Throughout the pandemic, I have never once gotten a meal delivered to my apartment. I’ve sent food to my girlfriend a couple times because I like her, but no VC-funded food shuttler has had the privilege of stopping on my one-way street, sprinting to my doorstep to the fury of trapped drivers, and leaving me food prepared by someone who relinquished 15 to 30 percent of their profit to UberEats.
I could claim my delivery abstinence is for ethical reasons, but during the pandemic, pretty much anything anyone does related to food can be construed as heroic. Ordering food delivery is great because you are supporting local businesses and delivery people. Picking up food keeps your favorite restaurant in business. Quitting restaurants entirely is excellent because you’re not endangering anyone, at any point, at all. But eating indoors is also admirable because plenty of restaurants can’t afford to leave waiters and waitresses idle. It’s a win-win-win-win situation, except if you’re a service worker. My personal brand of heroism is preparing the same few foods over and over again until the idea of another bean burrito revolts me so much that I pick up Indian food from Punjabi Dhaba.
The real reason I don’t do food delivery is because it is annoying. Companies offer a promo and then when you try to use it, it disappears. They allow you to add $13.50 into your cart, and then tell you at the last possible moment—when you’ve already become emotionally invested in your panang curry—that the delivery minimum is $40. And they charge exorbitant fees that I can only assume are wired straight to a McKinsey remote-working commune in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
When I got a DoorDash coupon in the mail last week, I quickly read through its terms, then tossed it in our recycling bin. On its face, the deal seemed pretty good: $10 off, plus no delivery fee, on an order of $20. But I figured that I would save money by not buying anything. And I knew that if I actually tried to use it, the app would find a way to humiliate me.
But then I thought about plans I’d made to walk with a friend, and remembered that the last time I had seen him, I’d eaten pho. I then realized that since last March, I hadn’t eaten any pho at all. I thought about the ripped up DoorDash coupon in my recycling bin, and I thought about the pho that could be in my stomach. Maybe DoorDash was different. Maybe they wouldn’t scam me.
I downloaded their app, where I was told that my new-customer status gave me free shipping. Awesome. I went to Pho ’n Rice and selected $20 worth of food, subtracting out the $10 and $3.99 delivery fee in my head. It was more pho than I needed, but it was just a little pricier than one bowl.
When I reached the final page, I entered the code I’d received in the mail. Unfortunately, DoorDash said, it was only for new customers. Since I was a new customer, I tried entering the code again, but was told it was only for new customers. I checked my order history, which was nothing, then tried again, on account of my new-customer status. But the code was only for new customers.
Just to check the depths of DoorDash’s deception, I made another account with an email address I never use for anything. I got the free-shipping discount for being a new customer, but because I wasn’t a new customer, I couldn’t get the $10 off.
In the end I called the restaurant, ordered pho for $10.95, and picked it up. It was good. I hope DoorDash’s stock tanks.
DoorDash: 2.9/10
Pho: 8.8/10
