The Good Vibes Uber

Photo by Jérémy Chevallier on Unsplash

The number one perk of living in Virginia for four years without knowing how to drive is that you become fluent in the art of taking Ubers.
From gauging the niceness of a driver to the random deep conversations sparked by one small question to the precise art of asking for the aux with my friends on a night out - I love Ubers. I loved them so much that I started a mini writing project on all the Uber drivers I had encountered and the many lessons I learned. They were meant to be entries in my Fields Notes Project - my own way of documenting tiny truths, overheard wisdom, and human moments most people miss.

I never finished that writing project. But last night, after a spectacular ride with 70-year-old Maurice, I had to pick up the pen again.

To set the tone, it’s Thursday evening. I’ve just had two drinks and three rounds of shots, all sponsored by my firm. I’m slightly tipsy, headed toward the train and on my way to Bushwick to reconnect with an old friend from my childhood. I’m blasting Bengicela by Jazzworx through my headphones, soaking in the warmth and beauty of this summer night.

Forty-five minutes later, I arrive in Bushwick. That neighborhood always makes me feel alive, artistic, and expressive. The night is still unfolding, and everything feels promising. My childhood friend and I reconnect over wine and fries at a cozy little restaurant. From being eight-year-olds in Abuja to twenty-three-year-olds trading stories and filling in the missing years, it all made me feel light, full, and grateful. She’s a creative now, focused on Black studies and running a nonprofit, and something about reconnecting as writers in New York, years later, felt full circle. Being in dialogue again, this time as adults and artists, was grounding in a way I didn’t expect.

So as you can imagine, at this point in the night, I’m not expecting anything else to go especially well. It’s already a ten out of ten evening. I call my Uber. An Uber Share - which I’ve actually grown to enjoy lately as my obsession with storytelling keeps growing.

I’m late to the pickup. Maurice, a cheery older man, greets me with, “They wanted me to cancel you, but I stayed.” I thank him profusely. He smiles and says, “No, thank your co-rider. He didn’t complain.” I thank my co-rider, and soon after, we launch into a five-minute crash course in Uber 101: making money.

We talk about how Uber underpays drivers on shared rides - they only get $5 extra while Uber profits off each additional passenger. Maurice breaks it down with clarity and conviction. We get into commissions, Uber vs. Lyft - twenty-eight percent vs. eighteen percent - but Uber offers more rides because it has the larger market share. I’m genuinely struck by his sharpness and attention to detail. He knows the numbers. He’s done the research. His memory at 70? Impeccable.

Then another rider, Avery, is added to the trip. Maurice makes a joke about there being no room in the front, so he’ll have to squish into the back with us. I’m a little annoyed at first, but Maurice immediately shifts the energy. “I hope Avery is a little boy,” he jokes.

Avery joins, and suddenly the whole car lights up. It’s almost hard to believe we’re strangers with no common ties, just a car full of personalities who, on paper, might never cross paths. But the energy is effortless. We laugh about the cramped space, and Maurice starts sharing stories from past shared rides. The most interesting one is about two estranged friends who once reconciled in his car on a shared ride after eight years of silence. The way he describes their screams when they recognized each other warms my heart.

I sit there taking it all in; the laughter, the stories, the unexpected ease of it all. In a city that’s often cold and fast and disconnected, this fifteen-minute pocket of joy feels rare. By the time he’s finished his third vivid recollection, I can’t help myself. “I think you have a good vibes Uber,” I tell him. “You’ve managed to create such a warm and inviting space where strangers feel safe enough to share stories and laugh, all on a 15-minute ride.”

Maurice inspired me. As an artist, a creative, a curator, this is what I strive for too. I want to build warm, welcoming spaces where people feel seen. Whether through food, humor, or shared vulnerability. In a moment where we all could’ve been buried in our phones, I was fully present.

I’m a little sad that I’ll probably never see Maurice again but he’s definitely gained a spot in my Fields Notes. At 70, I’m sure he’s lived many lives. I would love the chance to sit down with him, to interview him, to feel that warm energy one more time.

But Maurice isn’t the only one.

There was the English teacher with a guitar side hustle who drove me from Tribeca to the Lower East Side last October and reminded me to keep fighting for my dreams.

There was the Georgian newbie who brightened my day on a ride from the Food Bazaar on Fulton to my house, as we bonded over how lonely and expensive New York City can be.

The list could go on.

This is your sign to put away the phones, take out the headphones, and say hi to your Uber driver. Make a connection. Learn something new. It really doesn’t hurt.