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Salty Stories

The Salty Ju Turns T E N!

Although it’s true I’ve been salty my whole life, today marks a decade of being salty in a permanent and very public forum. I’ve never once deleted a blog or retracted anything I’ve said, even when it was probably blatantly ill-informed or incorrect. And that my friends, is the beauty of the people’s internet. Say whateva ya want and keep it moving. Since I’ve made this milestone a BFD and hyped it up for several months and forced two celebrations down your throat, it only made sense to also memorialize it on the thing that we’re celebrating in the first place. So, humor me in this reflection/summary of 10 years of doing something…the longest I’ve ever done anything. Or don’t humor me and buzz all the way off, ‘CAUSE I DON’T EVEN WANT YOU READING MY BLOG IF YOU DON’T SUPPORT IT.

The Origin Story

Let me paint a picture of what ten years ago looked like for ya girl. I had moved to Boston in September of 2014. For a job? No. For a boy? That’s very rom-com adorbs, but also no. To get my masters degree at Harvard? HAHAHAHAHA. Nah. I did exactly one calendar year out of college, 8 months of that year living at home and working my first “corporate” job with my sister as my colleague and I said, that’s enough of that. So, I packed up a truck and hit up Allston Christmas, which by the way, was about as terrible as everyone says it is. Moving shit off of a truck on a tiny street with cars parked on either side while everyone else does the same exact thing is stressful AF. What was even more stressful was living off of my savings for the first month there with no job prospects. I’ve had so many hot flings with unemployment, it’s almost hard to keep track at this point but at 23 years old, this was my second or third and that’s already too many for being a fresh college grad. Also, this detail has nothing to do with my employment status, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that I was skinny as hell when I moved to Beantown. Like, so skinny that I could wear a hard crop top that showed my belly button and pull it off. This was the last time I could do this. I peaked at 23. Which is also the age I lost my virginity. Coincidence? PROBS NOT.

Ok, back to professional speak now that you see how snatched my waist was. Luckily, I landed a temp gig doing admin work at Boston College and it was while I was doing mind-numbing data entry that I revisited the idea of a blog. To be perfectly honest, I was a HUGE Barstool Sports junkie and had read it every day since I had discovered it in 2009, relating the hardest to blogger KFC, who blogged at his full-time job as an accountant until they finally started making some money and he quit to go FT smut. He was my inspiration not only for his style of writing that was super conversational, but also sneaky blogging while getting paid by another company. He also followed me after I tweeted the below shout-out and clearly read some of my blogs or knew me well enough that when I went to a meet and greet after his comedy show in 2016, he goes IT’S THE SALTY JU and that made my LIFE. Didn’t get me a job. But a semi-famous internet persona knew who I was for a brief moment in time in the 2010’s and we’ll always have that.

I’d be lying if I said when I mulled this blog over that I didn’t have future goals of actually turning it into a job one day. At first I was aiming for the E! News, TMZ, Perez Hilton upper-echelon of celeb goss. I figured, if I ran my blog exactly like they did, that’s just a resume to submit if there was ever an opening for a writer. A few months in, I was setting my sights on Vulture or even Buzzfeed, really moving those goalposts from websites that draw a penis over Lindsay Lohan’s face or report a celeb death before the family is informed, to websites that write quizzes titled “choose a bunch of baby names and I’ll tell you which Disney Princess you are.” FOLKS, SHE IS GOAL ORIENTED.

Anyway, after polling everyone I’ve ever met and asking if they’d read a blog if I wrote it and of course feeling super insecure about it, while also wondering why the hell I chose to make a video for my capping project in college instead of a blog, which is perfect for me and EVERYONE else did it for an easy A… The Salty Ju was born. It certainly didn’t hurt that Taylor Swift dropped 1989, her much-anticipated foray from country into pop and I immediately had material to blab about. Realistically, you couldn’t stop me from blabbing those first few months of blogging. It was like a dam had broken and my 23 years of opinions NEEDED to be released in long-form blog or I would be killed by the Boston strangler. It also set the precedent for me to create Taylor content for every move she made. Something I’ve very much cooled off on, but those eras are forever sealed into the interwebs, which honestly is fine because in comparison to what her fans do now, I was tame.

