Member-only story
The No-Hitter
Zero dollars for the shift
Usually, when I wax metaphorical on the subject of dashing, I’ll go with the fishing comparison — as dashing can be just like fishing. You think you know when and where to do both, but you just never know when the phone will ping constantly or the fish are feeding.
So after a reasonably good breakfast run ($31 from 8:04 to 9:55), I set out at lunchtime around 11 AM to fatten my wallet. And I went trolling in every spot I knew to catch a flapper. Zippo! At 11:35, I found myself near a truck serving soup to the homeless. It had no line of men, so I scored a cup of veggie soup. What the hell, right?
Just as I finished my first swallow, the phone finally pinged. A half-mile run from a joint called Murray's Bagels, a spot I’d never been to before. So I finished the soup and then eased over against traffic, parked the bike, and strolled into an incredibly busy and disorganized bagel shop.
Usually, places like this have a counter for dashers. We don’t stand in line with regular patrons. And with a little luck, our package is ready and we’re out while regular people wait. (God only knows why! For a fucking bagel?!?!)
When I tried to cut to the counter and ask where the dashers pick up, a Puerto Rican worker had something really nasty to say to me. Clearly, he didn’t recognize me as…
