The Uber Drive From Hell

The Uber Ride from Hell: A Cautionary Tale of Detours, Death Wishes, and Dodgy Charges Alright, buckle up, dear readers, because I’m about to take you on a journey so wild, so infuriating, that you’ll think it’s a script for some slapstick comedy.

LATESTUK / INTERNATIONAL

10/21/20243 min read

The Uber Ride from Hell:

A Cautionary Tale of Detours, Death Wishes, and Dodgy Charges

Alright, buckle up, dear readers, because I’m about to take you on a journey so wild, so infuriating, that you’ll think it’s a script for some slapstick comedy. But let me assure you, this was no Netflix special. This was my actual Uber ride to Prestwick Airport – or as I now call it, “The Day I Saw My Life Flash Before My Eyes in 4K.”

It started off like any other mundane airport trip. I’m heading to Prestwick Airport from Glasgow, dreaming of sunny Majorca, and assuming this Uber ride would be, you know, normal. But oh, how wrong I was.

Detour Disaster #1

The first warning sign was subtle. The driver, for reasons only known to him and possibly a higher power, decides to take a detour off the motorway. Twice. Why? Apparently, he was trying to “save time.” Spoiler alert: He didn’t. In fact, we probably lost about 15 minutes wandering around God-knows-where. At this point, my anxiety is simmering, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s new? Maybe he’s a local who knows the hiddenroutes? Maybe I’m being too judgy?

Nope. Turns out, I was being way too trusting.

Detour Disaster #2: Sweet Tooth of Doom

Just when I thought we were finally back on track, the man pulls over for fuel. Now, fine, I get it. A car needs fuel to go. But do you know what doesn’t need fuel? My blood pressure. Because while he’s filling up the tank, this clown goes inside to buy himself some sweets. Sweets! Mate, are we on a road trip, or are you transporting me to the airport so I can catch a flight? Because right now, it feels like I’m trapped in the world's worst buddy comedy, and I didn’t sign up for this.

Turbocharged Tailgating & Terror

Fueled up, high on sugar, and clearly possessed by the spirit of a NASCAR driver, we hit the road again. Except now, he’s decided that the rain, the dark, and visibility resembling a horror film set are the perfect conditions for tailgating every single car in front of us at about 100 miles per hour.

100 miles per hour.

While the rain lashes down like we’re in the middle of a tropical monsoon, this lunatic is gripping the wheel like we’re in “The Fast and the Furious: Glaswegian Drift,” and I’m gripping my seatbelt, praying to every deity I can think of. I yell at him to slow the fuck down (politely at first, but that escalated real quick), and after a couple of terrifying glances in the rearview mirror, he finally backs off—momentarily. Then he gets bored and floors it again.

The Cargo Airport Debacle

You’d think we’d just make it to Prestwick Airport by this point, right? Wrong. So wrong. Instead, this maniac pulls into... a cargo airport. A cargo airport. Now, I’m no aviation expert, but I’m pretty sure my flight to Majorca doesn’t involve me being loaded into a box and shipped next to a crate of questionable electronics.

We’re now two miles off course, and he’s arguing with the poor gatekeeper like it’s their fault the satnav took him here. I mean, sure, technology can be finicky, but maybe don’t trust the satnav when you’re clearly pulling up next to warehousesinstead of terminals?

The Audacity: An Extra £5?!?

We finally (finally!) arrive at the correct airport, after what felt like surviving a deleted scene from "Mad Max: Fury Road," and this joker has the nerve to demand an extra £5 for the trouble because “the satnav was wrong.” Oh, I’m sorry, were you also charged extra by your brain for poor decision-making?

I tell him where to stick his £5, and I thought that would be the end of this nightmare. But oh no, it gets worse.

The Final Insult: £70 Extra on the Card

As if this wasn’t enough of a soul-sucking experience, I later discover this prize of a driver has charged me an extra £93 quid. Apparently, delivering me to my destination alive (barely) after terrorizing me for an hour deserves some kind of bonus.

I contacted Uber to get it sorted, and if I have to, I’ll be camping outside their HQ with a megaphone, but the lesson here is crystal clear, folks.

The Moral of This Story?

Don’t trust anyone. Especially if they take detours for “shortcuts,” stop for a snack break mid-ride, or think they’re Vin Diesel in the rain. Also, always check your bank account after. Vigilance is key.

Stay safe out there, people. The next Uber ride you take might not just cost you money—it might cost you your sanity (and possibly your life).

Stay blessed. Stay alive. Don’t let this happen to you.