If I may, I’d like to really detail how into this blog I got, and how much I assumed it would bring me a blossoming writing career. I started by unloading years of pop culture takes like dissecting what the Olsen Twins wore in the 90’s (my second most viewed blog of all time.) Pre-Internet content was a gold mine for me in the wee Salty Ju days. Then, I was inspired by another writer I had been following, Julie Klausner, a Housewives recap writer for Vulture. I thought, I watch a TON of TV. I could do that too! I started by recapping Real Housewives of Beverly Hills–just like her, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Then, all of my college roomies had been obsessed with The Bachelor and urged me to start watching so I could blog that, too. Didn’t have to ask me twice! My very first season of The Bachelor was Chris Soules in 2015. Being a fresh set of eyes to the Bach universe made me the perfect candidate for recapping because I was gleefully entertained by every trope and had not yet realized every season is exactly the same. Once I was hooked on that, I also added in the network shows I was watching at the time like Nashville or Empire. That’s how I found myself watching TV almost every night with a notebook taking notes, then going into work the next morning and immediately typing out a recap to be posted by 9am the day after a show aired. I reasoned that all of the big pubs make sure recaps are posted by the time you start work the next day (so people like me can read it at their desk.) If you’re a part of Bach Nation, you know that they LOVE a 2 or 3 hour episode. There were some Monday nights where I was staying up until midnight to get as much pre-written as possible so I could still get it published first thing the next morning.

An example of the hard-hitting notes I was taking. Thank God I saved these precious words all these years.

AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON AWARDS SHOWS! Realizing I could turn two blogs from one awards show in a red carpet AND a recap, I was doing the most. I’d be sorting through hundreds of red carpet photos while watching the show, taking notes for a recap, AND live tweeting. In the early Twitter days, EVERYONE was talking about the show in real time. Accounts were letting comedians and writers do “takeovers” to give their commentary and obviously, I thought this was my moment to shine. I literally get exhausted thinking of how much I was working on a Sunday night fo free. I feel like this is a nice time to remind everyone *once again* that I have never made a dime off of this blog, nor have I ever been offered any sort of opportunity from it. Instead, I pay an annual fee for the domain and WordPress hosting just simply for this space to exist. But sure, let’s give kids millions of dollars to make ‘get ready with me’ videos on TikTok. 🙄

The Evolution

Now that we’ve established I’m the type of person who has put more time and effort into this website for 10 years than she has into any of her paying jobs combined, I think it’s suffice to say, this blog is incredibly important to me and has been a MASSIVE part of my adulthood. Of course, if this WAS a paying job, I’d probably grow to resent it and lose the spark I’ve managed to keep for this long. I write about exactly what I want to write about, no word count (clearly), no editorial feedback. And if someone reads and likes it, GREAT. And if not, I can remain blissfully unaware that no one likes what I wrote. Unless, like the commenters on my running errands during the workday humor piece, y’all are a bunch of dicks and comment that you hate what I wrote. Thankfully, my salties have only been positive commenters through the years and I truly appreciate that.

Since The Salty Ju’s inception, I’ve had 17 different jobs – honestly, it’s possible that number is higher because even I lose track of how many FT and PT gigs I’ve bounced through in the last ten years. That being said, I’m sure this blog has also cost me job opportunities. If I had a nickel for every time I said “it’s a very specific type of humor and it’s not for everyone,” I’d be able to pay for this domain for the next 10 years. I wear the logo on my sleeve (jean jacket). I changed all of my social media handles to The Salty Ju and at some point came to accept the fact that this isn’t a heightened version of myself for entertainment, it’s really just me. I am the Salty Ju and she is me. I put my actual personality out there for all to see and judge in every snarky blog. Which can work in my favor, like when the only boyfriend I’ve ever snagged supposedly started reading my blog long before we began our courtship, and it became a way for us to flirt and compare notes on classic 90’s flicks in our early dating days. Tip to all future suitors, ya better be a fan of the blog cause it ain’t going anywhere and complimenting my writing is the fastest way to my heart. And let’s get real…in 2019 and 2020 when I was going through a breakup from said boyfriend, then quit my job and moved back home, then that sly minx of a pandemic hit to really solidify the suckfest that was my life, this blog became my lifeline.

