Grubhub goods

Would always do weekends and peak times of day. In a tough spot and need any ballpark answer or advice appreciated. On the waitlist for Grubhub and doordash but am told i won't get off for months so just have to use ubereats
Thank you so much and good luck to everyone out there.

Is it just me or has ubereats been absolute dog shit lately. I've been making all my money on doordash these past 2 months, and wanted to see if this applied to anyone else. Also has grubhub or Amazon flex been making good money?

Heart-healthy eating helps you have the right food and keeps a check on your heart health. It aids in weight loss, reduces cholesterol, inflammation, blood pressure, and other heart risks, and increases lifespan.
According to WHO, “cardiovascular diseases (CVDs) are the leading cause of death globally, taking an estimated 17.9 million lives each year”. One-third of these deaths occur prematurely in people under 70 years of age. Four out of five CVD deaths are due to heart attacks and strokes.
This definitely is a problem of concern and needs to be addressed soon. But as it’s said – “Prevention is better than cure” It’s always better we start to visualize the problem, spread awareness, and follow practices that help us. Altering our lifestyle and incorporating a healthy diet are the best ways to stay safe from heart risks. And our heart-healthy recipes could be a great choice to start with!
Diet Changes that Can Eliminate the Risk of Heart Disease
Increase the intake of whole grains, veggies, fruits, and seeds in your regular diet. This makes a balanced diet and reduces heart problems.
Limit your consumption of Sodium, saturated fats, and trans fats like sugary foods & drinks, fried food, and processed meat.
Cook your meals at home. This ensures you eat healthy food regularly.
Complement these practices with regular exercise; quit smoking and alcohol consumption to prevent heart disease.
Heart-Healthy Recipes You Need to Try
Home-cooked-meals don’t just fill your belly, you also become mindful of what you feed your body by selecting healthier ingredients and practicing portion control. Not to forget, home-cooked meals help us save money and bring our loved ones around the table.
Grab the chance and try out our heart-healthy recipes that are easy to make and extremely tasty. Our list has a combination of foods covering veggies to whole grains that keep you satiated until your next meal.
Black Salmon with Roasted Vegetables
Salmon, rich in Omega-3-fatty acid, is a healthy fat. It can reduce cholesterol, control blood pressure, and is great for your heart and brain. When Salmon is paired with carrots, bell peppers, onions, or other veggies, it adds vital nutrients, making it a perfect dish that could make your heart crave for more.
This nutritious dish is a quick recipe that can be prepared within 30 minutes. You first need to preheat your oven to 400O F, place the salmon filets seasoned with salt and pepper on a baking sheet and roast the fish for up to 15 minutes. Now add the roasted vegetables seasoned with salt, pepper, and olive oil and transfer it to a platter along with the Salmon, and your delicious recipe is ready to taste!
Slow Cooker Butternut Squash Soup
Butternut squash is a rich source of vitamins, Potassium, Magnesium, Manganese, and fiber. It is low in saturated fats and cholesterol and, thus, is an excellent heart-healthy appetizer.
Saute diced onions, carrot, and garlic, with butternut squash in olive oil for 5-10 minutes. Transfer this mixture to a slow cooker and add vegetable or chicken broth and coconut milk. Lastly, add your desired spices (salt, pepper, cumin, chili flakes, and curry powder) and cook on low. This heart-healthy soup is ready to serve after 6-8 hours and tastes like heaven.
Lentil and Vegetable Stew
Lentils reduce the risk of heart disease by lowering cholesterol and blood pressure. They are a good source of plant protein and are rich in iron, Vitamin B1, and folate, which helps your heart be healthy. Additionally, the vegetables in this dish provide essential vitamins and minerals, making it a balanced diet.
Saute onions, garlic, celery, and carrots in the olive oil for 5 minutes. Add lentils, tomatoes, herbs, and vegetable broth and bring it to a boil. Add the seasoning, simmer the stew, and boil the lentils and vegetables until they are tender. Lastly, garnish the stew with parsley and serve it hot as is or with quinoa or brown rice.
Grilled Chicken and Veggie Skewers
Unlike red meat, chicken is healthy as it is comparatively low in saturated fats and is a great food choice for non-vegetarians. And when you add your favorite veggies to it, don’t you think it’s a medley of rich flavors?
To make this incredible heart-healthy recipe, cut the chicken breast into small pieces, marinate them in a mixture of olive oil, lime juice, spices, and herbs and add these chicken pieces to the skewers along with tomatoes, zucchini, onions, or bell pepper. Grill the skewers until the chicken is cooked. This dish can satisfy your taste buds and is something you would love to devour.
Quinoa and Black Bean Salad
You can’t go wrong with this recipe when you are looking for a dish that is heart-friendly. Quinoa and black bean salad is a classic cuisine that is extremely healthy, with its main ingredients being Quinoa – a superfood high in amino acids and nutrients, and black bean – which is power-packed with proteins. This dish is delicious and can be made in a jiffy.
Cook the Quinoa as per the package instructions and add the canned black bean to it. Mix them with chopped bell peppers, tomatoes, onions, corn, and your desired spices, and serve them hot.
Roasted Root Vegetable Salad
Root veggies can protect you from heart diseases as they are low in calories and sodium and have higher amounts of potassium and fiber. Thus, they curb your hunger pranks and are healthy.
To make this salad, dice your favorite veggies, and sprinkle salt, pepper, and olive oil. Now spread these veggies on a baking sheet and roast them in the preheated oven for up to 35-40 minutes. Add the roasted vegetables to a bowl of greens, walnuts, crumbled cheese, and vinaigrette; toss them with the dressing, and voila! You got a healthy and yummy salad to savor.
In conclusion, incorporating heart-healthy recipes into your diet can help reduce the risk of heart disease and keep you healthy. These recipes are easy to make and delicious, making it easier to stick to a healthy diet. Remember to also complement these dietary changes with regular exercise and other healthy lifestyle choices.

I want to start a thread that could be used as a reference for people needing the flexibility of doordash but more reliability in decent pay… so if you know an app drop the name and tell us a little about it and if you have worked with it.
I’ll start: Instacart (not accepting drivers all the time or in all regions btw) Uber eats/Grubhub (tried UE, didn’t like the UI or pay) Roadie (package delivery - I haven’t tried it yet but I am looking into this one a lot!) Amazon Flex (have heard good things, haven’t tried it)
Let’s hear what you guys have tried or heard of!

