Delivery Guy Ruined My Career

I ordered some takeout because I was burning up with a 102-degree fever.

I specifically left a note: Sick with a high fever. Please deliver to my door on the 5th floor.

When my phone rang, a gravelly, aggressive voice barked, Get down here and pick up your food!

I explained that I was dizzy and barely had the strength to stand, begging him to bring it up.

The delivery driver didn't just refuse. He went on a frantic tirade, calling me a "privileged corporate leech."

In a fit of anger, I marked the order as undelivered.

I never expected that the very next day, he would storm into my office and cause a massive scene.

If he wants to treat me like a "leech," then I guess I'll have to make him pay in blood.

01

My phone buzzed while I was shivering under three blankets, my brain turned to mush by the fever.

"Hey! Get down here now!"

The man's voice on the other end hit me like a thunderclap, making my eardrums throb.

"I'm so sorry, sir," I rasped, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. "I put it in the notes. I have a 102-degree fever and can't even stand up. Could you please bring it to my door?"

There was a second of silence followed by a sharp, mocking laugh.

"102 degrees? Did you die up there yet?"

I froze, wondering if the fever was making me hallucinate.

"Excuse me? What did you say?"

"I said, are you dead? If you're not, get your ass down here!"

His voice spiked into a roar. Even through the phone, I could imagine his face contorted in rage.

"The fifth floor! Do you have any idea how much time I lose climbing five flights of stairs?"

"I could deliver two more orders in that time. That tiny delivery fee you paidDwhat is that, a tip for a beggar?"

I took a deep breath, trying to shove down my rising anger.

"I know it's hard work. I'll send you a digital tip to make up for it, but I'm literally swaying on my feet right now"

"Don't give me that crap! You office types are all the sameDprivileged leeches!"

Zack Quaid screamed into the phone, his tone dripping with a sick, deep-seated hatred.

"It's just a fever. Stop acting like a dying princess."

"I'm out here in the wind and rain every day. I work even when I have a cold. Who the hell are you to make me wait on you?"

"I'm telling you, I'm sick of people like you in your fancy office buildings!"

My head was spinning, and the fever seemed to spike.

"I'm not a leech. I'm just an employee, the same as you."

"Besides, door-to-door delivery is the platform's policy. It's your job."

"My job? Screw your job!"

Zack began a string of frantic curses.

"I make peanuts on this delivery and you want me to climb five floors?"

"This is exploitation! You're trying to kill me for a sandwich!"

"I'm throwing your food on the lid of the dumpster downstairs. Take it or leave it, you piece of trash!"

The line went dead with a sharp click.

I stared at the black screen, my hands shaking with pure fury.

How could someone be so unhinged?

I wasn't asking for pity, but there should at least be a basic sense of a contract.

He took the order. The notes were clear. Even if he wouldn't bring it up, what gave him the right to scream at me?

I struggled out of bed, threw on a heavy coat, and leaned against the wall as I shuffled toward the door.

Every step felt like I was walking on clouds made of lead.

By the time I reached the ground floor, the cold wind hit me, nearly knocking me over.

The dumpster lid was empty.

There was no soup. No food. Nothing.

I dialed the number again.

"Sir, the food isn't on the dumpster. Where did you put it?"

"Oh, so you aren't dead after all? Guess you could walk just fine!"

Zack's disgusting voice crackled through the speaker.

"Can't find it? That's because you're blind! I delivered it, and that's that!"

"Are you trying to scam a free meal? I knew your kind was shifty!"

I looked at the empty alleyway, and the fire in my chest finally boiled over.

"Your name is Zack Quaid, right? I'm saying this once: the food is not here."

"Either you come back and show me where it is, or I'm calling the platform."

"Go ahead! Do it!"

He screamed even louder now.

"The platform is run by leeches like you anyway! I'm not scared!"

"Try to ruin me! If you don't kill me, I'll kill you!"

He hung up.

Five minutes later, a photo popped up on my app.

