How I Became Addicted to an On-Demand Gig

When I look back on the two months that I spent as a delivery courier in Los Angeles, my grandmother’s familiar words of wisdom come to mind: “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” Whoever coined this phrase clearly lived several decades before the birth of the internet. We could argue that my grandmother’s wisdom is no longer true — or, at the very least, it deserves a healthy asterisk. In my case, the lunch is free if the customer doesn’t answer the door within 10 minutes. The bad news? That lunch is worth much less than my time.

You might ask what made a 34-year-old software developer deliver food on Postmates and Caviar. I attended two of the best universities in North America, graduated with honors, and had access to both Canadian and U.S. job markets as a dual citizen. The answer is simple: I couldn’t compete with H-1B visa workers and the tech world’s outsourcing trend. After my job was eliminated, twice, I decided to focus on launching a startup. The company eventually failed prior to launch, but I gained so much valuable knowledge from it that I don’t regret the experience — even if it did force me to supplement my income through tutoring and food deliveries.

What I do regret, however, is the time (and gas) I spent driving up and down Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood chasing after that next “ping” notification. I’ve been told that in a lot of ways it’s similar to the day-to-day life of a drug addict: constantly searching for their next fix. Just like a drug dealer, on-demand companies seem to try to get new couriers hooked by initially giving them a higher priority when determining who should be offered the next available delivery. Those new couriers then get the impression that the demand for deliveries in their area is much greater than it actually is. They’re also conditioned to believe that a majority of deliveries are for higher quality (or higher dollar) restaurants or merchants.

How is this similar to the relationship between the seller and buyer of an illicit drug? Quite simply, the seller knows the competition like the back of their hand. Their goal is not merely to make a single sale — it’s to develop a loyal repeat customer. They may give them a better deal (or even a better quality product) the first time, but the goal is nevertheless the same as that of the service facilitator: to get you hooked on short-term satisfaction that only they can provide.

I should probably mention that I’m fortunate enough to have never battled with drug addiction, nor do I claim to be an expert on the subject. I’m not saying that being a courier is in any way as destructive to your health and well-being as taking an illicit drug is, but the addictive characteristics between the two shouldn’t be ignored.

After a few days using the app, the outcome becomes quite clear: you’re consistently logging in at locations where you previously experienced positive results. I can remember sitting in my car, in a parking lot for an hour or two, waiting for a job. Inevitably it seemed, right as I was about to call it quits, I would receive a ping with a new pickup request. I began to wonder if the motion of my car leaving the parking lot triggered the app in some way. That doesn’t mean that after the honeymoon period is over you’re not getting any pings for new deliveries. In my experience, the decline was more gradual, but noticeably deliberate, after a week.

This isn’t rocket science, but there are complex algorithms that determine which worker should be assigned to a particular order. Since the logic behind it is very much proprietary and differs from service to service, we don’t really know all the factors that come into play. We can, however, assume at least one thing: these companies want as many workers online, in a given area and at a given time, as possible. Competition between on-demand apps has fueled the necessity for quicker and cheaper deliveries. What will they do to make sure you’re willing to go online (and thus accept more work) when they want you to? Offer time-sensitive bonuses and other incentives that ultimately flood the pool of available drivers and couriers within minutes. Typically these are offered at two levels: area-specific bonuses where all workers in that area receive the notification on their smartphone, or worker-specific bonuses where you receive an exclusive notification in the app itself.

I quickly discovered that Postmates was a genius at luring me back online. I would go days without opening the app, and then, out of the blue, I would receive an email from “Postmates Fleet” offering me a significant bonus — anywhere from an extra $75 to $250 — if I completed a certain number of deliveries within a specific time frame — usually within a couple of days and only at certain hours (i.e. 50 deliveries between the hours of 2 p.m. and 5 p.m. within the next two days). Why are these so tempting? Because if you’re like me — a single guy living in a super expensive area with two student loans in two different countries, a car loan, a few credit cards with balances, and a hungry German shepherd — you are hustling for every dime. Unfortunately, these incentives are actually designed to be unattainable. Sometimes laughably unattainable.