Hello everyone.
I got an email from a customer just now that said the following:
"Hello!
I know several people who won't order from you because you heavily inflate your prices on DoorDash and Grubhub. They see it as dishonest and I agree. Why do you do this?
Your food is great! So I'd love to know your reasoning,
Thank you,
[Customer's Name]"
Just a little bit of background information about the restaurant and my situation so that there is transparency in this post:
- I'm not the restaurant owner; my uncle and father are, but I manage everything from customer service to cooking to pretty much everything in the restaurant inside and outside.
- Our prices on DoorDash and Grubhub are increased by ~30% for delivery prices because my uncle wanted that because he believes DoorDash is charging HIM 30%, but he doesn't and cannot acknowledge that HE chose the HIGHEST subscription plan they can offer.
- I set up the prices to what my uncle wants according to what he says. I don't have much say in this restaurant, nor my father as a business partner for these specific matters.
- Our pickup prices are the same as our in-house menus.
- My uncle has 40 years of business experience with multiple stores and knows how to make a profit; because that is the type of person he is. Respectfully, he's a stubborn old man.
I've gotten a fair share of complaints, backlash, and verbal threats from customers because they are unsatisfied, and I wholeheartedly acknowledge this because it is also unfair.
I want to know how to tackle this type of question or how to respond to it without sounding like I am the reason why they won't order from us. Any guidance on what I should do? Any advice would also be appreciated!

• Edit 1: I sent the email to my uncle now, and he said he will talk about it tomorrow with me. Hopefully, he can explain and see what he says. I’ll share once I get the update.
• Edit 2: I've talked to my uncle for nearly an hour this morning, and he explains that the restaurant is in "good standing" as long as we make over $70,000 per month. Our average expenses like payroll, state/federal taxes, credit card fees, and supplies (AND LOTS MORE) total approximately $63,000. It costs money to run a restaurant, and we are not a charity; he's not wrong. I was arrogant to think he was just money hungry, but with the upkeep costs of food, waste, and other expenses, it is not optimal for us to continue like this if we want to profit from the restaurant and feed two families that run the place. These online platforms help us a lot to cover additional expenses and help us greatly to not lose money by inflating prices. I just wished I knew about all this stuff, as I'm new to these sorts of things this year. Thanks for the help, everyone!