The bag of soup had been tossed into a dark, filthy gutter surrounded by stagnant water.

Immediately after, the app status changed: "Order Delivered."

He was taunting me.

He was using this disgusting method to humiliate a sick person.

I stood in the freezing wind, staring at that photo until my lungs felt like they would burst from anger.

I opened the customer service page and hit the report button.

Reason: Order not received and driver verbal abuse.

I clicked "Request Refund" and checked the box for "Never Delivered."

If you think rules are exploitation, Zack, I'm going to show you what real rules look like.

02

The next morning, my fever had dropped to 99.5.

My head still felt heavy, but there was an urgent project at the office that required my personal hand-off.

I put on a mask and caught an Uber to work.

As soon as I stepped through the glass doors of the lobby, I heard a piercing, jagged noise.

Tell that bitch Lana Vance to get her ass out here!

If she doesn't give me my money back today, Ill tear this whole office apart!

My heart skipped a beat.

I hurried toward the reception desk.

A man in a weathered delivery jacket with a buzz cut was screaming at the receptionist.

His skin was tanned and leathery, and his eyes were wild with malice.

He slammed a battered motorcycle helmet onto the marble counter.

The sound echoed like a gunshot.

The young receptionist was trembling, her face pale.

A crowd of my coworkers had already gathered to watch the drama.

I took a sharp breath and stepped forward.

Im Lana Vance. Youre looking for me?

Zack spun around.

His eyes locked onto mine, filled with a hunger for violence.

It was him. The driver from last night.

Good! You actually showed your face!

Zack pointed a finger inches from my nose, spitting as he spoke.

You heartless, poisonous woman!

So I didn't walk up a few stairsDdoes that give you the right to report me?

The platform docked me a hundred dollars! A hundred bucks!

Thats an entire days worth of work! My blood, sweat, and tears!

You took that away with one click!

Are you trying to starve me to death?

He took a menacing step toward me, his chest heaving.

I looked him dead in the eye.

You lost that money because you didn't deliver the food, you insulted me, and then you trashed my property.

You did this to yourself.

Zacks eyes bulged.

So what if I threw it?

You were playing dead just to avoid coming down!

You people in these offices, sitting in the AC with your fat paychecks.

You have no idea how hard the rest of us have it!

A hundred dollars is just a coffee to you, but its groceries for my family!

You targeted me on purpose!

You just look down on delivery drivers because you think youre better!

His delusional logic was so absurd I almost laughed.

So being poor gives you a right to be a jerk?

You think you can curse at people and destroy their things because youre struggling?

Nobodys money grows on trees, Zack.

The coworkers around us began to whisper.

So thats what happened

But honestly, Lana, a hundred bucks isn't much to us.

Yeah, those guys have it rough. No need to push him to the edge.

She should have just let it go.

Wendy, a girl I usually grabbed lunch with, gave me a look of pity before quickly looking away.

I stared at them in disbelief.

These were the same people who filed HR complaints if the breakroom ran out of oat milk.

Now they were acting like moral saints?

Zack saw the tide turning in his favor and his ego swelled.

He dropped onto the floor right in the middle of the lobby.

He started wailing like a child throwing a tantrum.

Look at this, everyone!

Lana Vance is bullying an honest worker!

Shes taking the bread out of my mouth!

If I don't get my hundred dollars back and an apology on her knees, Im not leaving!

Ill make sure everyone knows what kind of business you run here!

His howling was deafening.

Clients entering the building were stopping to stare and point.

Suddenly, the crowd parted.

Mr. Weaver, the CEO, walked out, his suit tight across his beer belly.

He looked at Zack on the floor and frowned deeply.

What is this? Where is security? Why is this man in here?

Zack saw the man in charge and scrambled to his feet.

Youre the boss? You need to control your employee!

She stole my hard-earned money!

Mr. Weaver listened to a quick summary from the receptionist, his face darkening.

He turned to me with clear irritation.

Lana, what the hell is this?

