One is not in the habit of entering the threads of X. Not for nothing, just for lack of interest in the merchandise involved. However, this week I entertained myself with a thread that fueled a fairly diverse debate, quite a luxury these days.
The fact is that someone, man or woman, whatever, published the photo of the sign he had hung in the elevator of his estate. He described in several paragraphs the “shame” he felt for having as neighbors people who ask, on stormy nights, for a delivery man on a bike to bring dinner to his house “who risk his life”.
He received responses such as pan blows for screwing up on what others are doing and also lecturing, first in the community elevator and then in the Twitter corral. He paid for his petulance. Although he was not very wrong in pointing out a certain responsibility of those who pay for the service.
The existence of Glovo, and so many other applications born from the labor underground, has more to do with demand than supply. It is much more convenient for someone else to pick up the food you ordered just 400 meters from home than for you to go there. There is logic in this, only perverse. For two reasons: one, you turn an unnecessary service into an essential one; and two, because at that moment you are giving delivery platforms the opportunity to consolidate a model that enshrines a precariousness that looks like a kind of modern slavery.
With the rider law of 2021, Glovo allows employment or self-employment contracts. From here, there are those who say that the workers can decide which deliveries they make and at what price. It follows, therefore, that it is up to the delivery person and not the customer, who pays for a service that makes their life easier. Do you have a bad conscience about calling when it’s raining? leave a tip
Others claim that this model hides a virtuous circle of unhealthy conditions for riders. This starts because the companies do not regulate when you can go out with the bike or not and ends with angry calls if the food arrives late or bad or, worse, with contempt for the kid in the bundle.
This brings us to us. I haven’t called Glovo in years, not even for the consolation that the delivery guy will cover a bit. And you?
