It rained like the sky was leaking.
I was riding a small electric donkey, soaked to the skin, and the countdown on the phone screen was jumping like a reminder - there were 3 minutes left.
This order is in an old community in the east of the city, without an elevator, on the sixth floor. The customer noted "don't be late" three times, with a tone of anger that was just short of scolding. I looked at the battery and saw that there were only two bars left. I had no time to go back and change the car.
Run.
I picked up my lunch box and rushed into the corridor. The water on my raincoat splashed all over the floor. The stairwell smelled musty, and the lights were broken on two floors. I climbed up in the dark, and my lungs felt like lead. Damn it, delivering takeout is like running for your life.
As soon as I reached the corner of the fifth floor, my phone vibrated.
I took it out while gasping for breath. It was a message push from the platform: "You have an order that has timed out and the customer has canceled the order. You must bear the loss for the food that has been delivered."
I froze on the spot, looking at the hot spicy soup in the lunch box.
