Delivery Diaries: Jill And Healthy Eating Habits

These are the true* stories of my life as a delivery driver and the people who I deliver to.

These days, I eat a lot in my car. It's a pretty nasty habit but I'm making up a statistic and saying that 60% of Americans do it because we're very busy people who work hard and need food to live. As much as I would like to participate in patriotic group think, I can't help but feel like eating in my car with Tide pen at my side to correct any consumption mistakes is not contributing to my never ending quest to be an adult human. 

There are many reasons to not eat in my car. One, and most importantly, it's kind of sad looking. I'm sure you've seen it before. Someone parked in the parking lot, shoving a sandwich in their face, staring off into the distance as if they are willing their eyes to lubricate themselves enough so that one may never have to blink again. A piece of tomato falls on their shirt. They take the tomato slice and eat it, never giving pause to think about what could possibly be on their shirt to contaminate the tomato. Mastication is a long and slow affair, and yet somehow the meal is finished as quickly as possible, as if the whole thing was a challenge to the stomach acids and esophagus. "LET'S SEE YOU DIGEST THIS, MOTHERFUCKER."

I started describing that scenario in the third person because that's how sad the whole thing is. But that's me. That's what happens. May we all weep for humanity and myself.

Other than creating a painfully pathetic tableau, there's not a lot of healthy foods that have the structure to exist without a table. This means a lot of sandwich or taco situations and a lot of mindless snacking (although snacks are frequently fruit/ whatever dried concoction Trader Joe's comes up with). While I try to keep these sandwiches and tacos and snacks and more tacos on the healthier side, I still cannot shake the feeling that I'm consuming at least double the calories that I think I'm consuming. Even if I made the conscious decision to really overestimate calories, it would still be double. 

But what can you do? I work during one meal or another. And I'm not totally a disgusting waste of organs so I go to the gym and try to eat square meals during the rest of the day. And plus, sometimes I get bored. Basically if I didn't eat in my car, I would be a freak of nature. So with a handful of dried apricots, I hit the road, driving to the next happy customer.

It's just so hard to stay healthy. That's why envy Jill, the recipient of the latest order. Her meal is from one of those juice/health food places in Santa Monica. Jill recently decided that this was gonna be the year that her resolutions really stick. She was going to work out and eat right, god damnnit, no matter what obstacle or excuse came her way.

This moment of resolve came at the company holiday party. Jill had been promoted only a few months before, and she was understandably excited to throw on a dress and mingle amongst people that could call her a colleague instead of an assistant. She knew her moment finally came when one of the handsome Australian managers mentioned that when he pressed "J" into his "To:" field in an email, her name was the first one that popped up. She had finally made it.

Except making it came with pressures all its own. Her work day, already exhausting, increased to sometimes fifteen hours a day. Junk food was everywhere, coffee replaced water for hydration. And even though she did look great in that specially purchased holiday dress, she couldn't help but notice the popular girls in the room. They were skinnier, glow-ier, and clearly more capable of handling their shit.

While she would have much preferred spending what little free time she had with friends or Netflix, the only other option was to push herself to the limit and fill those gaps with the gym and healthy living. She wasn't a stranger to the gym per se, but she was pleasantly surprised when she noticed that her gym actually had a sauna. A sign from whatever Greek god of kale, this was really her year to sweat the bad out and take the good in.

But today was another fifteen hour day. Jill came home to realize that all the produce that she had methodically purchased at Whole Foods had gone bad. Dejected she considered her punishment should be forgoing dinner altogether. "120 bucks and I barely got a salad and an omelet." She mumbled while sniffing and tossing each of her organic bundles of once-green-now-brown leaves.

But there were promises to be kept and expectations to live up to. The best part about the torturous hours at the office was the fact that she got overtime and barely any free time to spend money elsewhere. This meant that she could order delivery guilt-free, at least from a financial standpoint.

Jill knew that she had to be careful with what she ordered. It's hard to know what kind of produce the restaurant uses, or how much butter they slather on the chicken before grilling it, or if they added mayo to their salad dressing. She knew her best option was the health food place that I was currently driving from. I mean, it would be pretty hard to turn a fresh pressed veggie juice into something terrible... right? And a salad. As long as she doesn't go crazy on the toppings, salads should be OK.

We both were lucky that traffic was light. Jill was starving when I arrived and couldn't fling herself down her apartment stairs faster to greet me. She smiled and said thanks, actually giving me a cash tip, which doesn't happen very often. I barely noticed the bags under her eyes and the only reason I did was because I still need to work on some of my female judgement and projection issues.

I headed back to my car and Jill flew up the steps. She flung the bag on her counter and grabbed a plate - because putting food on a plate is paramount to prevent over eating- and headed to the couch. She was actually going to watch Netflix. It was actually turning into a perfect night. 

In her excitement, Jill ventured that she could hold the plate with one hand and eat with another. It wasn't long before the plate tipped, sending the salad all over the floor. It immediately started to attract the dust and debris that tends to accumulate on a carpet when one has no time to vacuum. Confused and heartbroken, she picked up a tomato slice, blowing on it, considering that this rush of air would be enough to wipe the dust clean. But she ended up being stronger than I am. She picked up the salad, placed it on her plate, and wished it all an almost tearful goodbye as she dumped it in the trash.

The heartbreak turned into anger almost instantly. Fuck this, fuck this. She had been working for fifteen fucking hours, the majority of which was spent sending passive aggressive emails about some unimportant tape that wasn't delivered to someone fast enough. And like a gift from God herself, she glanced into her pantry to see a friendly blue box. She didn't even hesitate when it came down to stirring in the butter and milk. No olive oil, no Silk. She was going to make her macaroni and cheese the way she ate it before she had to worry about glowing, before she cared about being the first person in the To field.

I had a $11 turkey sandwich with two types of cheese.

She ate a whole box of macaroni.

*Sure, why not.