Uber Eats Driver

I order Uber Eats from Long Lae, a decent Thai restaurant in Mt Lawley. I’m browsing online in my room when I notice that the driver is a few minutes away, so I leave the back of the house and walk down our laneway to meet the driver on a side street where I dropped the pin. (Our house doesn’t have a clear front entrance). As I emerge from the laneway headlights appear and a white hatchback rolls up, a baby-faced smiling man at the wheel. He reaches over and collects a packed paper bag and passes it out his window to me. I smile back, thanking him, but instantly notice the weight of the bag. I’d ordered green curry chicken and rice for myself but there were at least five containers of food in the bag.

‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I don’t think this is mine.’ 

‘You’re Jaxon?’ he asks. 

‘I’m not,’ I say, ‘but I live with Jaxon.’ I do live with Jaxon, with his partner Jilian, and with three others. It’s a mad house. 

‘You’re not Jaxon ...’ the driver says. 

‘No,’ I cast my eyes down the street for a sign of my delivery but there are no other cars, ‘I live with Jaxon. I can take it.’ The driver’s eyes signal alarm. 

I check my phone and the Uber Eats app is still showing my order as one minute away, the car icon on the map is a couple of blocks away. 

‘Who are you?’ the driver asks, his smile gone. 

‘I’m Tim,’ I say, ‘I’m waiting on another delivery,’ I show the driver Jaxon’s Facebook profile on my phone, ‘I know Jaxon, I’ll give it to him.’ 

‘Your name’s Tim?’ he says, ‘and you’ll give it to Jaxon. Okay,’ the smile returns, ‘thank you!’ 

I wave bye and he rolls away.

My phone chimes. I’ve received a digital receipt for my order with Long Lae Thai for $26.45. I look around. No sign of my Uber. I search the app for the little car icon on the map but the map’s gone. A second chime, a notification from Uber Eats: ‘Your order has been delivered’. Befuddled, I decide to call my driver, but there is no call driver option on the app as the order is showing as completed. 

Scowling, I call Long Lae. A woman answers, ‘Hello, Long Lae can I take your order?’ 

‘Yes, hello, um I just ordered Uber Eats with you but my food never arrived.’ 

I hear muffled conversation as she explains the situation to her colleagues. 

‘We’re sorry about that. We gave the driver your order’. 

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I understand, and I got charged for it.’ 

‘Yes, we will call the driver now and call you back.’ 

‘Thank you,’ I say, ‘I appreciate it.’

‘Hey,’ I spin at the sound of Jaxon’s voice as he appears from the laneway. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks. 

‘Oh,’ I pass Jaxon his food, ‘that’s your order. Your Uber driver gave me your food.’ 

‘Yeah, the driver just called and said he gave it to someone called Tim.’

‘Yeah, well I’m waiting on my order still. It never came. I got charged for it but no food.’ 

‘That sucks. Did you call the driver?’ 

‘I can’t call the driver,’ I say, ‘once it’s been delivered the number disappears.’

‘Shit,’ he says, ‘well, I’d better get inside before this gets cold.’

I watch Jaxon retreat back up the laneway with his food.

My phone rings. It’s Long Lae. I answer, ‘Hello Long Lae?’ 

‘Hello Tim?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tim we tried calling the Uber driver but he didn’t answer.’

‘He didn’t answer!?’

‘Yes, he didn’t answer.’ I am speechless. ‘We’re sorry. You need to call Uber and tell them.’

‘Okay, I understand, thank you for trying.’

I search the Uber Eats app for the Uber contact. I hear a faint ‘Good luck!’ from the ear piece as Long Lae disconnects me. I find the number and call Uber. I get put on hold. Acoustic folk guitar plays through my earpiece. I wait a few minutes on the street before I turn the phone speaker on, turn and make my way back up the laneway, to the house.

I resort to cooking pasta. I add spaghetti to a pot of boiling water on the stove, the Uber hold guitar ballad is working overtime on my phone speaker. I find the Uber Eats receipt on my email. I scroll down to my address where it says ‘Delivered by Raj’ and beneath is a photo of Raj. He looks to be about my age, maybe younger, with short hair, a trimmed beard and almost no expression. I study his eyebrows, his eyes, his mouth, and my anger dissipates as I start to see the man in the photo is clearly unhappy. 

The guitar is suddenly replaced by a woman’s voice, an Uber operator. ‘Hello, Uber, how can I help you?’ 

I describe my experience to her and she assures me that I will receive a refund. I thank her. 

‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ 

‘No,’ I say, ‘I guess ... can I know what happened?’ 

‘I will call the driver now and call you back.’

I turn to the stove and give the spaghetti a stir. It’s not quite al dente. 

The agent calls. ‘Tim?’ 

‘Yes.’

‘Tim, I spoke to the driver and he said the road was blocked so he turned around.’

‘Yes,’ I wait, ‘that’s it!?’

‘Yes, he said he couldn’t get through.’

‘He didn’t think to call me?’ I ask.

‘Yes, he should have called you but he didn’t.’

I pause, realising I’ve overcooked the pasta. I’m hands free so I pour the pasta into a colander. The steam from the pasta coats my glasses. I’m momentarily blind but I point my face at the phone. ‘I think you should fire him,’ I bark, ‘I think he ate my dinner and I don’t think he’s sorry at all.’ 

The line is quiet before she responds in a measured tone, ‘Sir you will be getting a refund and if you wish you can write a formal complaint to Uber about him.’

I move to the sink, my vision clearing. The spaghetti is forming a solid UFO shape in the colander.

‘Forget it. It’s not a big deal. The refund is fine.’ 

Thank you. Have a good night.’

She disconnects me. I open the Uber Eats app and start to browse, ashamed of myself.