Taking a $232,000 Bentley to the masses via free Uber rides

Everybody loves Uber, the ride service that recruits private car owners as freelance cabbies. In my night as an Uber driver, everyone I meet expressed a deep and abiding belief in the superiority of online private-vehicle transportation booking. So it’s really just a bonus, a gratuitous flourish, that I arrive to shepherd my fares in a $232,000 Bentley Continental GT V8S. Not only am I offering free Uber rides, I’m doling out free Bentley Uber rides. A few lucky citizens of Charlotte, N.C., are about to get their nights off to a memorable start.

Normally, Uber drivers are dispatched according to GPS—whoever’s closest to a rider gets the assignment. But Uber logs me into the system as a “VIP” car. If there were more than one Bentley roaming Charlotte tonight, then the GPS principle would’ve applied. But since it’s just me and the GT, riders who are curious about the VIP ride will automatically get the Bentley. About 20 minutes after I log into the system, I get my first call.

To facilitate the dispatch process, Uber gives each driver an iPhone4 that runs the company’s software. When a potential fare comes in, you have 15 seconds to accept. From that point, the person on the other side can track your progress and your ETA. The entire process is automated — nobody talks to anyone. This, it seems, is a big part of the appeal. People accustomed to ATMs and self-check-out have no use for cab dispatchers in their lives.

I have my first mission within 20 minutes of logging in. Five miles later, I pull up in front of an apartment complex to pick up Brett and Gabriella. Brett’s into cars, drives a BMW and is suitably pleased to be trekking across town in the Bentley. But neither he nor Gabriella are acting as excited as, say, a Price is Right contestant who just won a microwave oven. I was expecting extreme histrionics, hair-pulling, maybe dropping down and doing the worm across the pavement. Selfies. Fist-pumps. My fares seem happy with their six-figure British cab, but they’re not over the top about it. This is a theme that will repeat itself later: Uber riders have such high expectations that even a Bentley isn’t that crazy.

My next trip is a pair of women heading out for the night. They get a photo in front of the car when I drop them off downtown. Almost immediately the Uber Batphone lights up and I find my next fares a few blocks away, a couple named Erin and Scott. Up till now I’ve been easy on the throttle, driving like a professional. But I decide to ask them if they want me to exercise the Continental’s 521-hp twin-turbo V-8. That’s affirmative.

Rolling away from a stoplight, I snap down hard on the throttle and the exhaust uncorks its deeply uncivil rumble as we’re all pinned back in our seats. This is more like it. They’re heading for a restaurant with a big patio, affording the chance for maximum exposure when we arrive. “I hope all our friends are outside,” Erin says. Alas, they don’t spy anyone they know as they emerge from the searing red Bentley. What we’d want, ideally, is a situation like daytime Bourbon Street, where you can drive straight into the middle of the party. Charlotte doesn’t have a Bourbon Street, as far as I can tell.

I pull into the restaurant’s parking lot to contemplate my next move and a woman approaches with her phone in hand. “You must be the VIP car!” she declares. “I can see you on the map.” For a moment I think she wants a ride, until she identifies herself as a fellow driver. She and a guy with a Kia are hanging out waiting for calls. “It’s kind of quiet now,” she says, “but you should see it around 1 a.m.” Having had my share of 1 a.m. cab rides, I can certainly imagine that it’s a livelier crowd. And probably not one that I want in the Bentley.

I was planning on staying out for a while longer, but talking to the Uber drivers makes me feel like an uber-jerk, since it’s readily apparent that each ride I bestow is one for which they’re not getting paid. And that’s not to mention actual cabs like the one parked nearby, its driver casting dirty looks toward the Uber people. There is no lack of transportation options in Charlotte today. I power down the iPhone, unplug the lighted “U” affixed to the Continental GT’s windshield and bid farewell to my fellow drivers. It’s time to find some dinner and maybe a beer or two. Time to call Uber.