There are two methods to the DoorDash handoff. One: You use your phone to guide your deliverer through twisty hallways like a CIA asset on a wire, then open the door too fast and spook them, and rush through a “hithankyouhaveagoodnight” micro-interaction. Two: You listen for the metal squeak of your door handle, wait 30 seconds, then retrieve the bag and scamper back inside like a lucky raccoon.
Many of us city dwellers earnestly believe we cannot live without this kind of delivery. It’s the reason I don’t really know how to cook, despite my mom’s glowing example. Uber devours most of my income—whether it’s feeding me or ferrying me. When the food of my choice magically spawns 20 minutes after I hit a button, why would I even think about taking a step with my feet? Luckily, I am not alone. This week, a New York Times article sparked a discourse about the frankly appalling amounts of money Americans spend getting food taxied to their doors. One couple spends $700 a week on delivery. A single woman has been eating into her savings—literally.
