Seamless + Chill

Adulthood and the privilege of being able to work from home drove me to the store yesterday before the lines were intense or the shelves were looking bare. I stocked up with things for a couple all-day-cooking kind of meals, grabbed a few bottles of wine, and got the necessities like cat food and toilet paper. Twitter was loud with storm warnings, pictures of ice and snow, and weather bae Eric Holthouse predicting an epic weekend.

Storms of the century seem to come every year now. The gentle reminder my friend tweeted at the end of the business day in New York should go without saying, but doesn’t. In fact, if you’re not paying attention, that Seamless driver you just beckoned into the cold is probably getting a 15% tip because that’s what Seamless defaults to on the checkout page. You need to pay attention.

See, while you and I are comfortably curled up with our cats on cozy couches while the snow falls, the storm isn’t stopping life for everyone, and it’s the underpaid, under represented people that are just trying to get by who are bundling up this morning and stepping out into the winds that could gust up to 50 mph.

It’s only 9:15a, and I’m already thinking about the rage I’ll feel when NYC tweeters start complaining about Seamless or some amenity that isn’t open today, or tomorrow, or the next day. We had our chance — and the privilege, frankly — to take today off and spend it staring out a window at the billowing snow.

If you do venture out today, or you have the balls to order delivery during a blizzard (just don’t though really), you better be falling over yourself with gratitude for the bodega bro huddled over a space heater right by the door and the delivery guy so swaddled in coats and scarves you can only really make out his eyes. And you better tip him or her well. I’m not talking 20%. I’m saying drop a $5 in the tip jar at the coffee shop, and press a $20 in the pizza guy’s hand. Cash goes further than credit tips too so do your best in that department.

Take a second to say thank you before you walk back out into the storm driven by your own choice or desire for a treat instead of a job you can’t say refuse.