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The steps involved in ordering takeaway are as follows:
1. Turn on the takeaway food app. Check for any deals (like ‘free delivery’ and such); if there are none, enter your cuisine of choice and tap ‘Search’.
2. Decide on a restaurant. Look over its menu and choose which dishes to order, tapping ‘Add to Cart’ as you go. Once satisfied, tap ‘View Cart’.
2a. Look back over your chosen items and their prices. Inspect the subtotal, the delivery fee (if applicable), then the total.
2b. Log into internet banking and check the balance in your ‘Spending’ account. (Don’t confuse this with your ‘Bills’ or ‘Savings’ accounts—you can’t touch those.) Confirm the figure is ‘high’ enough to be subtracted from.
2c. Return to the food app, but leave the checkout screen. Check for any deals again in case you missed one. Check for other restaurants of the same cuisine in case you can find the dishes for cheaper.
2d. Log back into internet banking. Survey your recent transactions. Mentally add up the prices of the stupid things you’ve spent on. Think about how ridiculous it is that you want to order takeaway tonight, given you ordered out only three days ago and snuck some smoked salmon into your latest grocery shop, not to mention bought fresh veggies and pork mince specifically for a stir-fry.
2e. Put your phone down. Walk to the fridge and check what leftovers you have. Shame yourself for being so lazy that you can’t just chop some stupid vegetables and cook some stupid stir-fry. Shame yourself for wanting to spend when you only recently spent on uncooked food, and what a waste of that previous spend to spend again.
2f. Remind yourself that this takeaway costs just under what you get paid per hour, so why does it matter. Grab your phone and return to the food app. Glance over your orders and the total cost (you’ve got this). Hover over the ‘Place Order’ button.
2g. Reinspect your orders. Estimate their kilojoule counts—remember that unused energy is stored as adipose tissue, and if you’re having this food for dinner, those kilojoules certainly won’t get burned with you sitting on your fat ass playing videogames.
2h. Close the app and put down your phone. Revisit the fridge. Imagine the stir-fry, with its kilojoules only a third of the takeaway. Think about how you really, really don’t feel like stir-fry. Imagine the leftovers and their kilojoules. Think about how you really, really don’t feel like leftovers.
2i. Sit on the couch. In that time, the sun will have set and you’ll be bathed in darkness. You’re paralysed by myopic indecision and self-directed contempt. You’re also hungry and tired from work, and can’t get up to turn on the light. If you do get up to turn on the light, you may as well stay up and go to the kitchen and chop those vegetables and cook that stir-fry because in what universe do you deserve to spend money on takeaway when you’d already spent money on groceries that you’d bought specifically so that you could cook and have money to save.
2j. While self-flagellating and indecisive, grab your phone and go to Camera Roll. Scroll to your most recent videos at the dance studio (which you don’t post anymore because deciding on the right filters, caption, posting time, story cross-promo text, story cross-promo time—not to mention tallying views and likes and comments, whether and how to re-caption to gain more traction, which people to jealousy-watch—all of that took double the time it takes you to order takeaway). Reflect on how many kilojoules you’d’ve burnt on those sweat-fest nights. Reflect on how, maybe, you’ve built enough of an energy deficit to deserve some so-called ‘bad’ food.
2k. Return to the food app. Glance over your orders again, acknowledge their approximate kilojoule counts and check the total cost (you’ve got this). Hover over the ‘Place Order’ button.
2l. Actually tap the button. Hate yourself a little bit, because some days you take less time than this. It feels like you’re slipping backwards.
3. Wait for the deliveryperson to bring your food.
3a. If they have a Hispanic name, mentally refresh your Spanish so you can impress them—then worry that you’re stereotyping.
3b. Since it’s unacceptable to ever be idle, grab your laptop and access your emails. If there are unread emails (excluding those you’ve re-marked as ‘unread’—which you have read and replied to, except you want them flagged as reminders-for-action), pick one to respond to. Reread the email to check you haven’t missed any details.
3b-i. Draft a reply. Strike the right tone—amicable but authoritative. Make sure the key components are in there: token greeting; reference to recent world or industry events (where relevant); direct answer to question, kept short; longer answer to question, providing context and justification and, where needed, alternatives; requisite next-step invitation.
