Last week, after a long day of driving around in the rain, I was going to write some thoughts on the subject. Thoughts about rain from the perspective of the delivery driver. But then I sat down and watched Buster Keaton followed by a martial arts flick. Or maybe that was two nights ago? I can’t recall. I watch a lot of movies lately. A lot.

Anyway, it’s been about a week since then and since the draft version of this hadn’t gotten buried too deep, I thought I would finish what I started to say. This now concludes the introduction.

The Rain

For the delivery driver (at least the ones delivering via scooter) there are only two choices in dealing with the rain: hate it or try to pretend not to hate it. The third choice of simply existing within it, neither fighting it nor reveling in it, is the most difficult choice. So difficult that I don’t even like acknowledging it exists because I foolishly wrestle with it rather than… simply exist.

Last Thursday, my shift started at 11 in the morning. At 10:55am, I take one last look at the wall clock that rests on the top shelf before letting the door to my studio apartment close behind me. As I make my way down the stairs, I note the wet footprints of others. It has been raining outside all morning, not drizzling. It is a steady rain, with drops spattering in puddles forming in all possible pockets on the sidewalk and the road and the grass between.

As I walk to my scooter, my mind is singularly focused on whether or not I will have trouble starting it. The scooter has been in need of a new spark plug, and for mechanical reasons that I won’t pretend to know -mechanics aren’t my specialty; anything beyond a Rube Goldberg machine and I’m at a loss – the rain always makes starting it more difficult. After propping the scooter on the kickstand and attempting numerous times to get the engine started, I grow anxious, knowing that I am going to be late for work. I watch the minutes pass by on the digital display beneath the odometer.

Kickstart. Listen, release. Wait.
Kickstart. Listen, release. Wait.

The sky is gray. The white noise of rain drowns out all other sound, save the tires on cars as they pass and the constant and sporadic drops pelting the hood of my poncho.

I call work to tell them I will be late. “No, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he says. I DO worry about it. Standing beside my stalled scooter, my shoes are already soggy. My socks squish between my toes as I try to kickstart the engine once more. It was closer that time, I could feel it. After fifteen minutes, I am able to get the scooter started and I drive to work.

The delivery driver station is still boarded up, waiting on my arrival. I remove the cover, raise the window, go inside and greet my coworkers. Immediately, we’re playing the conversational game of “Looks like somebody’s getting wet in the rain today, you poor bastard. Haha.” “Yes, it sucks to be me.”

I get settled at work. The phones begin to ring. Deliveries, naturally. No pickup orders; it’s raining.

My first delivery is at a bar at the other end of the alley. A waste of everything to drive there, so I walk. I walk through the alley, in my rain pants, and my cheap $4.99 poncho from Walgreens or CVS. And in my baseball cap that I bought the previous day when I drove around in the rain to scout locations for a shoot this Saturday.

Rain everywhere. Gathered in the middle of the street. In all of the potholes. Pouring down like a fountain from the gutters above. As I near the end of the alley, getting closer to my destination, the alley is like a sewer, reeking of urine. Wet garbage strewn about.

“I can’t get out in this,” he says to me as he hands me the cash.
Really, you can’t? I put the money into my pocket. The cash is wet from my hands, though the bag I hand him is dry.

I make numerous deliveries that day. More than usual for a rainy day. It has been my experience over the past few months that rainy days are typically not much busier than others. The tips are not better. When I first started, I believed a myth that rainy days were catch-22s: that they were awful to work, but that the pay was better. Rainy days aren’t catch-22s; they are simply awful days to work.

You will get an occasional person that will tip better, perhaps feeling grateful toward the driver’s effort, but everyday, there exists that occasional person; they don’t increase in numbers when it rains. There is the person that says to you,

“Try to stay dry!”

And they mean it with the best of intentions as they close the door, sandwich in hand. And you notice their dry hair, their dry apartment, their dry wit, their dry everything. The only thing that’s wet is everything on the side of the doorway where you stand. Dripping, soggy wet. Damp.

“Some weather we’re having, huh,” another casually remarks.
Yes, some weather indeed. Outside, where it’s raining.
“Take care,” I say smiling.

The rain hits like pinpricks against my face as I make my way back and forth to the shop. A phone number is written down wrong. Back to the address to attempt delivery again. Two more waiting. Where is the other driver?

“He’s coming late today. I’ll take this one,” he offers.
Four more. Double-bag everything to keep it dry.
“Take the coat in the back, it has a hood. Maybe pull it over the hat.”

Shoes. Socks. Shorts. Belt. T-shirt.
Rain pants. Coat from the back. Hat. Poncho.

The long sleeves of the coat come out from underneath the poncho. The banded cuffs at the wrist are holding water after the first delivery. Rolling them up, more of my arms are wet. All of the money in my pocket is damp. The credit card receipts… they will need to lay flat and dry.

I hate the rain.

“Don’t you love the rain,” he asks. Two dollar tip.
Is my honesty worth two dollars?
“And we needed it,” he continues.
“Rain brings prosperity,” he then tells me with big eyes.