Between actual therapy, and me sitting on the couch of my parents guest room every night until 2 am writing “diary” entries that would soon become chapters for a book and eventually “Salty Stories” on the blog, writing was the only thing that kept me moving forward. That year was when The Salty Ju evolved from bitching about People’s Sexiest Man Alive to talking about shitty things that were going on in my life that felt like the end of the world, and trying to make it entertaining enough for others to relate to and laugh at. And thank God for that, because if I hadn’t hit my rock bottom (800 different times), I wouldn’t have thrown every minute of my life into writing a book, which wouldn’t have led me to getting connected with the satire community, which wouldn’t have resulted in getting published on websites other than my own and I never would’ve started taking myself seriously and calling myself a comedy writer. I still mostly do it as a bit, because I have imposter syndrome, but if I may be so bold to put this in writing, my end goal out of this whole adventure is to eventually publish my book. How long will that take? Beats the hell out of me. One thing’s for sure, if I can stick with a blog for this long without turning a profit, and put up with people asking me if I’m Jewish every time I tell them the name AND spell it, I can keep working toward becoming a published author.

The Stats

I’ve always been a numbers nerd because I’m type A and I love the shit out of accomplishing things. That’s why I’ll tell you that in 10 years I’ve published 625 blogs. 200 of those blogs were posted in 2015 (I TOLD you I had a lot to say!) For comparison on just how nuts I really was, in 2023 I published 15 blogs. BIG DIFF. Also, I’m laughing at the stats that WordPress gives me. According to them, my most popular day was February 4, 2019 with 331 views, which is odd because I don’t even think I published a blog that day. And, I’ve had a total of 144,288 visitors. S/O to all of you for finding my corner of the internet either completely on accident, or on purpose. Even if it was to hate-read.

The Highlights

For newcomers, the OG crew, or anyone who can’t remember 625 blogs (ME), below are 10 sleeper picks that hold up, or are just so ridiculous and uniquely me. To be fair, when you blog about timely pop culture events or happenings, with many links to social posts or YouTube videos that inevitably get removed, not much ages well. So I’ve tried to avoid linking to those. One thing that never goes out of style? My annual Hallmark Holiday movie blog that I’ve done all 10 years.

Since I’ve put so much blood, sweat, tears, and diarrhea into this labor of love through the years, it’d be a missed opp not to toss one last promo of old material into the mix. My TV recaps can still be relevant in the binging era as people re-watch or discover old TV shows. So if you happen to dive into the perils of reality TV or BAD scripted music-themed dramas, please don’t forget to follow along with my episodic rants.

And lastly, I’ve curated several playlists to match literally any mood you ever might have. From throwbacks in rap, pop, and punk, to TV specific soundtracks, to summer paloozas, to breakup songs. These are playlists I still have in rotation on the reg, and some I even created weird hype videos to promote. I really will stop at nothing to be embarrassing. Regardless, these playlists are timeless and still slap, so if you have Spotify, check them out!

The Kudos

AHright, I’m wrapping it up now, I swear. A couple months ago I took a sweatshirt to an event where a vendor does chain-stitching on the spot. I asked her to stitch The Salty Ju, because I can never have too much branded swag. Natch, I had to explain what that means and as I shared that it’s my 10 year old blog, she replied “oh, that’s cool that you’re still blogging, I remember back when it was big and I HAD to read my regular blogs every day.” Most people would let this backhanded compliment fly, but I’m not most people. *in Michael Jordan voice* And I took that personally. I thought she was being condescending AF telling me oh that’s cute you’ve hung onto a dying medium that absolutely no one cares about anymore. And I simmered on it until right now. She’s not wrong. Long-form writing was very much a fad that got WOMPED by the age of social media and audio/video content. Once people realized they could watch a 30 second video, or listen to a podcast while they did other shit, the blog pretty much died. RIP.

Leave it to me to join a trend at its downfall and then never let it out of my cold, dead hands. I DID consider other mediums many times. I attempted a podcast in 2018 and immeds started crying because I hated the sound of my voice. In 2020, I got way more into TikTok, unfortunately attempting dances 😬. I think we can all agree that ain’t me. Writing is what I like to do, and if that’s not cool then in the words of my sassy 7-year-old niece, WHO EVEN CARES?! What’s cool about this decade-long run is that people (you) still read what I have to say. Even if it’s just one person. Even if that one person is related to me and had a direct hand in bringing me onto this earth. HI MOM! 👋🏻 I write because it makes me feel better and if one person gets a case of the HAHA’s from it, that’s pretty awesome.

