Why Do I Feel Like the Delivery Driver Is Judging Me… and He’s Right
It always starts with a casual craving. You’ve had a long day, a weird week, or maybe you just looked in the fridge and nothing spoke to your spirit. So you order something. Something comforting. Something cheesy.
And then—he appears. The delivery driver. The same one as last time. Or worse… one who has definitely been here before. And suddenly, it’s not just food—it’s a situation.
Image Credit: Midjourney AI
The way he says, “Here you go,” feels different now. Not polite. Not distant. But like… knowing. Like he’s seen me in this robe before. Like he remembers the “no contact delivery” instructions I’ve reused for months. Like he clocked the fact that it’s the same order, on the same day, at the same time as last week.
AND YOU KNOW WHAT? He’s right.
The worst part? Sometimes I forget to clean up the evidence. The empty drink cups. The plastic bags. The broken dreams. Just beyond the opened door that he sees when I quickly grab my food and wave. It’s like a delivery graveyard and he’s the coroner. I open the door and suddenly I’m starring in an episode of CSI: Carbs & Shame. He doesn’t say anything, but I feel it. The air shifts. I imagine him getting back in the car like, “Yup. Same house. Same girl. Same fries. Respectfully, she needs a salad.”
There’s a difference. I’m not ashamed of my habits. But I’m also fully aware that I’ve developed a lowkey relationship with the local pizza chain—and I’m not sure where we stand emotionally. Like… are we cool? Are they concerned?
Do I qualify for some kind of VIP loyalty plan that comes with a therapist?
He’s seen me at my lowest. Hair in a claw clip. Sweatpants that tell a story. Holding a toddler while yelling at a cat to stop scratching the furniture again. He’s watched me fumble with my phone, forget the tip, remember the tip, chase him barefoot across the driveway with a much bigger tip then intended because I must tip!
We’ve shared silent eye contact that says, “I know this is your third time ordering this week. And I’m still here.”
And you know what? That’s love. That’s loyalty. That’s a silent agreement to never speak of this again.
Yes, I order from the same place too often. Yes, the driver probably has notes on me. Yes, I panicked once and said, “You too!” when he told me to enjoy my meal.
But also? I’m nourishing myself. And if that nourishment just happens to come with a side of judgment and a plastic fork, then so be it.
Let him judge. I tipped 30%.
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