I've shared fiction here before and it didn't go altogether too poorly, so I'm going to press my luck and do it again. This was written about a year ago, and I'm tired of trying to peddle it to lit magazines. Might as well share it here, know that it met a few eyeballs, and have done with it.
It's relevant to the sub insofar as it's about urban alienation and the working conditions at a small business run by IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE people. (I tried to pitch it as a story of the great resignation with a momentary flicker of cosmic horror.) It's based on a similar job I took on after getting laid off during the lockdown, and the circumstances of the main character's breakup are faintly similar to one I went through several years back (her job sucked the life out of her).
Without further ado:
* * *
It was getting close to midnight, and the temperature outside was still above 80 degrees. We’d locked up the shop at 10:15 and walked over to Twenty, the dive bar on Poplar Street, where a single wall-mounted air conditioner and four wobbly ceiling fans weren’t putting up much resistance against the July heat baking the place from the outside and the dense mass of bodies giving it a stifling fever from within.
Just now I came close to saying it was a Wednesday night, because that was usually when the cyclists descended upon Avenue Brew, the gritty-but-bougie craft beer and sandwich shop I was working at back then. Every Wednesday between March and November, about fifteen to twenty-five Gen Xers dressed in skintight polyester, all packages and camel toes and fanny packs, locked up their thousand-dollar bikes on the sidewalk and lined up for IPAs and paninis. They reliably arrived around 8:00, an hour before we closed, making it impossible to get started on the closing checklist and leave on time at 10:00. The worst of them were demanding and rude, and even the best got raucous and stubborn after a couple drinks. There were nights when bringing in the sidewalk tables couldn’t be done without arguing with them. Most were sub-par tippers, to boot.
After Wednesday came and went that week without so much as a single 40-something in Ray Bans and padded shorts stopping in to double-fist two cans of Jai Alai, we dared to hope the cyclists had chosen another spot to be their finish line from there on out. But no—they’d only postponed their weekly ride, and swarmed us on Friday night instead.
I was the last person to find out; I was clocked in as purchaser that evening. The position was something like a promotion I'd received a year earlier: for twenty hours a week, I got to retreat from the public and sit in the back room with the store laptop, reviewing sales and inventory, answering emails from brewery reps, and ordering beer, beverages, and assorted paper goods. When I put in hours as purchaser, my wage went up from $11 to $15 an hour, but I was removed from the tip pool. On most days, tips amounted to an extra two or three dollars an hour, so I usually came out ahead.
This was back in 2021. I don't know what Avenue Brew pays these days.
Anyway, at about 8:15, I stepped out to say goodbye to everyone and found the shop in chaos. Friday nights were generally pretty active, the cyclists' arrival had turned the place into a mob scene. The line extended to the front door. The phone was ringing. The Grubhub tablet dinged like an alarm clock without a snooze button. Danny was on the sandwich line and on the verge of losing his temper. Oliver was working up a sweat running food, bussing tables, and replenishing ingredients from the walk-in. The unflappable Marina was on register, and even she seemed like she was about to snap at somebody.
What else could I do? I stayed until closing to answer the phone, process Grubhub orders, hop on and off the second register, and help Danny with sandwich prep. After the tills were counted out, I stayed another hour to take care of the dishes, since nobody had a chance to do a first load. Oliver was grateful, even though he grumbled about having to make some calls and rearrange Sunday's schedule so I could come in a couple hours late. Irene and Jeremy, Avenue Brew's owners, would kick his ass if he let me go into overtime.
Danny suggested that we deserved a few drinks ourselves after managing to get through the shift without killing anyone. Not even Marina could find a reason to disagree with him.
The neighborhood had undergone enough gentrification to support an upscale brunch spot, an ice cream parlor, a gourmet burger restaurant, a coffee and bahn mi shop, and Avenue Brew (to name a few examples), but not yet quite enough that the people who staffed them couldn’t afford to live within a ten-minute walk from the main avenue where all these hep eateries stood between 24-hour corner stores with slot machines in back, late-night Chinese and Mexico-Italian takeout joints with bulletproof glass at the counters, and long-shuttered delis and shoe stores. Twenty on Poplar was the watering hole set aside for people like us. It was dim, a bit dilapidated, and inexpensive, and usually avoided by denizens of the condos popping up on the vacant lots and replacing clusters of abandoned row houses.
When we arrived, Kyle waved us over. He didn’t work at Avenue Brew anymore, but still kept up with a few of us. He was at Twenty at least four nights out of the week.
So there we all were. I sat with a brooding stranger freestyling to himself in a low mumble on the stool to my left and Oliver on my right, who tapped at his phone and nursed a bottle of Twisted Tea. To Oliver’s right sat Marina, staring at nothing in particular and trying to ignore Danny, who stood behind her, closer than she would have liked, listening to Kyle explain the crucial differences between the Invincible comic book and the Invincible web series.
I recall being startled back to something like wakefulness when it seemed to me that the ceiling had sprouted a new fan. I blinked my eyes, and it wasn’t there anymore. It reminded me of an incident from when I was still living with my folks in South Jersey and still had a car, and was driving home from a friend’s house party up in Bergen County. It was 6:30 AM, I hadn’t slept all night, and needed to get home so I could get at least little shuteye before heading to Whole Foods for my 11:00 AM shift. I imagined I passed beneath the shadows of overpasses I knew weren’t there, and realized I was dreaming at the wheel.
I was pretty thoroughly zombified at that point. Heather and I had broken up for good the night before, and I hadn't gotten even a minute of sleep. Calling out at Avenue Brew was tough. Unless you found someone willing to cover your shift on like six hours' notice, you were liable to get a writeup, a demotion, or your hours cut if you couldn't produce a doctor's note. So I loaded up on caffeine pills and Five-Hour Energy bottles at the corner store, and powered through as best I could.
I finished the last thimbleful of Blue Moon in my glass. Oliver wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a napkin and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at the KiwiFarms thread he was scrolling through. Pool balls clacked; somebody swore and somebody laughed. The TouchTunes box was playing Bob Dylan’s “Rain Day Woman #12 & 35,” and enough bleary 40-something men around the bar were bobbing their heads and mouthing the words to make it impossible to determine which one of them paid two bucks to hear it. A guy by the cigarette machine who looked like a caricature of Art Carney in flannel and an old Pixies T-shirt was accosting a woman who must have been a toddler when he hit drinking age, and she momentarily made eye contact with me as she scanned the area for a way out. Danny was shouting over the bartender’s head, carrying on a conversation with the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, who was sitting on the horseshoe’s opposite arm.
I never got his name, but when Oliver first referred to him as the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, I knew exactly who he meant. Philly scene kid par excellence. Mid-20s, washed-out black denim, dyed black hair, thick bangs, and dark, gentle eyes. He was only truly alluring when he was on the job, because he seldom smiled then—and when he smiled, he broke the spell by exposing his teeth, stained a gnarly shade of mahogany from too much smoking and not enough brushing.
“How’s Best? Marcus still a joker?” Danny asked him.
“Yeah, you know Marcus. You know how he is.”
So the Hot Guy had been working at Best Burger (directly across the street from Avenue Brew) ever since Pizza Stan’s owners mismanaged the place unto insolvency. (Afterwards it was renovated and reopened as a vegan bakery—which incidentally closed down about a month ago.) Danny used to work at Best Burger, but that ended after he got into a shouting match with the owner. I happened to overhear it while I was dragging in the tables and collecting the chairs from the sidewalk the night it happened. It wasn’t any of my business, and I tried not to pay attention, but they were really tearing into each other. A month later, Oliver welcomed Danny aboard at Avenue Brew. I hadn’t known he’d been interviewed, and by then it was too late to mention the incident. But I’d have been a hypocrite to call it a red flag after the way I resigned from my position as Café Chakra's assistant manager two years earlier—not that we need to go dredging that up right now. Let's say there was some bad blood and leave it at that.
Anyway, I was thinking about giving in and buying a pack of cigarettes from the machine—and then remembered that Twenty didn’t have a cigarette machine. I looked again. The Art Carney-lookalike was still there, fingering his phone with a frown, but the girl was gone—and so was the cigarette machine.
I had only a moment to puzzle over this before Danny clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a shot glass in front of me.
“Starfish!” he said. (Danny called me Starfish. Everybody else called me Pat.) “You look like you need some juice.”
He distributed shots to everyone else. Marina declined hers, but changed her mind when Kyle offered to take it instead.
She and Kyle had stopped sleeping together after Kyle left Avenue Brew to work at the Victory taproom on the Parkway, but Marina was still concerned about his bad habits, which Danny delighted in encouraging.
We all leaned in to clink our glasses. Before I could find an appropriate moment to ask Marina if I could bum a cigarette, she got up to visit the bathroom. Danny took her seat and bowed his head for a conspiratorial word with Kyle.
I watched from the corner of my eye and tried to listen in. Like Marina, I was a little worried about Kyle. He got hired at Avenue Brew around the same time I did, just before the pandemic temporarily turned us into a takeout joint. He was a senior at Drexel then, an English major, and sometimes talked about wanting to either find work in publishing or carve out a career as a freelance writer after graduating. But first he intended to spend a year getting some life in before submitting himself to the forever grind.
