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The UberEATS Delivery Driver

Arjun left Mumbai with dreams of becoming an I.T professional in Australia. However, the journey of a million computer restarts begins with a single shady online accreditation program, so while he undertook that he needed a job.

Like many of his countrymen, he was lured into the flexible and lucrative world of Uber. UberEATS was the logical choice, as the drunk Australian is confined to its habitat, therefore reducing the risk of getting chundered on or getting into a fight about the cricket.

Arjun soon gained a reputation for being the “Don Burke’s hand” of the UberEATS game: constantly getting lost and ending up in the wrong place. Frustrated customers would watch his GPS avatar miss the mark like a namaste-tourist trying to navigate a New Delhi drop-toilet after some heinous vindaloo.

His North Perth customer had almost lost hope when he received a phone call from an unrecognised number. How peculiar. He answers, “good evening this is Arjun your UberEATS driver, I am outside please come and collect your food”. What, Cunt?

The customer flat out refuses, “do your job bro, walk to the door”. Arjun repeats the same instruction. See, Arjun was in a rush because this North Perth dude wasn’t Arjun’s only customer, he had accepted multi-jobs because he wanted his bank balance crammed with more paper than a shit photocopier.

Seconds pass and a simple delivery of some burrito bowls have turned into a total Mexican standoff. The pair eventually meets halfway between the front door and the letterbox. The exchange is icier than Perth water waste test, “fuck you very much, bro”.

The customer is minded to let it go until he opens his bag and sees his dinner looks sloppier than Brendan Fevola’s head at the Brownlow Medal Ceremony. Turns out old mate had mistaken his leisurely 1km scoot to the house for an audition for the Crusty Demons. So he begins the angry the dance of the refund.

Yeh, Arjun’s service sucked worse than a verge collection vacuum cleaner, but for 5 bucks a pop he really couldn’t give a fuck, and after all, isn’t half arsing a shit job the most Strayan thing a man can do?

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?

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