3b-ii. Check on your deliveryperson, noting their ETA.
3b-iii. Read your draft in its entirety. Reread the email you received. Tweak some of your wordings, ensuring you directly cite 3–5 wordings used by the sender, to build rapport. Tweak a sentence or two where clarity or syntax aren’t ideal. Move, condense or delete a sentence—there’s gotta be at least one.
3c. If the deliveryperson is two minutes away, head down to the foyer. You’re still ensconced in darkness, but what a waste of electricity to turn on the light now, so fiddle around in the dark. Grab your keys, lock your apartment door, jingle the doorknob three times (because what if you didn’t actually lock it?). Walk down the nine flights of stairs instead of taking the lift; you’re about to ingest kilojoules and any extra energy you can dispel will help rectify your ‘bad’ life choice.
3c-i. Meet the deliveryperson, who’ll ask how you’re going. Flaunt your Español. They’ll reply in English. Reply in Español. Grab the food. Catch the lift back up to your flat. Dread that you probably fucked up your Spanish and the deliveryperson is likely laughing at your misplaced bravado while pedalling to their next job. Think about your Duolingo ranking. Think about how, maybe, mentioning Spanish in your Tinder profile is, in fact, a deterrent.
3c-ii. Unlock your apartment door and turn on the hallway light. Walk in. Turn on the kitchen light and swiftly turn off the hallway light. Leave the food on the bench because of course you can’t leave an unfinished task unfinished.
3c-iii. Reread your draft. Reread the email you received. Tweak some more. Reread your email a final time. Click ‘Send’. Race Gmail’s 30-second ‘Cancel Send’ window and speed-reread your email in case there’s a last-minute tweak you’d like to make. Inevitably find something—never an error, just something that could be worded better (because why do anything if you’re not gonna do it perfectly, and imagine the catastrophe if you fuck up). Cancel the email. Tweak. Click ‘Send’. Race Gmail’s ‘Cancel Send’ window again. Let the email go through.
4. Take your orders out of the takeaway paper bag. Portion them out so you don’t eat them all (the expense is only justified if you leave leftovers for another day, which thus also means fewer kilojoules). Then, finally, eat.
1. Turn on the takeaway food app. Check for any deals (like ‘free delivery’ and such); if there are none, enter your cuisine of choice and tap ‘Search’.
2. Decide on a restaurant. Look over its menu and choose which dishes to order, tapping ‘Add to Cart’ as you go. Once satisfied, tap ‘View Cart’.
2a. Look back over your chosen items and their prices. Inspect the subtotal, the delivery fee (if applicable), then the total.
2b. Log into internet banking and check the balance in your ‘Spending’ account. (Don’t confuse this with your ‘Bills’ or ‘Savings’ accounts—you can’t touch those.) Confirm the figure is ‘high’ enough to be subtracted from.
2c. Return to the food app, but leave the checkout screen. Check for any deals again in case you missed one. Check for other restaurants of the same cuisine in case you can find the dishes for cheaper.
2d. Log back into internet banking. Survey your recent transactions. Mentally add up the prices of the stupid things you’ve spent on. Think about how ridiculous it is that you want to order takeaway tonight, given you ordered out only three days ago and snuck some smoked salmon into your latest grocery shop, not to mention bought fresh veggies and pork mince specifically for a stir-fry.
2e. Put your phone down. Walk to the fridge and check what leftovers you have. Shame yourself for being so lazy that you can’t just chop some stupid vegetables and cook some stupid stir-fry. Shame yourself for wanting to spend when you only recently spent on uncooked food, and what a waste of that previous spend to spend again.
2f. Remind yourself that this takeaway costs just under what you get paid per hour, so why does it matter. Grab your phone and return to the food app. Glance over your orders and the total cost (you’ve got this). Hover over the ‘Place Order’ button.
2g. Reinspect your orders. Estimate their kilojoule counts—remember that unused energy is stored as adipose tissue, and if you’re having this food for dinner, those kilojoules certainly won’t get burned with you sitting on your fat ass playing videogames.
2h. Close the app and put down your phone. Revisit the fridge. Imagine the stir-fry, with its kilojoules only a third of the takeaway. Think about how you really, really don’t feel like stir-fry. Imagine the leftovers and their kilojoules. Think about how you really, really don’t feel like leftovers.