Your bonus is dependent on the number of deliveries you are offered in the first place. You don’t have to be the smartest person on planet Earth to realize that it’s not in Postmates’ best interest to give you enough deliveries to actually hit that magic number. Don’t get me wrong: some couriers do receive a bonus, but it’s rare. How can I be so sure of this? Because the law of supply and demand does not work out in the courier’s favor. There are far more couriers available for prime-time deliveries, in most areas, than are needed. That’s good for the delivery companies and their customers, but less so for the workers.

Up until now, I’ve focused solely on these on-demand gigs and you might feel that I’ve left out all the other types of services that make up what some would call the gig economy. I would argue that the term gig economy is defined in a subjective manner. Some people consider traditional freelancers and temporary contractors to be part of the definition; however, I do not. The concept of freelancers and temporary contractors isn’t anything new. Having worked in the IT industry for a while, I’ve had the privilege of being part of many development teams where freelancers and contractors were sometimes brought in to fill certain roles or gaps in productivity. So why shouldn’t they be considered gig workers? Because unlike Postmates couriers or Uber drivers, the freelancer or contractor knows exactly how much they are going to be paid for their time, and usually knows how much time they’ll be required to give.

You might notice that I used the word time and not work.” There is, in fact, a difference between the two. The time clock for freelancers or contractors typically begins from the moment they arrive at the office or sit down at the computer. The time clock for gig workers isn’t so conclusive or transparent. It may even start and stop at wildly different breakpoints.

For example, most readers would be surprised to learn that Postmates does not compensate their “independent contractors” for mileage or travel time from the courier’s current location to the restaurant. Postmates does offer couriers a variable amount (based on your city’s service area) that is paid out as the “pickup” portion for that delivery’s total compensation. At the time of writing, this amount is set at $1.00 for Los Angeles. This is especially problematic for couriers who live and work in a major metropolitan area, such as Los Angeles, where traffic and vast distances between the city and suburbs can add several hours onto your “shift” — all of which are effectively unpaid.

Since you’re always getting paid for only half the journey, it doesn’t take you very long to realize that a majority of your deliveries are to customers that reside far outside the cluster of restaurants and eateries. It isn’t uncommon for a courier to drive 10 miles, or more, just to drop off a few burritos from Taco Bell. My personal record was over 18 miles, one way, from North Hollywood to the Hawthorne/LAX area. It took me over an hour and a half to travel from the restaurant to the guy’s front door. How much did I make? $14.10. Although this amount wasn’t what I would’ve considered fair compensation, it actually represents one of the highest payouts that I ever received for a single delivery. If you factor in the amount of time and gas that I spent driving back to an area where I could receive another delivery request, I was paid considerably less than minimum wage. If you also factor in income tax, car maintenance, and depreciation costs, I practically volunteered to deliver a dozen soft shell tacos at 11 p.m.

The point is, as a gig worker, you are paid for whatever they say you’re going to be paid for — and those rates change quite often. Wage negotiation is nonexistent. Experts claim that this is part of the beauty of the gig economy: no strings attached. If you don’t like the terms that are offered, you can simply log out of the app and you’re done. No hard feelings. In my experience, this is certainly easier said than done when you have bills that need to be paid. This is why so many hard-working adults, like myself, are drawn in to the perks of same-day payouts (and the occasional free lunch) in exchange for devaluing their time and effort. It gets even more difficult once you’ve experienced a few decent payouts. I would argue that most people who sign up for this type of work do so with an endgame in mind, and they cling to a sense of optimism in order to justify the long hours, the parking fines, and the monthly oil changes. You may have to drive your car for 10 hours straight, but at least you have a few bucks in your pocket, right? Now, rinse and repeat.

How I Became Addicted to an On-Demand Gig

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