I was coming out of a lovely restaurant in Downtown L.A.—Le Petit Paris. My Uber was waiting across the street, annoyingly parked on the wrong side of a one-way road. As I approached, a homeless man was shouting at the car. The driver didn’t move. Did he not realize I would have to walk right past a screaming, clearly distressed man just to get in? As soon as I closed the door, the driver apologized. He wasn’t sure he should even be driving. After his last ride in Old Town Pasadena, a homeless man had thrown something at his car, damaging it. He was still shaken. A few weeks earlier, someone had hurled a brick—or something like it—through his parked car window. For someone who drives full-time for rideshare, every dent or crack isn’t just an inconvenience; it’s a financial crisis. Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash As an Angeleno, I’m often told I’m a rarity—I don’t drive. I gave up my car and license over a decade ago. I walk, take the Metro, and use rideshare. In many ways, I see m...
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