Rodrigo Is Approaching With Your Order

Buzz. Buzz. Ding!

Rodrigo slept late Saturday, missing prime opportunity for gig work, which was his sole livelihood at 26. Now he was making up for it, logged into all his apps. Alerts painted his cracked screen.

“All fine,” he vocalized to himself, swinging his legs out of bed. It was Christmas Eve Day…well, afternoon. With many stores closing early, orders would be impassioned and irrational. Guilt-ridden, too, paving the way for friendlier interactions and overstated tips.

Rodrigo sighed, squeezing his eyes in an attempt to juice his tequila hangover. “S’all good now.”

Avoiding his phosphorescent phone, he glanced out the window for the weather, donning fleece tights and a heavy long-sleeve. He was stepping into his Nikes when he opened his phone again and found a text from Mum:

4:30 still ok?, she wondered.

Three dots appeared and persisted as she crafted her next message:

Apps will be out by then. You don’t have to bring anything. Auntie Liz is looking forward to seeing you. Hope you can stay for presents. Luv u!

The loosened expectations were almost too much to bear. He thumbs-upped the bubbles in tired dismissal.

I’m making my famous chocolate orange tart, she messaged a few minutes later, but her post-script was lost. Rodrigo was already on his bike.

He tapped and pedaled assiduously all afternoon, playing all three apps. He delivered expensive kids’ toys as well as an improbable amount of McDonald’s. As his headache moved out, the dusk moved in. He glanced at the time on his phone: 4:11.

Couple more, he thought. He’d stay close to his parents’ neighborhood. No use arriving early and watching Lizzie unpack her shrimp tray, all the while worrying he could have got a bit more.

His phone’s GPS went wild in these nouveau-riche, cul-de-sac, hilly neighborhoods. He was angling into a driveway with a cherry tart well-insulated in his backpack when he was suddenly clipped hard by an SUV.

Rodridgo found himself face against the pavement. His mouth filled with blood. A front tooth came free.

A car door slammed. “Oh my God,” muttered a female voice.

He swiveled as well as he could. “You could have killed me!”

Tears blinded him. “And you ordered delivery, even while you’re out shopping,” he heaved vindictively.

His customer froze. Then she ejaculated, for the benefit of her neighbors, “My God! You appeared out of nowhere, no headlamp, nothing! Imagine what could have happened!” She turned back to the vehicle. “Aster, honey, are you OK?”

Rodrigo seethed, laid flat on the ground, as she pulled into her garage, not to reemerge.

Uber would do nothing for him. But they did grant him two ride vouchers for the holiday season. Ostensibly to keep him safe. He clicked to redeem. To be redeemed. And as the soft headlights approached, he wheeled both his bike and the ingredients forward.

Regardless of what else they could say about him, he would arrive on time, and he would bring a tart.