Bringing this kind of drama into the office? It looks terrible for the firm!

I gritted my teeth, trying to stay professional.

Mr. Weaver, he harassed me, screamed at me, and destroyed my order. I followed the platforms protocol.

He is trespassing and harassing us right now.

Mr. Weaver waved his hand dismissively.

Fine, fine, whatever.

Look at him. Hes a blue-collar worker out in the elements.

Youre an educated professional. Why are you picking fights with someone like him?

It makes you look incredibly petty.

My jaw dropped.

Sir, this is a matter of principle!

Mr. Weaver let out an annoyed huff.

Forget your principles!

The companys image is what matters!

Give him two hundred dollars right now.

One hundred for his fine, and another hundred for his trouble.

Apologize, and get him out of here before the board hears about this!

I squeezed my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms.

I am not paying him a cent, and I am definitely not apologizing.

I did nothing wrong.

03

Mr. Weavers face turned a violent shade of purple.

Lana! Are you seriously defying me?

Do you want to keep your job or not?

Zack saw his opening and let out a smug, nasty grin.

He crossed his arms and leaned back, mocking me.

Hear that? Even your boss thinks youre wrong!

Pay up! Stop wasting my time!

Ive got deliveries to make. I don't have all day to deal with a brat!

I took a slow, deep breath, forcing the rage back down into a cold pocket of my heart.

Mr. Weaver, if you think calling the police will hurt the companys image,

Then Ill resign right now.

But I will not give a single penny to this thug.

The lobby went dead silent. Everyone gasped.

Mr. Weaver pointed a trembling finger at me.

Fine! Great! Youre so brave!

Youd throw away a career over two hundred dollars!

Zack realized I wasn't going to break, and his eyes shifted with a predatory glint.

He pulled his phone out and tapped the screen with practiced ease.

He started a livestream, shoving the camera right in my face.

Hey everyone! Check this out!

This is the heartless bitch whos trying to ruin a delivery drivers life!

Her name is Lana Vance! She works at this fancy firm!

She was too lazy to walk down some stairs, then complained that I smelled like sweat!

I told her I had a leg injury and couldn't make the climb, so she reported me!

She got me docked half a months pay!

Now she and her boss are trying to kick me out without paying what they owe!

Like and share, guys! Let the world see the face of corporate greed!

I was stunned by the sheer audacity of his lies.

Not only was he twisting the truth, but he was filming me without my consent in a private office!

I stepped forward, trying to block the lens.

Stop lying! Turn that off!

Zack immediately threw himself backward, wailing at the top of his lungs.

Shes hitting me! The rich lady is attacking a worker!

Get screenshots, guys! Shes trying to silence me!

The viewer count on his stream spiked into the hundreds instantly.

The comments were a blur of hatred.

Wow, she looks so stuck up. What a monster!

Find out where she lives! Make her famous!

Support the driver! Eat the rich!

Some women are just so entitled. Walking down stairs won't kill you!

Seeing those venomous comments made me feel like I was suffocating.

My coworkers didn't step in to help. They all backed away.

They were terrified of being caught on camera and dragged into the mess.

Even the receptionist was secretly filming the scene with her phone.

Mr. Weaver turned his back on me and walked away.

Lana, you brought this on yourself. Fix it.

Don't involve the company anymore.

If this isn't settled by tomorrow, don't bother coming in.

Zack scrambled up, thrusting the phone toward my face again.

You heard him, bitch. Get on your knees and apologize.

Tell the whole stream youre sorry!

Or Ill make sure you cant get a job in this city ever again!

His arrogant face filled my entire vision.

I stared back at him, cold and unwavering.

I didn't hide from the camera. I didn't scream.

Zack Quaid.

Everything youve done today is being recorded by the buildings security.

Harassment, trespassing, defamation, and illegal filming.

Every single bit of it is enough to put you behind bars.

Ill see you in court.

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 right in front of him.

Zacks eyes flickered with a hint of panic when he heard me talking to the operator.