He read a lot of Charles Bukowski and Hunter Thompson. He relished the gritty and sordid, and had already been good at sniffing it out around the neighborhood and in West Philly before Danny introduced him to cocaine, casinos, strip clubs, and a rogue’s gallery of shady but fascinating people. (None were really Danny’s friends; just fellow passengers who intersected with the part of his life where he sometimes went to Parx, sometimes came out ahead, sometimes spent his winnings on coke, and sometimes did bumps at titty bars.) Kyle recounted these adventures with a boyish enthusiasm for the naked reality of sleaze, like a middle schooler telling his locker room buddies about catching his older brother in flagrante and seeing so-and-so body parts doing such-and-such things.
Marina hated it. She never said as much to me, but she was afraid that the template Kyle set for his life during his “year off” was in danger of becoming locked in. The anniversary of his graduation had already passed, and now here he was trying to convince Danny to contribute a couple hundred dollars toward a sheet of acid his guy had for sale. He wasn't doing much writing lately.
I was the oldest employee at Avenue Brew (as I write this I’m 37, but fortunately I don’t look it), and when Kyle still worked with us I felt like it was my prerogative to give him some advice. The longer he waited to make inroads, I once told him, the more likely he’d be seen as damaged goods by the publishing world. He needed to jam his foot in the door while he was still young.
I could tell the conversation bored him, and didn’t bring up the subject again.
The bartender took my glass and curtly asked if I’d like another drink.
“No thanks, not yet,” I answered.
She slid me my bill.
I missed the old bartender, the one she’d replaced. I forget her name, but she was ingenuous and energetic and sweet. Pretty much everyone had some sort of crush on her. Sometimes she came into Avenue Brew for lunch, and tipped us as well as we tipped her. Maybe three months before that night—Danny witnessed it—she suddenly started crying and rushed out the door. Everyone at the bar mutely looked to each other for an explanation. (Fortunately for Twenty, the kitchen manager hadn’t left yet, and picked up the rest of her shift.)
She never came back. None of us had seen her since. But drafts still had to be poured and bottlecaps pulled off, and now here was another white woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black tank top, a pushup bra, and a scrunchie, same as before. Twenty’s regulars grew accustomed to not expecting to see the person she’d replaced, and life went on.
“How’re you doing?” I asked Oliver, just to say something to somebody, and to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Heather.
“Just kind of existing right now,” he answered. His phone lay face-up on the counter. He was swiping through Instagram, and I recognized the avatar of the user whose album he hate-browsed.
“And how’s Austin been?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Not even three weeks after getting over the jetlag from his trip back from the Cascades, he’s off touring Ireland.” He shook his head. “Living his best life.”
He’d hired Austin on a part-time basis in September. We needed a new associate when Emma was promoted to replace a supervisor who'd quit without even giving his two weeks. There was a whole thing. I'm having a hard time recalling the guy's name, but I liked him well enough. He was a good worker and he seemed like a bright kid, but he was—well, he was young. Naïve. One day he found Jeremy sitting in the back room with his laptop, and took advantage of the open-door policy to ask why the store manager and supervisors didn’t get health benefits or paid time off. Jeremy told him it "was being worked on," and that he couldn’t discuss it any further at that time. I understand the kid got argumentative, though I never knew precisely what was said.
Irene started visiting the shop a lot more often after that, almost always arriving when the kid was working. No matter what he was doing, she’d find a reason to intervene, to micromanage and harangue him, and effectively make his job impossible. A coincidence, surely.
It’s something I still think about. By any metric, Jeremy and Irene have done very well for themselves. They’re both a little over 40 years old. I remember hearing they met at law school. In addition to Avenue Brew, they own a bistro in Francisville and an ice cream parlor in Point Breeze. They have a house on the Blue Line, send their son to a Montessori school, and pull up to their businesses in a white Volkswagen ID.4. But whenever the subject of benefits, wages, or even free shift meals came up, they pled poverty. It simply couldn’t be done. But they liked to remind us about all they did to make Avenue Brew a fun place to work, like let the staff pick the music and allow Oliver and me to conduct a beer tasting once a day. They stuck Black Lives Matter, Believe Women, and Progress flag decals on the front door and windows, and I remember Irene wearing a Black Trans Lives Matter shirt once or twice when covering a supervisor's shift. None of the college students or recent graduates who composed most of Avenue Brew's staff could say the bosses weren't on the right team. And yet...
I'm sorry—I was talking about Austin. He was maybe 30 and already had another job, a “real” job, some sort of remote gig lucrative enough for him to make rent on a studio in the picturesque Episcopal church down the street that had been converted into upscale apartments some years back. Austin wasn’t looking for extra cash. He wanted to socialize. To have something to do and people to talk to in the outside world. He wanted to make friends, and all of us could appreciate that—but it’s hard to be fond of a coworker who irredeemably sucks at his job. Austin never acted with any urgency, was inattentive to detail, and even after repeated interventions from Oliver and the supervisors, he continued to perform basic tasks in bafflingly inefficient ways. Having Austin on your shift meant carrying his slack, and everyone was fed up after a few months. Oliver sat him down, told him he was on thin ice, and gave him a list of the areas in which he needed to improve if he didn’t want to be let go.
When Austin gave Oliver the indignant “I don’t need this job” speech, it was different from those times Danny or I told a boss to go to hell and walked out. Austin truly didn’t need it. He basically said the job was beneath him, and so was Oliver.
It got deep under Oliver’s skin. He did need the job and had to take it seriously, even when it meant being the dipshit manager chewing out a man four or five years his senior. He earned $18 an hour (plus tips when he wasn’t doing admin work), had debts to pay off, and couldn't expect to get any help from his family.
The important thing, though, the part I distinctly remember, was that Oliver was looking at a video of a wading bird Austin had recorded. An egret, maybe. White feathers, long black legs, pointy black beak. Austin must have been standing on a ledge above a creek, because he had an overhead view of the bird as it stood in the water, slowly and deliberately stretching and retracting its neck, eyeing the wriggling little shadows below. As far as the fish could know, they were swimming around a pair of reeds growing out of the silt. The predator from which they extended was of a world beyond their understanding and out of their reach.
The video ended. Oliver moved on to the next item: a photograph of the bird from the same perspective, with a fish clamped in its beak. Water droplets flung from the victim's thrashing tail caught the sunlight. And I remember now, I clearly remember, the shapes of like twelve other fish stupidly milling about the bird's feet, unperturbed and unpanicked.
Danny peered at Oliver’s phone and observed a resemblance between the bird—its shape and bearing, and the composition of the photograph—and a POV porn video shot from behind and above, and he told us so. Elaborately. He made squawking noises.
“And mom says I’m a degenerate,” Oliver sighed. “Can you practice your interspecies pickup artist shit somewhere else?” Oliver flicked his wrist, shooing Danny off, and held his phone in front of his face to signal that he was done talking.
Danny sagged a little on his stool and turned away. I sometimes felt bad for him. For all his faults, he had the heart of a puppy dog. He really did think of us as his tribe. There was nobody else who’d only ever answer “yes” when you asked him to pick up a shift, and he did it completely out of loyalty.
He was turning 29 in a week. I wondered how many people would actually turn out to celebrate with him at the Black Taxi. Kyle probably would—but even he regarded Danny more as a source of vulgar entertainment than a friend.
Then it happened again. When I turned to speak to Oliver, there’d been a pair of pool cues leaning side-by-side against the wall a few stools down. Now they were gone.
This time it might have been my imagination. Somebody passing by could have casually snatched them up and kept walking.
But a moment later I seemed to notice a second TouchTunes box protruding from the wall directly behind me. I let it be.
Marina returned from the bathroom. Danny rose and offered her back her seat with an exaggerated bow. Before she got settled, I asked if she’d like to step outside with me. She withdrew her pack of Marlboro Menthols from her canvas bag, which she left sitting on the stool to deter Danny from sitting back down.
Marina never minded letting me bum cigarettes from time to time. I couldn’t buy them for myself anymore; it’s a habit I could never keep under control, and was only getting more expensive. Like everything else in the world. About once a month I reimbursed her by buying her a pack.
The air out on the sidewalk was as hot as the air inside Twenty, but easier to breathe. After lighting up, Marina leaned against the bricks and sighed.
“I wish Oliver would fire Danny already and get it over with.”
I nodded. Marina rarely talked about anything but work.
“He sneaks drinks and doesn't think anyone notices he's buzzed,” she went on. “He steals so much shit and isn’t even a little subtle about it. He’s going to get Oliver in trouble. And he’s a creep.”
“Yeah,” I said. These were her usual complaints about Danny, and they were all true. “At least he’s better than Austin.”
“That’s a low bar.”
Three dirt bikes and an ATV roared down the lonely street, charging through stop sign after stop sign, putting our talk on hold.
“Remind me. You’ve got one semester left, right?” I asked after the noise ebbed.
“Yep.”
