We’re still out delivering for Uber Eats almost every night. K. starts later usually, picks up a couple orders from ‘decent’ restaurants, then after 9 or 10 pm, picks me up for fast food. It’s quite a sociological study in the various economic strata of our town. We go to the ghettos and the ritziest places in town.
The other night, we were at Super 8. It was definitely a super shithole. The front desk gave us a look like “Are you hoes?” K. always dresses extremely well, no matter what, so I could see the mistake, but I always look like I came out of a homeless encampment or a 72 hour detox or something, so I guess I’d be an ‘econo-whore.’
“I’m not scared,” I said, but K. insisted on waiting downstairs. Once I got to the floor the customer was on, I was almost glad she could hear me scream. It smelled strongly of smoke, men spoke loudly in the rooms, and a few of the doors were a jar. I took this as a sign of waiting for illicit trade of some kind. One of the stains on the stairs I wondered if it was jizz and dark stains were all down the hall as though I lived there. The chap I was delivering to had his door a jar too, but I was rather weirded out by the whole ambiance of the place, dropped the food by the door, and hurried away.
Another time I’m at a Hilton owned property by the river where you aren’t getting in for less than 200 a night. I get distracted when someone calls me on my cell and I leave K’s delivery bag at the door. Luckily Hilton guy snatched his order from Checkers and left the bag.
I’m not afraid of any ‘Leave at Door’ situation, but won’t go for ones where we must meet. I’m always scared people will think I’m weird, gross, and a potential vector of disease. When K. decided to confront a woman trying to score a free meal by not giving her an Uber safety code, I did not want to go up there. K. has a temper that boils up at the slightest provocation and I know how she can get. I always feel like I’m going to die of embarrassment when she goes off on someone. She banged on the door and threatened to call the cops until the woman came out and gave her the code. If the woman had any thought of resisting her, she probably thought better of it when she saw the fires of hell’s fury in K’s eyes or heard her Brooklyn accent screaming at her through the door.
“Next time, I have to go confront someone, you should come with me,” she said, still fuming.
“I don’t like confronting people,” I replied.
” I care about YOUR safety,” K. countered This isn’t exactly fair, considering I was willing to deliver Taco Bell to Norman Bates that time, traipsed around in the dark after midnight trying to find an address without being mistaken for an intruder many times, and climbed flights of stairs so she wouldn’t have to, but OK I’ll come. I have to die of something sometime, and death by embarrassment probably isn’t the worst way to go. Ride or die.
Tonight, I had a few encounters with the Uber public. It couldn’t be helped. One fellow met me outside. I thanked him, called him sir, and all that, and he must not have found me too objectionable because he tipped K. $10.00 for a Taco Bell meal. Another guy tipped $5.00 and the last person also tipped . Maybe if I have enough interactions that don’t go south, I won’t be afraid to meet people at the door. I’m really scared they’ll find me disgusting though, especially since looking people in the eye and smiling is very difficult for me. I expect them all to think I’m creepy.