2i. Sit on the couch. In that time, the sun will have set and you’ll be bathed in darkness. You’re paralysed by myopic indecision and self-directed contempt. You’re also hungry and tired from work, and can’t get up to turn on the light. If you do get up to turn on the light, you may as well stay up and go to the kitchen and chop those vegetables and cook that stir-fry because in what universe do you deserve to spend money on takeaway when you’d already spent money on groceries that you’d bought specifically so that you could cook and have money to save.
2j. While self-flagellating and indecisive, grab your phone and go to Camera Roll. Scroll to your most recent videos at the dance studio (which you don’t post anymore because deciding on the right filters, caption, posting time, story cross-promo text, story cross-promo time—not to mention tallying views and likes and comments, whether and how to re-caption to gain more traction, which people to jealousy-watch—all of that took double the time it takes you to order takeaway). Reflect on how many kilojoules you’d’ve burnt on those sweat-fest nights. Reflect on how, maybe, you’ve built enough of an energy deficit to deserve some so-called ‘bad’ food.
2k. Return to the food app. Glance over your orders again, acknowledge their approximate kilojoule counts and check the total cost (you’ve got this). Hover over the ‘Place Order’ button.
2l. Actually tap the button. Hate yourself a little bit, because some days you take less time than this. It feels like you’re slipping backwards.
3. Wait for the deliveryperson to bring your food.
3a. If they have a Hispanic name, mentally refresh your Spanish so you can impress them—then worry that you’re stereotyping.
3b. Since it’s unacceptable to ever be idle, grab your laptop and access your emails. If there are unread emails (excluding those you’ve re-marked as ‘unread’—which you have read and replied to, except you want them flagged as reminders-for-action), pick one to respond to. Reread the email to check you haven’t missed any details.
3b-i. Draft a reply. Strike the right tone—amicable but authoritative. Make sure the key components are in there: token greeting; reference to recent world or industry events (where relevant); direct answer to question, kept short; longer answer to question, providing context and justification and, where needed, alternatives; requisite next-step invitation.
3b-ii. Check on your deliveryperson, noting their ETA.
3b-iii. Read your draft in its entirety. Reread the email you received. Tweak some of your wordings, ensuring you directly cite 3–5 wordings used by the sender, to build rapport. Tweak a sentence or two where clarity or syntax aren’t ideal. Move, condense or delete a sentence—there’s gotta be at least one.
3c. If the deliveryperson is two minutes away, head down to the foyer. You’re still ensconced in darkness, but what a waste of electricity to turn on the light now, so fiddle around in the dark. Grab your keys, lock your apartment door, jingle the doorknob three times (because what if you didn’t actually lock it?). Walk down the nine flights of stairs instead of taking the lift; you’re about to ingest kilojoules and any extra energy you can dispel will help rectify your ‘bad’ life choice.
3c-i. Meet the deliveryperson, who’ll ask how you’re going. Flaunt your Español. They’ll reply in English. Reply in Español. Grab the food. Catch the lift back up to your flat. Dread that you probably fucked up your Spanish and the deliveryperson is likely laughing at your misplaced bravado while pedalling to their next job. Think about your Duolingo ranking. Think about how, maybe, mentioning Spanish in your Tinder profile is, in fact, a deterrent.
3c-ii. Unlock your apartment door and turn on the hallway light. Walk in. Turn on the kitchen light and swiftly turn off the hallway light. Leave the food on the bench because of course you can’t leave an unfinished task unfinished.
3c-iii. Reread your draft. Reread the email you received. Tweak some more. Reread your email a final time. Click ‘Send’. Race Gmail’s 30-second ‘Cancel Send’ window and speed-reread your email in case there’s a last-minute tweak you’d like to make. Inevitably find something—never an error, just something that could be worded better (because why do anything if you’re not gonna do it perfectly, and imagine the catastrophe if you fuck up). Cancel the email. Tweak. Click ‘Send’. Race Gmail’s ‘Cancel Send’ window again. Let the email go through.
4. Take your orders out of the takeaway paper bag. Portion them out so you don’t eat them all (the expense is only justified if you leave leftovers for another day, which thus also means fewer kilojoules). Then, finally, eat.