I should have delivered to the rain and not to you then, you cheap son of a bitch. No, I wouldn’t say that. You’re a nice fellow. And a regular. You’re just cheap. And it’s raining.

I thank him, leave with a smile.

Tips

Delivery drivers don’t forget the tips. Nor do they forget the tippers. And why not? Tips are a large part of the money they make. Delivery drivers are paid like wait staff; a very minimal base plus tips. Like the wait staff, drivers count on tips to make their earnings. The other drivers and I see a familiar address and we know what to expect in tips. There is one woman who, no matter the ticket, counts out the change to make the tip exactly $1 even. There is a man who consistently tips about $20 for a a ticket of roughly the same value. It all balances out. And while I don’t let the anticipated tip from a known customer affect the speed or quality of delivery, I can promise you that I am only speaking for myself. (That link is well worth a read if you want to get an insight into the minds of the people bringing you your food.)

I don’t harbor animosity toward customers about their tips. I would be a very angry person, if I did. Everyone has it figured out in their own head how to tip. I accept whatever that rationalization comes out to. It isn’t my job while I stand on their doorstep to educate them on best practices. I’m a delivery driver; I’m not on a lecture circuit. I will say that I DO find it reprehensible when I deliver to someone AT WORK in the service industry and they don’t tip. The ugliest of cases is when I deliver to someone working at a restaurant and they don’t tip. A restaurant which employs delivery drivers to deliver food… and they don’t tip.

But like I said, I’m not complaining. When I started delivering and after analyzing the schedule, I came to a rough figure on what I could expect to make a week, including tips. I took the job, satisfied with what I anticipated. Taking into account that some days would be slower than others, I have been pretty much exactly right in my estimations and am content with my earnings.

There have been days lately when it’s been so absurdly and miserably hot that I’ve wished for the rain. Delerium, clearly. Because rainy days are, in case I haven’t made my point yet, the most trying days to deliver. Apart from the simple fact that you’re getting wet, you’re money is getting wet and you’re struggling to not look like a wet dog everywhere you go, it’s much more dangerous to deliver when it’s raining. The roads are slicker and you have to drive much more defensively because of other drivers. You can’t simply zip around town, making deliveries; every delivery is a risk.

Oh, shut the hell up, Buddha!

But there’s something else that’s much more challenging about the rain and I’ve alluded to and joked about it throughout. The challenge is to simply be, in the rain. To not let it affect my mood. I interact with a lot of people. I enjoy that fact. And I get to bring happiness. I don’t want to negatively impact the mood of another and set off a chain reaction. When it rains, it is work for me to do that. It should be easy to simply let the rain come down upon me. But I haven’t found the sweet spot in my mind yet. It is elusive.

I remember in the early days of this job one particularly wet day. I remember the rain starting on the way back to the shop. When I got there, the rain picked up drastically and I had a delivery just a few blocks away to a private residence in an apartment building. By the time I got to the building, it was like a monsoon. Pouring. The building had a security gate, so I had to call the resident to open the gate. No answer. Standing in a spot underneath a nearby tree where the rain is dripping through the least, I dial the number again, hoping my phone doesn’t get ruined. I can’t keep it dry.
No answer. After a few minutes of this, I leave.

As I leave, the rain stops.

When I get back to the shop, the fellow has called asking about his food. I get back on the scooter to make the delivery. And like magic, the rain returns in full force. Same routine, I call at the gate when I get to the building. The customer runs quickly from his apartment to the gate and urges me to follow him quickly to the covered landing.

“What, did you get lost,” he asks.
Oh. Hell. No. You didn’t just ask me that. Breathe deeply.
“I’ve already been here once. Nobody answered,” I inform him.
He signs the receipt. I don’t smile. I don’t say anything. I simply leave, my displeasure surely expressed on my face and in my tone.

That was my worst. Instantly, I hated that experience. And not at all for the customer’s callousness (although, jesus, what a dick) but because I could have potentially spread negativity with my reaction to him. Perhaps my attitude rubbed off on him and he ended up snapping at someone. I wasn’t at all pleased with myself. I’ve been careful to never let that happen again.

(Incidentally, it stopped raining the second time back to the shop as well.)

Perhaps if there was simply the opportunity to stop, close my eyes, and point my face to the sky, letting the rain come down upon me for even a moment. Just to sit there and meditate on that moment…

I need to find that spot.

Personal practices

As for my tipping practices, I used to tip 20% across the board. Now? I always overtip. I do so for two reasons: 1) I know that I’m guaranteeing good service in the future and 2) the driver is going to get shafted by someone that day; I want to be on the positive side of that scale and help balance it out.

And I never order when it rains. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. I just leave it to others.

As a final note, I didn’t write this little piece to get people to tip me more. I’m content with the balance. And honestly, I doubt very seriously that anyone I deliver to reads ipanemic. Except for friends. (And it’s really awkward when you tip me; I really wish you wouldn’t.) But I do share this with the hopes that whoever reads this will consider your delivery drivers, the service they provide, and those rainy days when they’re working to make your life easier.