SO THANK YOU, READER! To my subscribers who get my ramblings delivered right to their inbox, GRAZIE MILLE. Even if those ramblings are delivered right to your spam folder. Still counts. To anyone who has commented or liked or reposted or interacted with any of my work at all on social media, MERCI. I see you, and you’re doing the lord’s work. The algorithm–especially on Facebook–is that the more interaction there is on a post, the longer it will live in a page’s feed and get resurfaced for new people to see. So every little bit helps for my quaint fanbase of Salties. Also, words of affirmation, though not my love language, gives me the warm fuzzies to keep writing. And of course, thank you to anyone who made an effort to celebrate this accomplishment with me IN PERSON in either New Jersey or Syracuse. Showing up to have a drink so I didn’t have to ring in this anniversary alone meant the world to me! If you didn’t make it, please know that you were swiftly added to the list of people who are dead to me. Last but certainly not least, to family and friends who have been a part of blogging fodder willingly or unwillingly, who have been forced to take countless obnoxious solo shots of me everywhere we go, who have been co-stars in my lil videos, who have had to edit writing or give feedback, I quite literally couldn’t have done it without ya. YOU DA REAL ONES.

My salty era is far from over. I’m gonna keep being publicly salty…and vulnerable, messy, self-deprecating, goofy, obnoxious, emotional, opinionated, sarcastic, and keep oversharing out loud for hopefully another decade. ❤️

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Salty Stories

I’m A Side Hustlin’ Hack

As luck would have it, exactly two weeks before I moved to a more expensive apartment, I got shitcanned by my freelance social media job that I had for 3 years, a supplemental income that I very much needed. But bad things don’t happen in isolated incidents, they happen in three’s, everyone knows that! At the same time I got swindled out of that, I was also told by my therapist of 6 years that my insurance dropped her and I owed her $700 for appointments that they didn’t cover and we’d have to break up. And THEN I made a compelling stats-heavy presentation at my full-time job asking for a raise and was given a pat on the head and told keep up the good work. YAY! Suffice to say, fulfilling my goal of moving to the beach came with an inner voice in my head that sounded a LOT like that little shit Stilwell sneering “you’re gonna lose” and “you stink” over and over again. And since I’m doing life by myself, it’s up to me to pull a Jimmy Dugan and whip a glove at that voice.

The cool thing about my generation is that when we’re forced to work a minimum of two jobs to survive because inflation and the housing market/rent prices have soared to astronomical levels and an average salary for a job requiring a college degree (that most people are still paying off) is $40,000, is that there’s a plethora of apps capitalizing on the need for fast cash. And instead of calling it like it is, pure desperation to pay our bills on time and not go into further debt, we call it a side hustle to sound sexy and mysterious. And some of these apps ARE sexy and mysterious! OnlyFans and Feetfinder just to name a couple…but the rest: Rover, GrubHub, Uber, DoorDash, Lyft, Care, Wag, Instacart, Shipt…not so much. After serious consideration of the aforementioned apps (cause nudes and toes are where the money’s at) I realized that I’ve seen far too many true crime docs to trust that one of these pervs wouldn’t somehow track me down and wear me as a skin suit. And so I opted for the safer route of snuggling pups via the Rover app.

I paid the overpriced $30 for a background check, uploaded a bunch of delfies, and tried not to sound like the kind of gal that used to sneak-pet dogs in Italy when their owners weren’t looking. I succeeded because suddenly I had a hot weekend with 5 drop-in visits booked. It was during this weekend that I had to take a hard look at myself in the mirror as I was yelling at my own dog to HURRY UP AND GO POTTY so I could walk other people’s dogs. Only to come home cloaked in the scent of a cheater. The air was thick with betrayal as Charlee came to the realization that not only was she forced to squeak out a dump under extreme duress but I was rushing her so I could step out with not one but two strange dogs in the same day. Chuck, if you’re reading this, please forgive me, Mommy’s sorry! You’ll always be my favorite dog to smother.

