Express
Prompts for this week's short story and illustration: bright pink glasses, spy genre, food delivery via bike
Nothing sets the tone of the day quite like stepping on your brand new prescription sunglasses, and having to dig out an old pair from high school. Not only was everything a little blurry, but they were hot pink, and too tight.
But people needed their pad thai, and I needed to pay rent—and buy new glasses—so I pre-loaded on ibuprofen to ease the headache I knew was coming, and picked up my first order. Once the pad thai—called it—was packed in the insulated bag on the back of my bike, I headed off and immediately hit a red light. I coasted to a stop, placing one foot on the curb.
A black sedan pulled up beside me. The back window rolled down and a man in a black suit leaned his head at the window. “I prefer a spice level of three out of five.”
I blinked, unable to make out his face clearly with the five year old prescription. “Uh…that’s nice.”
The man nodded. “Confirmed.”
The light turned green, and I pedaled. Fast. People were so weird.
The customer with the pad thai—479 Alpine Ave—opened the door a crack. “Did anyone follow you?”
“Umm…” Behind me cars streamed past and a dogwalker stumbled by, struggling with a tangled knot of leashes. “No?”
“I hear the Pad See Ew is good,” the woman said.
“This is pad thai.”
“Understood.” The door opened a little wider. The house was too dark inside to make out a face, but a hand shot out and took the bag from me. As soon as the plastic cleared the doorframe, the door slammed.
My phone dinged, and I looked down at an additional $150 tip. Breath shaky, I checked my balance on the app as I walked down the stairs, and there it was. The tip was real, and enough to cover utilities.
Before I could put my phone away, it dinged again.
New order available. Express. Tip $150.
I stared at the phone. Another $150 tip? For a burrito? I accepted the order. It didn’t make any sense, but I needed to buy new sunglasses.
A message popped up immediately. Please advise on spice level.
What, they wanted me to pick how spicy….no way. I typed out a message. Three.
Confirmed.
After pocketing my phone, I swung a leg over my bike. I had no idea what was going on, but if I kept getting tips like these, I was going to make rent, get new glasses, and be the one ordering take out for a change.
If you want to know more about why I am writing a short story every week, you can read about it here: