Look, professional psychotherapy is great. It’s not that I have anything against spending hundreds of dollars per hour to talk problems out with a professional; in fact, I see a psychiatrist myself. All I’m saying is that I can get just as much therapeutic release for the relative bargain $63, roughly the rate for an Uber ride from Santa Monica to Beverly Hills.
Real talk: crying is the shit. We like to pretend we’re tough, but I think we can all admit nothing feels better than just letting loose and crying like we’re Kristen Bell about to see a sloth. We all have our go-to cryfest movies, whether it’s Titanic, or The Notebook, or my personal fave (which is not really a cryfest in it’s nature, but more on that later) When Harry Met Sally. It doesn’t even matter what you’re crying about. There could be nothing really wrong and I could still just use a nice, long cry. Of course there are times when I’m crying for an understandable reason, but catch me in the right mood and simply getting a text that says “Ok.” instead of “kk” can set me off. Yeah, I sound fucking crazy right now, but girls don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.
For some people, crying in public is out of the question thanks to Ugly Cry Face. If you start to resemble Kim Kardashian or Carrie Mathison when you tear up, public crying might not be for you….unless you are comfortable enough with yourself, in which case, good for you– go for it. Personally, Cry Face is not my issue, but nonetheless, I feel self-conscious crying in public. Maybe crying at home alone is ideal, but when you’re still living with your parents, total isolation is pretty rare. It’s the same as crying with a friend, you’re going to get hugged and probably have to explain yourself and then listen to suggestions about how to fix the problem. I will say, while I’m a fan of crying in an Uber alone, crying in an Uber with other people is great too…significantly preferable to crying with friends while not in an Uber.
The thing with crying in an Uber is that more often than not, the driver will just leave you alone and let you just do your thing. A driver turning up the radio is basically the equivalent of saying “You do you, girl.” Plain and simple it’s just too awkward for them to ask what’s wrong. Chances are you’re not the only fare that driver has had cry in their backseat. You can bet your ass no matter how crazy you think you sound, that driver has heard weirder. Writer Mickey Rapkin recently spent a week driving for Uber* and detailed the experience for GQ. He wrote that “the thrill—and it is thrilling—is the semi-sanctioned voyeurism.” So yes, drivers are listening, but WHO THE FUCK CARES?? Sure, your driver may go home and tell his friends his fare cried the entire ride, the most he has to identify you is your first name.
As a driver, Rapkin observed “If there’s one thing these fares all had in common, it was the need to escape: a bad party, Mom’s house, a too crowded post-concert clusterfuck.” This, to me, is what truly resonates. Beyond a physical means of leaving, Ubers truly are a place to escape. If I spend the entire ride home crying, I can completely let go of whatever happened at my previous location by the time I step into my house.
Once I discovered this, Uber rides just became an invitation to deal with all my emotional shit. I remember getting into a car one morning on the way home from a sleepover. This particular ride started off with dry eyes. After getting my address, the driver turned on the radio to “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston. Maybe James could sense that’s what I needed, or, more likely, it was a coincidence, but the combination of the ballad and the safe comfort of the black leather seat pushed me over the edge and I began to bawl. I didn’t have the best time the night before but I ended up getting all my pent up emotions out during that 20 minute drive.
I highly suggest you try it one day. As you can see, I recommend Uber Therapy to all my friends. Why not just cry whilst driving yourself? That’s amazing too, but this is technically safer, and you have the added bonus of being able to curl up in fetal position should you so choose. It’s almost as if Ubers were made for crying. In fact, there should be a box of tissues in ever car. So next time you’re in an uber, sober or drunk, alone or with your crew, don’t be afraid to let it out. Just think of the backseat like a therapist’s couch, but instead of asking “and how does that make you feel?,” your therapist just turns up the surprisingly soothing tunes of KIIS FM.
* He actually drove for Uber X, a cheaper ride-sharing service offered by Uber to similar to Lyft
Ed Note: I feel like this post may take itself a little too seriously…whatever YOLO. I understand if after reading this you are truly concerned for my mental wellbeing (I’m looking at you mom), but I assure you it’s not necessary. No need to start slipping me Prozacs. I just figured if I was going to call this blog Crying In Ubers, I better fucking talk about crying in Ubers. At least I’m not doing drugs in Lyfts! (because ew!) If that ever happens, time to worry. xx