When I was a child, my grandfather admonished me to “take care of the equipment.” Do that, he said, “and it will take care of you.”
In the 1990s, when I was a cab driver in Marin County, California,[1] I was appalled by the condition of the cabs. Remembering my grandfather’s advice, I understood quite well that these were not cars that would take care of me. And of course, they didn’t.
The cab company had a decent mechanic but, especially after a company ownership change, he was constrained to do the bare minimum. And the cars themselves were filthy: I would later advise people to take the bus, simply because at least buses got hosed out at night.
The opportunity arose to buy my own cab and so I did. I was the only driver in the company who did this, so my car was far and away the best maintained cab in the fleet. I didn’t do this for better tips. I did it because I have standards that I learned both from my father and my grandfather.
I eventually learned that the reason the cab company encouraged me to buy the cab was about labor classification.
Cab drivers were gig workers long before the “gig economy” and one of the things I did for that company by buying that car was to supply my own equipment. The rules on labor classification vary by jurisdiction, even from agency to agency, but one of the criteria was whether workers supplied their own equipment.
I unwittingly had become a poster child for classifying workers as “independent contractors.” This is now often called worker misclassification. It’s illegal, but corruptly tolerated by the powers that be. Courts have often ruled against companies engaged in this practice, but it somehow mysteriously continues.
In the latest episode, “a regional National Labor Relations Board director said Thursday that the company is a joint employer of some of the thousands of contractor delivery drivers who deliver its packages.”[2] The workers in question drive the ubiquitous vans you see driving carefully at or below the posted speed limit because Amazon requires devices that monitor speed and driver attentiveness.
I have driven for Amazon Flex using my own car; when I did the numbers, I often saw that I was operating at a loss, so I don’t do it anymore. And Flex drivers do not appear to be affected by this “determination.”
But I think of that distinction back at the cab company: Amazon or its contractors supply the van, the workers are closely supervised, and do not have control over their working conditions. Notoriously, they were peeing in bottles and pooping in bags because they work under constraints that mean restrooms are not readily available.[3]
“[W]e know that drivers can and do have trouble finding restrooms because of traffic or sometimes rural routes, and this has been especially the case during Covid when many public restrooms have been closed.”[4]
It’s been a long time since I drove cab. I’ve earned a Bachelor’s degree, a Master’s degree, and a Ph.D. since, but have not been able to convert that education into gainful employment. So I’m still driving. Way too much. It’s causing nightmares and I’m presently suffering a severe bout of insomnia, exacerbated by a fear of falling asleep behind the wheel that bleeds over even into when I’m safely at home in my own bed.
This fear is part of a package that includes sheer financial terror.
But whether working for Amazon, Lyft, Uber, or DoorDash, the pay is low, often—after deducting for costs, below minimum wage—so even to the extent that drivers do have control over their working conditions, they are often paid for each order, not the time they would otherwise be on the clock, so the pressure is high to keep working—even when they need to go to the bathroom, even when they need to sleep. To call this inhumane is to understate it. But I continue to use my own, very well-maintained and relatively comfortable car: Whether passengers are involved or not, my grandfather’s admonition still holds.
The trouble here is that I’m not taking care of myself. I flatly can’t afford to. I’ve reached what should be retirement age and have no hope of retirement. The years have taken a toll on my health.
But the message of the gig economy is that I am utterly expendable and infinitely replaceable. It’s a terrifying power relationship that Amazon, Uber, and Lyft particularly abuse, using alleged[5] complaints to make certain their drivers feel vulnerable. So it doesn’t matter that I can’t take care of myself.
And ultimately, it doesn’t matter if I do fall asleep behind the wheel and get into a wreck, injuring or killing myself or others. Because what’s really important is that corporate executives have mega-mansions and mega-yachts to pay for.
[1] This was Radio Cab in Greenbrae. It is no longer in operation.
[2] Caroline O'Donovan, “Federal labor regulator says delivery drivers are Amazon employees,” Washington Post, August 22, 2024, https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2024/08/22/amazon-teamsters-delivery-drivers/
[3] Reuters, “Amazon acknowledges issue of drivers urinating in bottles in apology to congressman,” NBC News, April 3, 2021, https://www.nbcnews.com/business/business-news/amazon-acknowledges-issue-drivers-urinating-bottles-apology-congressman-n1262965
[4] Amazon, “Our recent response to Representative Pocan,” April 2, 2021, https://www.aboutamazon.com/news/policy-news-views/our-recent-response-to-representative-pocan
[5] In order to protect customer or passenger privacy, the companies withhold any details that would allow drivers to defend themselves against these complaints. The details are so vague that if we were talking about bomb threats, authorities would dismiss them as not credible.