Image: Firefly original by Morghan Rhiatt / Dumb Decisions Daily — the universal face of a Dasher realizing the customer lives 20 miles away with no tip.
DoorDash Diaries: Dumb Decisions on Delivery
Every dasher has stories — the kind that make you question civilization and your own decision to leave the house for $4.25 and half a tank of gas. Welcome to the DoorDash Diaries, where logic goes to die somewhere between the drive-thru speaker and your front porch.
The Drive-Thru Diplomat
It always starts here — the sauce summit. A dasher stands at the window arguing with a teenager making $9 an hour over barbecue packets like they’re negotiating the Geneva Convention. “I need three, not two. The customer requested it.” The cashier stares blankly, dead behind the eyes, while the line snakes around the building twice. Neither side will blink. Civilization crumbles behind them. No one gets extra sauce.
Customer Notes from Hell
Then come the special instructions: “Leave it by the cactus.” “Please knock softly, the baby and my iguana are asleep.” “Don’t ring the bell — the dog bites, but it’s fine.” One even said, “Slide it under the gate if it’s locked.” Sure, Brenda, because tacos love horizontal travel through rust and raccoon hair.
The Apartment Complex Labyrinth
Next stop: GPS purgatory. The app chirps “You’ve arrived” while you stare at six identical beige buildings and a dim streetlight flickering like a horror-movie warning. Building J½ apparently exists in another dimension. You text the customer — no reply. Ten minutes later, you find them waving from a balcony, yelling, “It’s behind the dumpster!” Of course it is.
The 20-Mile, Two-Tunnel, Zero-Tip Guy
He orders a single Frosty and a burger from a restaurant two tolls, three bridges, and one existential crisis away. The payout? $3.50. The tip? Non-existent. The instructions: “Make sure it’s hot.” Sir, at this distance, we’re in a different weather system. NASA couldn’t keep this burger warm.
The Fast-Food Freight Train
Somewhere out there, a Taco Bell has declared war on efficiency. Fifteen cars deep, two headsets malfunctioning, and every order wrong by default. The dasher in line looks like they’ve aged a decade. The customer messages, “Are you still there?” Yes, Karen, but spiritually, no. The restaurant workers have begun quoting policy documents like sacred texts. Someone mutters “we’re out of cheese,” and the line goes silent.
The 1 A.M. Food-Theft Debacle
But the real test of faith hits at 1 a.m. — the unholy trinity of chaos. The first dasher steals the order, unassigns, and vanishes into the night. The next poor soul arrives to find the restaurant furious, the fries cold, and the customer halfway to a mental breakdown. The drive-thru’s packed with drunk philosophers debating menu prices. Support? Nowhere. You stare at your phone like it’s a Ouija board, hoping an agent appears. The customer’s texting “WTF?” in all caps. You text back, “I’m trying.” You’re not sure if you mean the order or your will to live.
Moral
Delivery work is modern-day trench warfare with worse pay and more ranch dressing. You will encounter saints, sinners, and the occasional barefoot man demanding ketchup at 2 a.m. DoorDash isn’t just a side gig — it’s a social experiment gone rogue.
Next time your fries arrive five minutes late, tip your driver. They survived two tunnels, three Karens, and an iguana to bring you dinner.
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For more late-night chaos, visit our Delivery Disasters archive.
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