Not worth the wasted travel time or neglecting my own pooch, I dropped my Rover distance down to less than 5 miles continuing to hope that someone down the street with a full-time job that pays them enough to live off of would scoop me up as their regular lunchtime dog walker. I had already collected three 5-star reviews from my knack for writing a super cheesy report card and snapping an array of portrait-mode doggie pics that belong in an art gallery. Eat your heart out, Annie Leibovitz.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting any hits so it was time to move onto a new venture. After a very nerve-wracking night where my mom convinced me a dog owner I was doing a meet and greet with was going to be an axe murderer rapist, I was extra vigilant about doing apps where my probability of getting snatched was on the lower end. After sharing my concern with a friend of the program, he quickly pointed out that anyone who snatches me would give me right back after 10 mins of me yappin. So I’ve got that goin for me, which is nice. I decided on DoorDash. I figured I could bring people their food and drop it on their doorstep (minimal human contact=slight chance of being adult-napped) Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy. DD hazed me by giving me a half hour shift 8 towns over to kick things off, which I took like a frat bro champ, desperate to pledge Delta Delta. In a half hour I delivered two Wendy’s orders to people who lived next door to each other and made $15. Needless to say, after this short stint, I had a real false sense of confidence that I could crush it as a dasher and make millions.

Which brings me to the real reason for this blog: my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day of panhandling on the apps. Still active on Rover, I happened to get pinged for a drop-in visit with 3 dogs, all above 80 lbs. I certainly don’t think I’m Cesar Milan but I figured it wouldn’t be difficult to let these dogs out into their own backyard. The night before my scheduled meet and greet, the dog owner reached out to me and asked if instead of dropping in at their house, I could actually just take their 2 year old husky to my house for the day. Exsqueeze me? I’m not on the app to bring strange dogs into my home, I’m on the app to see how the top 1% (homeowners and people who can afford a dog walker) live. AND obviously to overwhelm their dog with affection for a nominal fee. After a phone conversation where she explained this dog was fresh from the shelter and still “in a destructive phase,” I told her that I also have a dog and happen to like the things in my home, including my overpriced Christmas tree that I (my mom) had just worked really hard to put up. Charlee was destructive for one month when I rescued her and after she ruined this piece of rare art curated by Christmas Tree Shop before I even had the chance to hang it up, I nearly sent her packing right back to Mississippi. So no, I’m not willing to bring another chomper riddled with separation anxiety into my new apartment.

We agreed that I would bring my dog to her house to meet the others and we’d go from there AKA I’d tell her I would be more comfortable watching her dog in its own home where it belongs. So I brought Chuckles to meet some new pup pals knowing that she’d never see them again but just trying to repent for the weekend I cheated on her so hard. This did not put me back in her good graces, in fact, I think at one point she gave me a look that very clearly read, “what the fuck, mom?!” It looked kinda like this:

As it turned out, these dogs were A LOT. They were big and loud and immediately ganged up on my little Chooch. She hated every second of this playdate and snapped her teeth like a croc to get them to back off, to which they said NOPE! In this high-stress and very barky few minutes, I learned that the husky has escaped their backyard several times now by attempting an Olympic trial-level high jump over the fence and also tunneling under the fence. This dog was giving Andy Dufresne a run for his money. Legend says that before she dove below sea level to resurface on the other side of the picket fence she turned to her doggie sibs and said, “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.“

As I was processing these deets amidst the chaos of howling, snarling, and my dog trying to crawl up inside my womb, I was simultaneously being asked to commit my whole Sunday to watching these giant furry a*holes rather than the previously requested hour, for a paltry sum of money. As many loyal readers of The Salty Ju know, I hate confrontation and awkward stranger interactions. I’d rather deteriorate into a skeleton than politely remove myself from an uncomfy sitch and saying no has never been an option for me. So when faced with this ultimately terrible dog watching set-up, I was ready to be like, “sure, babes, whatever you need!” instead of, “I’d rather die.”

So I nodded along like an idiot and when my dog was literally about to be eaten alive, I suggested putting her in the car before it got ugly. I went to bring her to safety and who trotted right out behind me but the escape artist herself in her easiest disappearing act to date. I was in shock. I hadn’t even been responsible for this dog yet and I already set her free into the wild. Knowing she had about 10 seconds before her mom realized what happened, she said SAYONARA, SUCKERS and took off down the road. What ensued next was straight out of a movie. The dog owner and her toddler son were not yelling the dogs name but speaking it at a normal volume and walking toward it at a casual ‘I just recently learned how to use my feet’ pace. There was no air of panic coming from them, meanwhile I was THE MOST frantic. I hysterically asked the owner if the dog would chase me if I ran in the opposite direction, seeking any sort of resolution, even one that might show what an uncoordinated blob of mashed potatoes I am. It was so far away at this point it wouldn’t have even seen my chicken legs take off to chase.

