I posted this short, amusing story (below) about an older guy, his daughter, and DoorDash on X and it got nearly a half-million views and thousands of shares in one day. I shared it mostly because it made me laugh and I agreed with the guy, but then it took off.
At first I thought it resonated because the man made a clever point about how most of modern consumer technology is redundant and not at all necessary, but as the comments poured in, I realized I was wrong.
The story touched a nerve not because of how consumer tech often gives us things we don’t want or need, but because of how it often takes away things we do want that we didn’t know we’d miss.
Here’s the exact post and then I’ll explain more:
An older guy (late 70s) at my swim practice told me this funny story and it questioned why DoorDash exists and I love how right he is. Makes too much sense. Here’s my quick paraphrase:
He said, “So my daughter got me this gift card for a thing called DoorDash for my phone. It’s an app.
So I asked her what it was. She said, you can order food with it. Like pizza or Chinese food.
So I said, I already order that stuff.
And she said how?
And I said, I just call the restaurant and tell them what I want. And they deliver it.
And she said now you can use the app. And I asked why?
And she said, this way you don’t have to call.
And I said, I like calling. My guy at the pizza place knows my order already. He’s nice. From Queens. Mets fan. Can I talk to him in the app?
She says no.
So I tell her to keep the gift card.”
A perfect response, right? For this guy, the zillion-dollar app has no utility. In fact, it’s taking away part of the personal experience that he enjoys.
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Kirsten Fleming, a great writer for the New York Post, was the first comment under my X post:
“It’s such a mistake to eliminate all human contact. I love his pizza guy story. When my father died, our pizza man cried. Sure you’re paying for two pies every Saturday night, but the chitchat, the connection made the ritual more special.”
Kirsten’s note instantly reminded me of a memory that I’d long forgotten. Growing up in New Jersey we used to order from a local pizza place called Sorrento’s. Every time our parents went out and left us home with twenty bucks or whatever we’d order from this place. My brother and I loved their meatball subs and their Italian cheesesteaks.
Every time we’d call, the same guy would pick up and when he’d hear my voice, he’d say something like, “Hey it’s Mr. Meatball Parm.” It made me smile. We’d shoot the shit for a few seconds. We also knew the delivery guy who worked in the shop. When he’d show up to the house with our food he knew our names and he’d make some comment like, “Big night in with parents out, huh? Lots of Nintendo on tap?”
It was cool. We probably ordered a hundred sandwiches from them over the years. Same with a few other local places. Even Domino’s.
Remember the era when you knew your pizza delivery kid? It was awesome. He’d show up at your house, just an older dude from the local high school, and say, “Hey Mr. Smith, got your double pepperoni for you. What’s the score of the game?”
And maybe he’d even come in for a minute or two if the home NFL team was in the Red Zone or something. You’d tip him in cash. He’d get a big smile on his face and say, “Thanks, Mr. Smith!” That happened thousands of times every night across the country, and it was a good thing. That’s why the goofy teenaged food delivery kid was a staple of so many 80s and 90s TV shows and comedies.
Because it was a real part of our lives.
Now? You have no idea who the hell is coming to your house. Just some random stranger who’s half-looking at their phone, who doesn’t make eye contact, mumbles something and walks away. No smile. Nothing.
Now, I’m not saying you need to chop it up with everyone who delivers food to your house. I get it. There’s no obligation to talk or do anything but deliver your food. But somewhere between, “Hey Mr. Smith, how’s it going?” and a non-responsive weirdo who slinks up to your door like Gollum in a hoodie would be nice for society, no?
I swear, these casual, routine interactions mean something over time. They connect us. They shouldn’t be dismissed like they never mattered. It felt good to order “the usual” and the person on the line knew what that meant.
It’s all so impersonal now. Sure, you can order from more places, but who, exactly, asked for this? More expensive delivery with no human contact.
And if you think I’m alone on this, check out some of these comments people left under the story:
I went back to my old neighborhood Chinese spot maybe a year after my grandfather died and they asked “oh your grandfather hasn’t ordered in a while” and I told them what happened and the way they paused and said “I’m sorry” made me cry. Those relationships are special.
Before door dash and apps were a thing, we would phone up our local Indian and just by our voice (or phone no.) they would know our exact order!
I used to remember customers’ names and addresses when they called us for Chinese food delivery. Yup, Mrs. Baskerville, the usual. Gotcha, 30-45 minutes (usually there in 25). Alright, same to you. Good night!
An Italian restaurant that I ordered from when I was in my 20s and on my own used to call me if I didn’t order at least once in a week. The owners just wanted to make sure I was ok. When I would go in I was assured a mom hug.
I agree with old timer. Believe it or not those little interactions with service workers matter. To you and the worker. It can bring some levity to your day. Everyone’s so quick to judge and pissed off now you don’t really have these small interactions that build community.
See? It’s not just me. Screw you, delivery apps.
Also, if you’ve been nodding your head reading this, what spot are you thinking about right now that you used to order from? Give’em a shout out on social media, tag me and we’ll share it.
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Jon Finkel
Editor-in-Chief, Midlife Male
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