Marina was a marketing major at Temple. She’d had an internship during the spring semester, and her boss told her to give her a call the very minute she graduated. Her parents in central Pennsylvania couldn’t pay her rent or tuition for her, so she was a full-time student and a full-time employee at Avenue Brew. Her emotional spectrum ranged from "tired" to "over it." She’d been waiting tables and working at coffee shops since she was seventeen, had no intention of continuing for even a day longer than she had to, and feared the escape hatch would slam shut if she dallied too long after prying it open.
She’d considered majoring in English, like Kyle. She went for marketing instead. I couldn’t blame her.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been kind of off all day.”
“I’m terrible.”
“Why?”
I gave dodgy answers, but she asked precisely the right follow-up questions to get me going about what happened with Heather the night before.
It was the new job. Before the pandemic, Heather worked as a server at a Center City bar and grill. (That's where I met her; we were coworkers for about a year, and then I left to work Café Chakra because it was quieter and closer to where I lived.) When the place closed its doors and laid everyone off during the lockdown, she got a stopgap job at the Acme on Passyunk, and hated it. Then in March, she found a bar-and-lounge gig in a ritzy hotel on Broad Street. Very corporate. Excellent pay, great benefits. Definitely a step up. But her new employers made Irene and Jeremy look like Bob and Linda Belcher by comparison. It was the kind of place where someone had recently gotten herself fired for leaving work to rush to the hospital after getting the news that her grandmother was about to be taken off life support, and not finding someone to come in and cover the last two hours of her shift.
Heather seldom worked fewer than fifty-five hours a week, and her schedule was even more erratic than mine. At least once a week she left the hotel at 1:00 or 2:00 AM and returned at 9:00 the next morning. Neither of us could remember the last time she’d had two consecutive days off, and it had been over a month since one of mine overlapped with one of hers. She’d spent it drinking alone at home. All she wanted was some privacy.
I’d biked to South Philly to meet her when she got home at 1:30. The argument that killed our relationship for good began around 2:30, when I complained that we never had sex anymore. Heather accused me of only caring about that, when she was so exhausted and stressed that her hair was falling out in the shower. Quit the job? She couldn’t quit. The money was too good. She had student loans, medical bills, and credit card debt, and for the first time in her life she could imagine paying it all off before hitting menopause.
So, yeah, I was cranky about our sex life being dead in the water. Say whatever you like. But at that point, what were we to each other? We did nothing together anymore but complain about work before one or both of us fell asleep. That isn’t a relationship.
She said my hair always smelled like sandwiches, even after bathing, and she was done pretending it didn’t turn her off. I told her she was one to talk—she always reeked of liquor. As things escalated, we stopped caring if her roommates heard us. “You want to be a father?” she shouted around 4:00 AM. “Making what you make? That poor fucking kid.”
We fought until sunrise, and I left her apartment with the understanding that I wouldn’t be coming back, wouldn’t be calling her ever again. I biked home and sat on the steps facing the cement panel that was my house’s backyard. After my phone died and I couldn’t anaesthetize myself with dumb YouTube videos or make myself feel crazy staring at the download button for the Tinder app, I watched the sparrows hopping on and off the utility lines for a while.
At 11:40 I went inside. One of my roommates was already in the shower, so the best I could do was put on a clean Avenue Brew T-shirt before walking to the shop and clocking in at noon to help deal with the lunch rush.
“That’s a lot,” Marina finally said. “Sorry.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. She was sixteen years my junior, after all, and just a coworker. She didn’t need to hear any of this, and I definitely didn't need to be telling her. But who else was there to tell?
She’d already finished her cigarette. I still had a few puffs left. She went inside.
I decided to call it a night.
The second TouchTunes box was gone—naturally. Danny had taken my stool, and regarded my approach with a puckish you snooze you lose grin. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’d just pay my bill, give everyone a nod goodnight, and walk the five blocks back home.
And then Danny disappeared.
One second, he was there. The next—gone.
Danny didn’t just instantaneously vanish. Even when something happens in the blink of an eye, you can still put together something of a sequence. I saw him—I seemed to see him—falling into himself, collapsing to a point, and then to nothing.
You know how sometimes a sound is altogether inaudible unless you’re looking at the source—like when you don’t realize somebody’s whispering at you, and can then hear and understand them after they get your attention? I think that was the case here. I wouldn't have known to listen if I hadn't seen it happen. What I heard lingered for two, maybe three seconds, and wasn't any louder than a fly buzzing inside a lampshade. A tiny and impossibly distant scream, pitchshifted like a receding ambulance siren into a basso drone...
I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. I’m certain I remember a flash of red, and I have the idea of Danny’s trunk expanding, opening up as it imploded. A crimson flower, flecked white, with spooling pink stalks—and Danny’s wide-eyed face above it, drawn twisting and shrinking into its petals.
For an instant, Twenty’s interior shimmered. Not shimmered, exactly—glitched would be a better word. If you’re old enough to remember the fragmented graphics that sometimes flashed onscreen when you turned on the Nintendo without blowing on the cartridge, you’ll have an idea of what I mean. It happened much too fast, and there was too much of it to absorb. The one clear impression I could parse was the mirage of a cash register flickering upside-down above the pool table.
Not a cash register. The shape was familiar, but the texture was wrong. I think it was ribbed, sort of like a maggot. I think it glistened. Like—camo doesn’t work anymore when the wearer stops crouching behind a bush and breaks into a run. Do you get what I’m saying?
Nobody else seemed to notice. The pool balls clacked. A New Order track was playing on the TouchTunes box. A nearby argument about about Nick Sirianni continued unabated.
Finally, there was a downward rush of air—and this at least elicited a reaction from the bartender, who slapped my bill to keep it from sailing off the counter.
“Danny,” I said.
“Danny?” Kyle asked me quietly. His face had gone pale.
“Danny?” Oliver repeated in a faraway voice.
After a pause, Kyle blinked a few times. “You heard from him?”
“God forbid,” said Marina. “When he quit I was like, great, I can keep working here after all.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Kyle. Did I ever show you those texts he sent me once at three in the morning?” The color had returned to Oliver’s face.
“No, what did he say?”
Oliver tapped at his phone and turned the screen toward Kyle.
“Oh. Oh, jeez.”
“Right? Like—if you want to ask me something, ask me. You know? Don’t be weirdly accusatory about it…”
I pulled a wad of fives and ones from my pocket, threw it all onto the counter, and beelined for the exit without consideration for the people I squeezed through and shoved past on the way.
I heard Marina saying “let him go.”
I went a second consecutive night without sleep. Fortunately I wasn’t scheduled to come in the next day.
The schedule. It’s funny. Oliver was generally great at his job, and even when he wasn’t, I cut him a lot of slack because I knew Irene and Jeremy never gave him a moment’s peace. But I could never forgive him those times he waited until the weekend to make up and distribute the schedule. This was one of those weeks he didn’t get around to it until Saturday afternoon. When I found it in my inbox, Danny’s name wasn’t anywhere on it.
As far as I know, nobody who hadn’t been at Twenty that night asked what happened to him. We were a bit overstaffed as it was, and everyone probably assumed Danny was slated for the chopping block. The part-timers were, for the most part, happy to get a few additional hours.
Oliver abruptly quit around Labor Day after a final acrimonious clash with the owners. I never found out the details, and I never saw him again. Jeremy and Irene took turns minding the store while a replacement manager was sought. None of the supervisors would be pressured into taking the job; they knew from Oliver what they could expect.
About three weeks after Oliver left, I came in for my purchasing shift and found Jeremy waiting for me in the back room. I knew it was serious when he didn’t greet me with the awkward fist-bump he ordinarily required of his male employees.
“You’ve seen the numbers,” he said. Business for the summer had fallen short of expectations, it was true, and he and Irene had decided to rein in payroll expenses. My purchaser position was being eliminated. Its responsibilities would be redistributed among the supervisors and the new manager, when one was found. In the meantime, I'd be going back to the regular $11 an hour (plus tips of course) associate position full-time.
Jeremy assured me I'd be first in the running for supervisor the next time there was an opening.
I told him it was fine, I was done, and if he’d expected the courtesy of two weeks’ notice, he shouldn’t have blindsided me like that.
“Well, that’s your choice,” he answered, trying not to look pleased. His payroll problem was solving itself.
I racked up credit card debt for a few months. Applied for entry-level museum jobs that might appreciate my art history degree. Aimed for some purchasing and administrative assistant gigs, and just for the hell of it, turned in a resume for a facilitator position at an after-school art program. Got a few interviews. All of them eventually told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. I finally got hired to bartend at Hops from Underground, a microbrewery on Fairmount.
I’m still there. The money’s okay, but it fluctuates. Hours are reasonable. I’m on their high-deductible health plan. There’s a coworker I’ve been dating. Sort of dating. You know how it goes. In this line of work you get so used to people coming and going that you learn not to get too attached. I walk past Avenue Brew a few times a week, but stopped peering in through the window when I didn't recognize the people behind the counter anymore.

