Have you ever fallen while biking, snowboarding, walking, or simply just standing there? The first thing you do is look around to see who saw you stumble. Afterwards, you start damage control, to see how much skin is left on your knees. I had a similar reaction when I was recently kicked off of everyone’s favorite ridesharing app.

I'll pick up the moscow mule supplies and Uber over.

Little did I know that would be the last time I’d be able to text those exact words. I opened the application, expecting another flawless ride from point A to point B from a stranger with a really clean car — maybe even some tiny water bottles to quench my thirst for the long, 5 minute journey.

I tapped it open, the Uber logo appeared on my screen. It asked me to sign in, again, for whatever reason. A little annoyed, I put in my college email — the one I’m surprised hasn’t expired yet — and my password: ‘Mrmunchkins3’

… flashed across my screen. I tried again. And again.

Perhaps, the unimaginable has happened? Coming to terms with reality, I quickly realize that I’m the first real person I know of that’s been kicked off of Uber. Hannah, in Lena Dunham’s Girls, is the only other instance I’m aware of when a person’s rating is so dangerously low, they aren’t able to order a ride.

Like falling off of a bike, I took a look around to see if anyone had noticed I was stranded and that my Uber in shining armor wouldn’t be 4 minutes away like I had planned. I was a transportation network leper. Probably contagious.

Uber’s rating system made me feel like a shitty person. It’s turned into a way to gauge the overall quality and integrity of an individual. A 5.0 rating is the standard, and everyone else below it are social cast-offs. It’s a system serving only as a way for Uber to keep their passengers in a monotonous cohort of quiet, complacent zombies.

Does the rating system add value to Uber as a service? Does it make their passengers feel valued and supported? I felt totally and utterly rejected. I was alone, and had just found out that my rating was comparable to that of Magic Mike XXL on the Rotten Tomatoes website.

We humans seek validation through things like hearts on Instagram, or blue thumbs on Facebook — or as in this case, my rating on a ridesharing phone application. But rejection happens all the time. Remember when Mariah Carey dropped the ball a little early this past ​New Year’s Eve ​on live television? Some of the most successful people in the world come out of it just fine, ultimately driving them to greatness. Walt Disney, he was fired from the Kansas City Star in 1919 because his editor said he lacked imagination. Madonna, she was canned from Dunkin Donuts in Times Square because she squirted jelly filling all over a costumer. My point is, it happens a lot. To good people.

After struggling with my emotional insecurity from an apps rejection, I tried to assess the damage and make a plan. I was stuck in a neighborhood a quarter of the way through gentrification without a ride. I remembered a story my mom told me once, a long time ago, when she had to get places and she didn’t have a ride. She would have to call this yellow car with a small box on the roof. This car would then take her to where she needed to go! I wondered if these still existed, or if they were next to the dinosaurs at the Denver Museum.

I went back into the liquor store I just shopped at and spoke with the cashier about ordering one of those ancient vehicles of conveyance (the mythical “cab”).

After dialing a super complex phone number of seven sevens, and explaining to the person on the other end that I was the girl with two handles of Tito’s and an apple pie, it was on its way. Ten minutes later, I was in my yellow carriage. I got in and immediately started comparing it to my ex, Uber.

The cab was dirtier and there were no signs of an extra long aux cord that stretches to the back seat, or tiny water bottles. The cab stopped and I got out right away, only to be screamed at that I have to actually pay for my ride with real money. After digging out my credit card in the mess of alcohol and groceries for the party, I bid the driver adieu.

After going inside and telling my friends the series of unfortunate events that just happened, I was met with some reactions of laughter — but also more judgment.

“Wow, what did you do? Were you that big of a dick to your drivers?”

The comment brought back the rush of rejection and insecurity I felt from my rating.

I’m not saying I was the perfect Uber client. A few things came to mind that may have led to my unraveling. There was the time I entered a car after drinking on a stomach full of chicken masala curry. I quickly re-lived it in the back seat, and then tried to bribe the driver not to report it. “I can come over with wipes and Febreeze ​tomorrow,​” I begged in between burps of sangria. The driver kept her dignity, but my rating did not.

There was that other time or three that I forgot I was in an Uber and transformed the backseat into a That ‘70s Show social circle, too.

Looking back, I’m not shocked at the disabling of my account, I guess. I made poor decisions and might even deserve this. That doesn’t take away the feeling of rejection or shame that the rating system made me feel.

Moving forward — like Madonna did after the whole jelly donut incident — I decided to not allow a few electronic stars define me. In fact, I think I may have even learned from it. I know now that I shouldn’t have taken Uber for granted, and will make it a point to keep all bodily fluids to myself for the duration of my ride.

But it also made me question the app itself and rating systems that have now become another way to categorize people. I am not less than someone with a 5.0 rating. Bloody knees and all,

I’ll get back up and keep riding.

Besides, Lyft is just a download away.