This is not happening, I thought, as I jabbed at my phone to magic up a hybrid to convey me noiselessly to a central London studio. But my Uber app had vanished and wouldn’t reinstall, and was then ‘locked’.
Meanwhile, no black cabs were plying their licensed trade on Upper Tooting Road, where I was soaking up the vibrant multicultural scenery when this tech glitch occurred, outside a store called Niqaab and opposite Daily Fresh Naan.
I never keep drivers waiting. I almost always tip. I even sometimes make small talk over the beat of Heart FM
I moved fast to resolve the problem, i.e. I channelled Andrew Neil whenever British Airways fails to remember that he’s its most important client. I sent a stiff tweet to @UberUK, informing it that my account was disabled.
I expected a grovelling reply, and possibly a credit, to recompense me for this temporary inconvenience, as Uber realised it had made a terrible mistake and yes… who I was.