Not knowing what else to do to be helpful in this scenario and also riddled with guilt from being the gate-opening monster, I joined the search and rescue team that had more of a ‘hopefully this dog just runs back toward us’ energy about it. Several friendly neighbors stopped as they drove by and made things even more awks as they asked me about tendencies of a dog I’d met 5 minutes ago and told me to hop in with them to get it. Uh no sir, I was taught to never get in vans with strangers. Feeling rather useless, I took over toddler duty as I realized losing a dog and also having your 2 year old clipped by a car as he weaved all over the road shouting, “DOGGIE FREE!” might actually ruin this woman’s life. I held his little hand and vowed to not also set him free into traffic. After what felt like hours but was probably 10 mins, one of the neighbors got the dog into her car and happened to have a leash in there as well to prevent ole Seabiscuit from gunning for the Triple Crown again. As we walked back to the house the owner asked me if I babysit as well since I was so good with her son (read: I didn’t lose him) and I had to break it to her that I only babysit for families who I’ve vetted bring their A-game with a fully-loaded snack pantry. I’m kidding, I told her I actually hate kids. No but seriously, there’s a reason I didn’t join the Care app and it’s exclusively because it would be inapprops to say in my profile that I would only be willing to watch sleeping children so I can get paid to binge Netflix and my non-negotiable rate is $35/hr.

After that whirlwind, I thought FOR SURE she was going to state the obvious: that I was not cut out for this dog-sitting gig. But unfortunately for us all, she was ready to give me a tour of the house when we got back and I had to put my big girl panties on and do a lil practicing of the word no. I shared that I did not have the experience required for a 90 lb dog who would rather roam free like a Quileute shapeshifter than be constricted to a home. And then I beat it out of there as fast as I possibly could but not before I could think to myself, why would anyone with two kids under two add a third large breed dog to their wolfpack, a SIBERIAN HUSKY nonetheless, which was literally BRED to run?! This MF’er is pulling jailbreaks just so she can stretch her damn legs and stay in shape should she ever be called upon to sub in for the Iditarod.

Anywho, although it may be easy to dwell on the fact that I went along with this FAR longer than I should have, it’s important to celebrate my ginormous win here. Sure, I traumatized my dog with a 3 on 1 gang bang and showed that I’m inept at latching a gate BUT rather than saying sounds good, super excited to get underpaid to wrangle your poorly-behaved mutts who may or may not also wreck your house or run away and then texting her a cop-out once I was safely in my home…I said NO THANK YOU MA’AM right at her face. Round of applause for me.

Ok, now hold your applause because later this very same day, I tackled my first (and last) dinner shift for DoorDash. Scheduled for 5-7, I took my cocky delivery driver ‘tude out to the mean streets of Brick and was IMMEDIATELY humbled. I think it’s important to lay out my disadvantages for you right off the bat: I’m not from this area or this state in general, so not only do I have no clue where I’m going and have to rely on the GPS, but also I’m still on a learning curve with all of New Jersey’s stupid traffic patterns. The jughandle being the biggest culprit of my frustration. Sometimes you can take a left turn, sometimes you can’t. There’s no rhyme or reason to if it’s allowed or not, I just know that I’ll forever assume incorrectly and have to do an emergency three-lane sweep. Also, NJ loves to make an additional lane for .45 seconds and then taketh away. I’ll move over thinking I have to be in that lane for said jughandle and then BAM, lane is gone. I mean seriously, look at this ole ballsac lookin’ route just to hang a GD Louie. Not to mention the handful of times I’ve gone to the wrong location and realized I passed the right spot on the same side of the road, starting the whole crazy eights over again. It’s a miracle I haven’t yakked while driving here. Get your shit together, Jersey.

