resulting in a slightly imperfect, but incredibly entrepreneurial, responsive and reliable system.
If you are drunk at 3am and call a cab in Toronto, you can be confident that:
1) a cab will show up; and,
2) the driver will deliver you to your destination in a safe car, less than 5 years old, and charge you exactly the amount the City-regulated meter displays.
There are many, many cities in North America (my hometown of Detroit being a prime example) where neither of these two statements can be made. Torontonians have it pretty good – our cab service is like what they say about knees. You never notice them until they are not working. We all agree cabs in Toronto are too expensive – in fact, the most expensive of any North American city including New York – but the meter rates are set by the City, not the industry. Toronto cab drivers would rather have a lower drop and more business, but they don’t get a vote on that.
Enter Uber. My new Liberal acquaintance, it turned out, was a HUGE Uber fan: almost rabid.
“I would take Uber over a cab ANY DAY!” he expounded. “Cabs in Toronto are too expensive. I can take Uber for $5 when a cab would cost me $12.”
“That is really interesting,” I noted, “because one of the main reasons Uber can deliver so much more cheaply is that they do not pay for commercial insurance, which every cab driver MUST pay by law. Cab owners pay about $10,000 per year for insurance that Uber does not pay.”
“I’m not worried about insurance,” he replied. “I’m worried about what it costs me to get somewhere.”
“Well, you’re covered by provincial health insurance and the minimum coverage anyway,” I pointed out. “The person who is at risk of losing something – losing everything – is the Uber driver. He could be sued by his insurance company to recover the minimum coverage, fined, or even sent to prison. He could lose every single thing he owns in the world – his car, his house, everything. The biggest risk is to the Uber driver.”
“That’s not my problem. That’s his problem,” my dinner companion replied emphatically.
I paused to take that in.
“And you’re OK with that?” I asked slowly. “Because you are saving $5 on a ride, you are OK with the driver possibly losing everything he owns in the event of an accident?”
My new Liberal acquaintance sawed off a piece of the beef tenderloin on his $950 plate and forked it into his mouth; he took a swallow from his glass of (free) wine, and stared directly into my eyes while he chewed and swallowed.
“Yep,” he answered. “I’m OK with that.”
“That’s pathetic,” I replied in disgust.
“Yeah, well…I’m OK,” he shrugged.
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