Like many of you, when I saw that #DeleteUber was trending over the weekend, I immediately asked myself if I had deleted Uber and was that why everyone was talking about it.
A quick glance at my apps reassured me I hadn't accidentally deleted the ridesharing app, as it had become one of the most important tools in my resistance effort, enabling me to get down to not-yet gentrified neighbourhoods where the fight was really happening with latte in hand still hot. But a cursory investigation of why it was trending enlightened me to the fact I had to delete the app or else I would be lining the very pockets of the swine I once roasted so hard on Twitter. I tweeted, "Who the hell do you think you are #NotMyPresident." Got three likes and an accidental retweet that was rescinded approximately 59 minutes after the notification was delivered to me.
So I followed through on the hashtag's command and deleted Uber, which then allowed me to pat myself on the back because now I was making a difference via immeasurable sacrifice in these trying times.
At this point, I finally looked up from my phone and remembered that I was in the back of an Uber!
"Hey!" I shouted to get the driver's attention, "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
We locked eyes in the rearview mirror. "Sorry, did you say something?"
"Don't play dumb with me, I saw what your CEO said! You disgust me! You're worse than that wrinkled, glazed ham that did not win the popular vote."
"Will I still be paid for this fair?"
"Money! Is that all you can think about right now? My personal brand is at stake here!"
At this point, I unbuckled my seat belt, opened the door and jumped out, despite the fact that we were cruising at approximately 100 kilometres an hour.
At this point, I remember absolutely nothing because at some point during my escape from the evil ridesharer's clutches I must have hit my head on the pavement and passed out because when I awoke it was several hours later and a lot more blood was coming out of my ears than usual.
I slowly rose to my feet and tried to get my bearings. There were no street signs or landmarks to guide me, so I pulled out my phone and quickly accessed the app store to download Lyft. While it was downloading, I did a quick peruse of social media and, to my horror, found that my boyfriend's ex-college roommate's sister had posted an article about how Carl Icahn, a Trump advisor, was a Lyft investor.
"Damn it!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as I threw my phone into the darkness. "Isn't there any way to get around without supporting Trump?"
Now, I am still in the darkness, waiting for someone to answer my question. I am stranded here, wherever here is, and I am slowly accepting the fact that I might die here, wherever here is. But if I am to be the resistance's first martyr here in this dark part of town, I will die with a clean conscience knowing that I did all I could. For is there more good one can do besides deleting two apps in the name of the resistance?