WRITINGS

DOORDASH: DELIVERING TOXIC MASCULINITY?

During the last week of July 2025 I was having a small life crisis. My landlord had informed me that he was selling the property that the guest house I rented from him was on. It was daunting news, as I had moved onto his property less than nine months ago and now I had to find another place to live in 60 days. The hardest part of the situation was that I still didn’t have a job - I had been applying and interviewing for positions with absolutely zero luck - yet had to move again without having a job, along with my dwindling savings looking bleak. What does this have to do with DoorDash, you may ask? It is all connected, albeit in the most random of ways.

Thankfully I did find a place to move into, but: I had to hurry and pack everything up that I had literally just unpacked months ago. After long days and sleepless nights of physical labor, I was also packing on the pounds while missing out on my regular routine of applying for jobs, working out, and making my own healthy food. I was an exhausted and sweaty mess every day - physically, mentally, and emotionally. Therefore, during that last week in my old place, I decided to treat myself to a couple of DoorDash orders from local restaurants. As previously mentioned, I was moving out from a little guest house which was located behind the main front house. There was a gate in the driveway that both led to my home yet also kind of “hid” access to my own place. This additionally meant that any and all orders I placed would require me to physically go outside, open the gate, meet the driver, and receive the goods in person.

I placed an order around midnight on a Tuesday and patiently waited for my birria tacos..,mmm, birria 🤤

Soon the notification link indicated that the driver was near. I met the lanky young Hispanic driver at the gate. Feeling very grimy and self-conscious, I thought to myself “I must look like Pizza Rat, or Meth Mom, or worse: a Florida Man.”

I gave him the code for my order from my phone while peering out at him from underneath my bright orange neon trucker cap. He was normal and attractive in that basic way, kind of a typical bro dude. Definitely not someone whom I could picture having much in common with, nor someone whom I thought would ever take a second look at this weirdo in a kitty kat shirt and no makeup.

I took my food, closed the gate and as I was walking back to my place, I received a chat message from the driver. “Are you alone?” it said. “Don’t you want my company?”

Huh? Did he text the wrong order or person? I had been alone for the past two days drenched in my own sweat, cardboard dust, and packing tape. I was kinda shocked at first and didn’t believe it, as I’m not the type of girl that men regularly hit on. So I went inside and answered back, “What do you mean?” Because I truly didn’t quite get it at that point. He wrote back, “I can be with you, I am waiting outside your house if you are alone.” OK, that was when it got a little weird to me. Because someone saying that they are waiting outside of the place where they know you live is kinda scary…especially for someone who lives alone. Thankfully, DoorDash has bots that immediately intervened and shut down the conversation, due to “inappropriate content.” WHEW. Thanks DD - you + your bots did good. Probs solved, right?

Two days later, while making another late night dinner order, the same thing happened again but with a different young DoorDasher. He was a little less initially creepy but also messaged me via the DD app after delivering my order - saying complimentary things and wanting to hang out with me. He too asked if I lived alone, sent his number and asked me to text/call him. I didn’t respond and nothing happened after that, but interestingly enough, this particular chat was not flagged for any kind of inappropriate content. So I kind of laughed it all off, thinking that DoorDash must be mass-hiring desperate, horny young guys who are thirsty for older, white, tattooed women. Or that my account was flagged because I order single meals so often, that I am totally embodying the stereotype of the Sabertooth: a single, childless gal of a certain age who is on the prowl for younger male flesh/company.

As a preface to the above and to the following story as to why it is additionally poignant for my particular life situation: I do not have family at all and never have. I have been completely alone in the world since I was 17. Last year I just moved to an area of LA that is unfamiliar to me and where I still do not have any close friends nearby and do not know anyone. This adds to my feelings of isolation, anxiety, and often being extra nervous. Especially because if I get into any kind of questionable or dangerous situations, I do not have someone to contact who will rush over right away to help when something goes wrong or if I feel threatened. Alternatively, on a personal level, by nature I am rabidly adventurous and enjoy taking unique risks that other, more conservative personas may not. Although fairly shy, I crave interesting experiences on a deeper level because I’m also genuinely friendly and I love meeting new people, especially those not of my culture or background. Due to those those tendencies, I have lived quite an unusual life and have been through a lot and experienced a diverse array of humanity and situations. But unfortunately - as strong, wise, or independent as I like to think that I am - I’m still FAR too trusting and vulnerable. I give others way more benefit of the doubt than I should.