Hello fellow survivors.
I'm 32 and live in the margins of society. My rent is $450 a month, utilities included. I also weigh about 100 lbs, which means there are certain courier jobs I could not do or could barely do while also hurting myself. I am great on my feet though.
I know my rent is a "gosh darned" miracle.. I barely dodged homelessness before I ended up here (homelessness would have meant certain death for me). Wages here (as well as hours) are truly laughable though and I'm actually lucky to make 10.50 in the environment I'm in.
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I currently work at a local restaurant in this small town in rural georgia to get by.
I've been looking at courier jobs for the better part of a year now. The ones like doordash, grubhub and the like may or may not be feasible for me as I would need to rent a car to start out, and I live in a small town and have roommates who say it can be completely dead at times (so there's definitely competition within the few deliveries there are). Driving to Savannah is definitely an option however, so I can't rule it out. It's factoring in the rental price and not knowing how well I would do at these jobs that stop me from risking it.
​
So I am wondering what others might think to do in my situation? My hope is to find courier work where it's more about time and distance that weight of the products. I've seen a lot of well-paying amazon contracted jobs that wouldn't require a THC test and would even supply a vehicle, but I fear I am simply not strong enough to do it.
I would say more but this post is already long enough, my apologies.
Thanks for reading, good luck.

Hey everyone,
I wanted to come on here to share a wonderful family-owned Mediterranean restaurant called Petra2go. It’s on the block of Clinton parkway and wakarusa in the shopping mall by Miller Mart.
The owner is a 70 year old man that has always wanted to own a restaurant. He opened up about a month ago and doesn’t get much business. He make’s unbelievable food (he has several great reviews on google.) , but he’s kind of hidden away from the rest of town.
I highly recommend his Chicken Shawarma,Hand made baked goods, and the Falafel.
If you are going out to the lake this summer or are on the west side of town I highly recommend trying it out.
He does Grubhub and Eatstreet as well.
I don’t have any affiliation, but I just want a small business to make enough to stay open.
Thanks :)
Petra2Go