Secondly, I don’t eat at restaurants. When you live paycheck to paycheck, the easiest thing to save money on is takeout and if I’m gonna splurge on a night out I’d like to drink my hard-earned cash in the form of an espresso martini. So that means I don’t even have a general idea where restaurants in my area are because I don’t frequent them. Thirdly, and this is one I genuinely underestimated, I’m night blind. In my teen years I went to the eye doctor and got a pair of placebo glasses. They had no prescription but “glare resistant” lenses that were supposed to help with headlights at night. Mmk. Obviously I stopped wearing them almost immediately because they were basically what we now know as blue light glasses and they didn’t do shit. I also just figured no one can see at night?! I mean, is anyone really crushing it vision-wise in the pitch black cloak of night that starts at 4:30pm for half of the year?! You can get back to me on that.

Now that you understand my disabilities, let me now point out that basically nothing is in my control on DoorDash. They send me orders, I accept them all so I keep a 100% acceptance rate and I can’t see where they’re going to be delivered to until I pick the food up. Could be 5 mins away, could be 45 mins away. I have no real control over the timing of anything as restaurants could be busy, traffic could be bad, etc. I have no clue where I am so I just have to listen to the GPS even when it stinks and tries to send me on the Parkway. I refuse to give the state of NJ any more money on my own day to day travel so over my dead body am I paying a toll so you can get your burrito 2 minutes faster. All that to say, I’m at the mercy of all of these external factors just because I’m hard up for cashola.

Ok, enough exposition, here’s where the night went off the rails. I was dinged for an order at a diner, promptly got lost on the way because it was on the left hand side of a divided highway and GOD FORBID we be able to get across the street in this state. When I got there the order hadn’t even been started yet. Being the good lil dasher that I am, I messaged the recipient to tell them it wasn’t my fault. In the time I spent waiting, DoorDash was like hey how about you pick up another order on top of this one that’s clearly not on time, making it even more late! OK, SURE! Eventually I scooped both foods then followed Google Maps 30 mins away to a gated community where I had to give the address to even be allowed in.

Naturally my cool confidence was still oozing out of me as I nervously blabbed to the security guard that I’m new to the Dash game and didn’t know what I was doing…did he need my ID or a crisp C-note to open the gate for me? He took pity on me and opened the gate probably sensing that I was about shout FIRE IN THE HOLE and toss the food out the window to get the hell out of there. As I’m winding through this elite village, I finally stop when the GPS announces in her holier than thou voice “you have arrived.” Oh, have I, bitch? I was in a cul-de-sac and most certainly had not arrived. I circled once in my car then said fuck it and started pounding the pavement to get my blind peepers closer to the numbers. None of which were the address listed. I can only imagine how much the NextDoor app was popping off with olds raising alerts for the chick in a full sweatsuit circling with wild eyes. (JK there probs wasn’t any commentary because I’m a white female.) I was stressed and knew I had someone else’s chicky parm sub still sitting in my car getting cold. And if there’s one thing I vowed to never be again, it’s stressed out by a job that doesn’t even give me health insurance. It ain’t worth it, BB. So I dropped the food, snapped a pic and hoped this person’s actual house was close enough that they could just walk two doors down and snag their food. As I’m whipping out of there to get to my next delivery, I receive the following text:

CRUSHING IT. What’s comforting to know is that at least we live in a world where everyone is super rational and very kind and forgiving to those in the service industry. SIKE! I woke up in a cold sweat later that night remembering that she could make my career as a dasher very short-lived with just one shitty review because I couldn’t find her dumb gate-kept house. And not for nothing but who orders disco fries for delivery? I did her a favor by delivering it to the wrong house and saving her from a styrofoam container of cold wet socks. After that peak dashing faux-pa, I closed out the night by paying a toll to deliver Chic-Fil-A and missing the road because I couldn’t see the street sign, again trolling very far on foot to circle back (because of course it was a one-way road.) Struggling to find house numbers, I finally stumbled upon the right one only to be plunged into blindness once again as a security flood light flashed my eyeballs right out of their damn sockets. As my corneas burned through my skull, I managed to snap a picture of their sogz waff fries and drink that I almost spilled on my little apartment 5K that I didn’t even get a medal for and ended my dash. At the close of this banner day, I was awarded $30 for a whole lot of sweatin’ and squintin’ and the harsh realization that I can’t hack it on the apps. UNLESS…anyone out there wants to pay to see what I’m workin with down below. 😏

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