But he quickly doubled down for the camera.

Look, everyone! Shes calling the cops on me!

The police always protect the rich!

Don't let them bury this story, guys!

Ten minutes later, the police arrived.

After assessing the situation, the officer frowned.

Sir, youre disrupting a place of business, the cop said to Zack.

Turn off the stream. Youre coming with us to the station for a statement.

Zack shut off his phone, acting like a kicked puppy.

But as he passed me, he leaned in and whispered:

This isn't over. Not by a long shot.

04

At the police station.

Since Zack hadn't actually broken anything or physically hurt anyone yet.

The officer followed the standard procedure: mediation.

He was just emotional. Maybe you both can just drop it?

The sergeant sipped his coffee, looking tired.

Maam, you reported him and he lost money. Hes frustrated.

He shouldn't have gone to your office, but hes willing to apologize.

Can we just call it even and go home?

I shook my head firmly.

No mediation.

He didn't just come to my office. He lied about me to thousands of people online.

I want a public retraction and damages for defamation.

Zack jumped out of his chair.

Damages? I don't have a penny!

Officer, look at her! Shes trying to bleed me dry!

I have an eighty-year-old mother and three kids to feed!

He launched into his practiced poor man routine.

The sergeant sighed, looking at me.

Hes a gig worker. Even if you sue him, itll take months and youll never see a dime.

Take my advice. Just walk away.

I looked at Zacks smug, what are you gonna do about it face.

A chill ran through my veins.

Is this what people call the privilege of the weak?

Because hes poor, he gets to hurt people without consequences?

Because hes struggling, his crimes are just mistakes?

In the end, because I refused to settle, the police could only give him a warning and a citation for disturbing the peace.

Then they let him walk.

As we stepped out of the station.

Zack purposely bumped his shoulder into mine.

The pitiful act was gone, replaced by a sneering, jagged grin.

See that? The cops cant touch me.

You think you can win against me, you bitch?

I have nothing to lose. You, on the other hand

I know where you work. Ill be there every day.

Ill make it so youre afraid to even step outside!

I ignored him and hailed a cab.

But the nightmare was only beginning.

The second I got home, my phone started vibrating like a live wire.

Hundreds of unknown numbers were calling me.

When I answered one, a voice screamed, I hope you rot in hell for what you did to that driver!

Corporate scum!

We know where you live. Sleep with one eye open!

My social media was a war zone.

Someone had leaked my accounts. My inbox was filled with death threats.

I opened TikTok with trembling fingers.

Zacks livestream had been edited into a dozen different viral clips.

The headlines were horrific.

SHOCKING: Corporate Elitist Tries to Starve Delivery Driver!

The Face of Evil: Lana Vance Exposed!

The comments were in the tens of thousands.

They were doxxing me. My name, my office, my neighborhood.

I felt a wave of cold terror wash over me.

The sheer power of an online mob was like a tsunami.

I turned off my phone and pulled the internet cord from the wall.

I locked myself in my room, shaking.

What did I do wrong?

I just wanted my food and my rights.

Why was the whole world pointing their finger at me?

Late that night.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside my apartment.

Then, a violent pounding started on my door.

Bitch! Come out!

I know youre in there!

It was Zack.

He actually found my home.

I covered my mouth, afraid to even breathe.

Then, I heard the sound of liquid splashing against the wood.

A pungent, chemical smell of paint filled the air.

A little gift for you!

Ill be back tomorrow!

Zacks laughter echoed down the hall as he left.

I waited a long time before I dared to look through the peephole.

My door was covered in thick, dripping crimson paint.

It looked like blood.

In the center of the door, he had taped a piece of paper.

In messy, jagged black ink, it said: BLOOD FOR MONEY.

I stared at that paper, my nails digging into my palms until they bled.

At that moment, my fear vanished.

It was replaced by a cold, absolute clarity.

Fine.

If this is how you want to play, Zack, well play until one of us is destroyed.