GrubHub stresses you out to hurry tf up and get to the restaurant. They sometimes boot you from the order if your too slow. Once you arrive, the restaurant staff scoff and berate you got arriving too early. Then you sit and wait for the order. Finally, you receive the order, and hurry to the customer- where there is a good chance you will be berated again for the food order too long. 😩

Context: barely finished my bachelor of arts but ill lie and say i did, looking for barista job / hotel front desk/ etc anything where i can make 17-20 /hr with no extreme training needed + something i could bluff my way into. how can i make my resume as decent as possible considering the pretty lackluster work history i have?

Me and my wife come from the east coast and miss a few things but I thought this was a southern dish but after extensive googling and searching Grubhub/door dash, I can’t find any restaurant that serves creamed chipped beef. Came here hoping someone could recommend a place. Even if it’s a drive, as long as it’s good it’ll be worth it. Thanks in advance.

My X is getting really buggy. Font sizes are shifting back and forth on their own. It gets really hot when using location based apps like Grubhub driver. I replaced the battery just shy of a year ago and health is already down to 93%. The camera shutter is very laggy now too. I’m still running on 15.7.1 because most of what I’ve read about iOS16 on the X is not good.
Should I just upgrade now or wait until September for the 15? Some of the leaks I’ve read about it say it’s going to be barely of an upgrade from the 14. Any advice is appreciated.

A Corporate dominated world is a world that will not survive.
Corpos right now go around unchecked purchasing ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOODS and spiking the prices by DOUBLE if not TRIPLE the purchase price and then renting them out to the commonfolk.
Because the Middle Class no longer exists, no group of people can keep Corpos in check, meaning the inflation we have been experiencing has been Corpo created. Corpos get from their suppliers at their normal prices, but, they the spike the costs up by double the original if not triple. I understand that they are needing to make a profit, but this is genuine corpo greed at its worst. The difference between a profit and greed stems from the Hustle mindset we have been accepting for years. The removal of the middle class came with the introduction of “side hustles”, aka, part time jobs that do not work as a normal job would. Uber, Doordash, and Grubhub have set the stage for other corpos to lower outcome while maximizing their income. By finding the loophole of self employment, these corpos have mitigated the middle class simply by making Self Employment a Corporate title.
We NEED to stop this. The only future we have if we continue to allow Corporate BS is one akin to Cyberpunk 2077, one that looks good on the surface until you actually look into the world and see the dystopia they live. Murder all over (currently happening), corporate colonialism (currently happening), Corporate controlled Government (currently happening in the shade), Corpo influenced Law Enforcement (probably happening now), and Corpo’s will be able to literally control the cities they are in.
Think about the dystopia where you hear that a district of your city is locked down because corpo security decided to. Not because of city police, not because of anything other than Corpos. This could be tomorrow, if we do not do anything to stop it. Vote in anti-corporate legislators, return Unions to the workplace, and re-establish the middle class. Or the fate that faces America may face the whole world.

Hi everyone, I’m a delivery person who works for several app platforms like Uber Eats, DoorDash, and Grubhub. I’ve been doing this job for a while and I’ve seen a lot of hate and frustration between customers and delivery people. I’ve also experienced it myself. Sometimes customers blame us for things that are out of our control, like traffic, weather, or restaurant delays. Sometimes delivery people blame customers for things that are not their fault, like inaccurate menus, missing instructions, or special requests.
I'm here to tell you that this hate and frustration is misplaced and counterproductive. We are not each other's enemies. We are both victims of a system that exploits us and screws us over. The app platforms are the ones who are making this bad blood between us. They are the ones who:

• Pay us low wages and make us rely on tips that are often unpredictable or nonexistent.
• Charge us high fees and commissions that eat into our earnings and profits.
• Give us unrealistic or inaccurate expectations and ratings that affect our performance and reputation.
• Manipulate us with gamified incentives and algorithms that keep us hooked and competing with each other.
• Hide or withhold important information from us, like the order details, the customer location, or the delivery distance.
• Ignore or dismiss our complaints, problems, or feedback and offer little or no support or protection.

These app platforms don't care about us. They only care about their own bottom line. They don't care if we have to work long hours, risk our health and safety, or deal with angry or abusive customers. They don't care if we have to pay for our own gas, insurance, or maintenance. They don't care if we have to face legal issues, fines, or penalties. They don't care if we have any rights, benefits, or security.
That's why we need to stop hating each other and start working together. We need to realize that we are on the same side and that we have more in common than we think. We both want to make a decent living, provide a good service, and have a positive experience. We both want to be treated fairly, respectfully, and humanely.
We need to expose the app platforms for what they are: greedy corporations that exploit workers and customers alike. We need to share our stories and evidence of their wrongdoing and injustice. We need to use social media to raise awareness and demand change. We need to join forces with other delivery people, customers, and restaurants who share our concerns and goals.
We need to make our voices heard and our actions count. We need to create a better system that works for us, not against us. We need to go viral.
Thank you for reading this post. If you agree with me, please share it with your friends and followers. If you have any questions or comments, please let me know. Together we can make a difference.

What's the next step beyond ghost kitchens? I had a pickup very late, near midnight, in a downtown area I wasn't familiar with. Address takes me to a street where everything is closed, no sign of this "bakery", eventually figure out the pickup instructions say to call and they will bring the food out. So this guy in fact appears from somewhere and hands me a bag with a dozen cookies. Felt super sketchy, like a front for drugs or something. I make the delivery because sure why not, later after I'm home I check the listing on Doordash and the comments are just hilarious, going back a couple years a few people say "yumm this was all great" and many, many more say it was garbage, food tastes like it was made out of a boxed cake mix, (poorly), many suggesting it was made in a home kitchen or a dirty garage or in fact a child made it.
I feel like I should report it to Doordash, but I can't find any rules on this, can someone just call their home kitchen a bakery and list it on Doordash? It feels like at the very least a safety violation to just make Dashers and potentially customers stand on a street corner and wait for someone to appear with their food. And who knows what kind of health violations might be occurring if this is a home.
I can't find anywhere I would even send an email to doordash if I did want to report it. You'd think they would have an email form for "Report a restaurant issue", both for customers and dashers, but I can't seem to find it. God knows I'm not gonna try to go through chat support or phone support via the Dasher app.
They're also listed on Grubhub, Uber Eats, Postmates, and Seamless, so it isn't like bringing it up to Doordash is gonna shut them down. Maybe it's not really any of my business, if they wanna sell awful baked goods out of their kitchen to customers who don't look at the reviews, who am I to interfere?

