Hey, it’s me, your 345th Uber ride. I couldn’t help but notice you gave me one star after our trip Saturday night, so I wanted to tell you why I, a loyal Uber customer, actually deserve five stars.

I sent you a text telling you I was coming outside.
Sorry the nine tequila shots I had that night made my writing “illegible.”

I only made you wait six minutes.
I had to close out my tab upstairs. And downstairs. Why do bars have so many floors?

I gave you my name when I got in the car.
I even reminded you multiple times that it’s “Haylee,” not “Hallie.” People always pronounce it like “Hallie,” and quite frankly, I’ve had enough.

I thanked you for the snacks you gave me.
I didn’t know I had to throw out the wrappers too. I thought that was included with the service.

Whenever you spoke, I made a grunting sound to make you think I was listening.
A lot of people don’t have the same common courtesy as me. Some people just nod. I did both.

I let you pick the music.
But you have shitty taste in music, which is why I had to change it to Pitbull. He’s timeless.

I helped you navigate to my apartment.
I know your profile says you use Waze, but you can’t trust it. It doesn’t even know about the shortcut that passes Julian’s house. I wasn’t “stalking him;” I just wanted to make sure he was home when he said he was.   

I politely asked you to turn down the music when I got a phone call.
I had to scream because my friend was at a Drake concert and it was really hard for her to hear me.

I agreed to go to Taco Bell.
When I clearly said I wanted McDonald’s.

I waited until I got home to eat my food*.
The rest* of my food. But it’s not a big deal; Doritos locos tacos don’t even make that big of a mess.

When I threw up in your back seat, I caught most of it in my hands.
Honestly, it was pretty rude of you to charge me the $150 cleaning fee when there was only a hint of puke on your floor. The floor is the ugliest part of the car anyway.

I gave you five stars.
And let’s be honest, you could’ve been better.