The sight of a speeding delivery boy arouses some queer instincts in me. Since nowadays blaming everything on evolution and genes is extremely popular, I will do the same. This sight of a moving object loaded up with high calorie food calls back into action my hunter-gatherer past and I have this strong urge to ambush and catch the delivery boy in some sort of a net. Perhaps many from my species also have this urge and therefore the delivery companies always load up the delivery boys in protective gear, helmets, padded jackets, motorbikes for easy maneuver, bright cloth colors to warn off predators, and a huge food box strapped to the back to protect from a back-stab. In fact, the sight of an approaching delivery boy is not too different from that of a confused marine looking for a Normandy landing (see picture). They even have emergency phone numbers written all over them in case one wishes to report any case of assault on them. Their discomfort at traffic signals and in front of condominium security offices are also therefore understandable. Life is surely not easy for these delivery boys. And what do they get after all this heroic effort to deliver super-calories (minimum order requirements ensure you order more than what you need)? Typically, it’s a lazy fat guy grumpy because his food is late.
And our delivery boys can’t even display the condescending attitude of their more glamorized counterparts, those from aid agencies. Instead of their arrogant air-dropping of food on hapless receivers, our urban delivery boys have to say apologetic sweet nothings with a smile to this fat grumpy customer, all in the name of 99.99% customer satisfaction.