I got an order for a customer $17 for 14 miles.. I normally dont do these due to the distance, but since it was still in my region after being done, I said screw it... Was a 7 mile drive to the restaurant, and then 7 miles to the customers house... Couldnt get any more complicated pick up drop off right? LOL....
Get to customer location notes says drop off at house on 6th floor, in office... I look up at a building that says Hospital, Ok No problem.... I look around for parking there is no parking... Hmmm ok.. I notice theres gate attended parking for a fee, that they drive your car kinda like vellet... I cant allow anyone to drive my car nope, not gonna happen, only spot is NO parking fire lane will tow $1500 fine... I look at the customers name and realize its a customer Ive delivered there before, whom Ive had issues with in the past on orders that she got cancelled somehow, and I did not get paid. She does not realize its me... I didnt want to be a bad driver, and give bad service, I already did all the work, and drove there... Im just not the type of person to leave my car parked illegally in a fire lane, for a lazy customer, who expects service hand over heels. She signs an agreement to meet at door.. Im at the door.. So I call the customer, no response... I text the customer, and she repeats the directions in the notes,, come up to the 6th floor of the Hospital... I said Mam theres no parking, and Im requires to follow all State laws, and cannot Illegally park just to please you. Im also not legally able to do business on Hospital premise its usually against policy, and I dont want any legal issues, should I fall, or get injured, or something happens to me like catch something contagious. Can you please meet me at the door per Grubhub Policy that you agreed too.. She says no I cant youll have to bring it up I demand service. I said Im sorry I can only wait here for the default 3 min timer Grubhub gives, I have other orders to leave, and deliver or pick up... No response... I call up Grubhub... Support says I see your situation, and yes your not required to enter private premises, and the customer is required to meet at the door or leave instruction as to where to leave the order.. Hes like let me call the customer, and see if I can ask them to meet you at door.. I reminded him that Ive had multiple issues with her in the past, and he says yes I understand no problem ok ;)
Customer comes down and out the door, and is Irrate, and very angry yelling at me that other drivers come up, and shes not required to meet at the door. I said were not employees mam Were not required to service you hand over foot. She says this is Horrible service the worse, and I said lol which time today or the other 4 times you got the order cancelled, and I did not get paid.. She scoffed at that, and said just give me my order. I said ok mam here have a nice day.. She starts yelling how shes going to call Grubhub and try to get me fired because I gave her bad service.. I said go ahead mam, I did my part, I drove, and picked up your order, and I gave it to you at the door per my contract... She said grrrrr with a red face.... I asked the agent if he heard all that since he was on speaker.. He says lol yes, that was bad of her...
So he says Im going to make sure you get paid for this order no problem since you cannot click delivered, just to confirm if she has the order.. I said yes, and now Im leaving the area.. He said have a nice day... I said you too...
Order is still on my screen. Hmmm 5 mins later, order vanishes, and says orders been cancled. when I go to look in my pay, the order does not exist, and no payment... I get sent a pop up 5 mins after that, saying the order was reassigns to another driver.. Im like I just delivered it???? WTF????
I send her a text that was non threatening saying how I appreciate driving for her today to only get the order cancelled once again, and customers like her are why drivers give bad service.. I said I wont be providing her service in the future anymore, because I remember people... {meaning I have the right to refuse orders}
I sent a email to support asking to be paid for delivery, and I called. And nothing could be done. They dont have the tools at driver care to handle my issue.
3 hours later My account gets frozen, and I cannot log in. I get an email saying that I threaten the customer via text, and action has taken place on my account pending review.. If I have any farther evidence..
So I went to the police station to file fraudulent reports that she illegally and fraudulently said I was threatening her via text, and that the customer Illegally stole my income that her, and GrubHub agreed that I would be paid for my delivery service, which I never got, called theft of services.. Officer made the report asked to read my text, and he says yea it doesnt look like any criminal threat. I have ground to sue both her, and Grubhub in Civil court, especially if they froze my account.. What burnt me up was he said theres nothing the police can do even tho theft of services is actually a law, and fraudulently reporting a crime is also Illegal. He said the reason was because Im legally an employee.. I said no sir, I pay taxes once a year Im filed as a sole proprietorship, for all legal reasons Im self employed. He says not really because you have a contract with Grubhub that they control, where I have no say Im an employee, and this falls under employee working conditions. Now weather I want to press the issue Civilly in regard to that its up to me, but just because Grubhub classifies me as Independent self employed via their policy does not mean legally I am. I said good to know Im not paying taxes anymore, and I expect all legal protections employees get..
He said hell write up the report tho, and give me a Report number because it sounds like shes saying I committed a crime,t then its definitely not a threat with what he read.
Now my account is frozen, I cant withdraw my funds. Could be permanent, or even few weeks. Im done being taken advantage of as a driver by these companies, and customers who play the system.
Im going to go ponder developing my own delivery app..With Drivers in mind. They created this monster...

This year GrubHub partnered with Amazon in various ways. Since then I received a pop up asking me if I wanted to volunteer in this program, and to take the test. I clicked no OPT OUT.. I chose to Opt Out because amazon has access codes that you must enter private locked property. GrubHub or Amazon does not offer any insurance to cover drivers in the event something horrible would happen like an accident if you fall while on property, or if a neighbors dog bits you or licks and smells your crotch while riding an elevator while their owner laughs, or someone else in the building points a gun at you asking you why are you trespassing. Per my contract, I deliver to the door take a picture and move onto my next order if I have one since Im being timed. We are not paid hourly, nor are we compensated for the time it takes to go through access codes, and follow instructions that could take up to 20 mins facing the daily hurdles of delivery that could possibly put us into dangerous situations.
With that said, GrubHub keeps sending me on these types of deliveries, even tho I did not OPT in, and Ive called, and requested to be removed from them, but I keep getting them. So I leave the order at the front door take a pic of the address if asked to leave at door. We shouldnt be forced into these types of situations.. I broke my leg last year walking on a customers grass in winter to deliver her food to the side of the house in back The grass had black ice on it, and they were not kind enough to leave on a light. GrubHub, and the customer did not reimburse me for this I was out of work in bed for 17 weeks. I fell behind in rent, and all my bills. I spoke with a lawyer on this issue, and I was told that as being self employeed, nobody is responsible for this except for me since its not on my contract to follow customers notes, nor am I required to go onto property. Customer requested, and I obliged so this is my own doing. It was suggested that I dont do this again in any situation for legal ramifications...
When GrubHub calls to ask why did I leave the food at the door, I explain to them for my safety per our contract, and legal reasons. I asked if they provide us insurance should anything happen they said no. I then say am I required to access the property against my will, and they say no. I say then why are you calling me treating me as if Ive done something wrong. They say have a good day.
Im curious as to how other drivers deal with this? if You got removed if so how? What is your experience?