I don’t care if it’s delivery or Delissio, I’m having none of it!
Well, obviously there won’t be any Delissio because I’ve unplugged my freezer, but as of today I’m saying no to all delivered food — unless it happens to be packaged entirely in recyclable or biodegradable containers, and arrives either by bicycle or Sherpa.
In most other countries, delivery men (and, OK, the occasional delivery woman) do use bikes and scooters to get around, and usually pile as much as they can onto the back in order to make fewer trips. But here, food is almost always delivered in a car and, unless it’s pizza, comes in styrofoam or foil containers with bags of plastic cutlery, napkins and way too many of those squidgy packets of ketchup, mustard and vinegar.
As I think I’ve said before, I’ve never been an active member of the fast food nation; my weakness when it comes to delivery is the quarter-chicken dinner from Swiss Chalet with that special, special sauce (seriously, is there MDMA in that stuff?), which I order online — all my deets are programmed into the system for maximum efficiency, too. However, since I stopped eating any meat unless it’s certified organic and free-range, that’s been ruled out anyway.
Naturally, this rule only applies to food, as I still need to be able to accept other deliveries, like mail. And presents. Lots of presents.
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