After these two incidents of being hit up by two different DoorDashers on two different orders a couple of days apart…fast forward a few weeks later to mid-August 2025 after I had just moved into my new apartment. I’m now unpacking and again - an exhausted, sweaty mess. I decide to make another food order via DoorDash around midnight. I was additionally excited because my new place did not normally require me to go outside and meet delivery drivers each time. They could now just be dropped off at my apartment door, ideally. BUT - just in case - I still had written detailed instructions on my account to help drivers find their way to my easily accessible ground floor abode.

As I was waiting for my order that evening, I received a chat message from the Dasher on the app, saying that he was “here but confused..can’t find you, please help”. Noting that his message was translated into English from Spanish (as the chats indicate this), I went outside to help the confused Dasher find my place. I looked around and saw that he was totally down the street, wandering around with my bag of Chinese food. But once he saw me waving he ran over, looking a little embarrassed. Knowing he spoke Spanish, I offered up my gringa broken español to try and communicate, saying “Esta bien, esta bien - no te preocupes!”. He got really excited, told me that nobody’s ever tried speaking w/ him in Spanish on his deliveries, and shared that he had just moved from Columbia. After completing the order, he then pointed to his phone & asked “numero por favor?”

As a quick visual: each time the now 3 Dashers have hit me up I had been unshowered for a couple of days (I was moving, ok?!) I had no makeup on and slapped a goofy trucker cap on top of my sweaty, stringy, bird’s nest of orange hair. I wore long, loose clothing that I was planning to sleep in, along with granny reader glasses so I could see anything/everything. I also admit to having two full sleeves of tats on my arms and am only mentioning because although I’m not that different these days, I’m def still not your normal, basic gal. I definitely was not giving America’s Top Model nor even Best In Show. I was tired, stinky, hadn’t worked out in weeks so was getting a little pudgy, and I was ready to just eat my fried garlic w/ plum sauce and go to sleep.

Upon hearing his question I hesitated, but made a snap decision to give my number to him. Now, I’ve met men in the wild sometimes and this was probably not the smartest decision of mine to make at 1am w/ a strange man delivering my food, so I readily admit this as my first mistake. My reasoning was that although I found this guy attractive, friendly, and seemingly genuine - he also stated that he was really wanting to learn English. And I absolutely love practicing my terrible Spanish. So we both agreed that this could be good. He immediately started texting that night and then we both started texting each other non-stop, day/night, the rest of the week with plans to hang out that Sunday. 

During our texting that week, he was nothing but gentlemanly. A bit TOO flattering and over the top with the Spanish pet names but I’ve experienced that before with other Hispanic men I’ve dated, so NBD. For a Finnish-American person like me who completely rebels against their own traditional and echoingly cold romantic DNA profile, it’s so warm and nice, actually. SUPER NICE. He was very fun to talk with, really consistent, even apologetic at times when he couldn’t respond right away. He also told me all about himself: he was 29, has 2 young kids back in Columbia (both under 6 years old); he’s never been married but separated from their mom after a year; he’s been in America 6 months, living in his current city of Riverside only one month.

Most importantly, he sent me pix of his of his cute kids back in Medellín along with his adorable tuxedo cat, Lion, that he rescued here in L.A. - he even built a little television into his cat’s scratch tower that shows mice + birds running around for Lion to watch while cat dad works! We exchanged some in-the-moment photos daily (NOT sexy snaps or anything like that - and again: no makeup or curled hair on my end, just au natural to scare him away, I thought!) and NONE of our texts were even remotely sexual.

Our vibe and texts were very light: flirty but innocent. He also asked if I lived alone, twice (was that an early red flag?) but I told him that I had a roommate, at first. Of course I don’t, but I did not want to tell him that quite yet. He asked me where we should go to meet and that he always followed the woman’s choice. He suggested going to the beach w/ him for that Sunday “date”, but I declined, saying that I don’t go to places like that with men I’ve just met for safety reasons. He answered how wonderful it was that I protected myself that way and said he fully understood. His communications always first would address me as a string of pet names in Spanish, and usually ended by praising God. I am NOT religious or any religion at all, but thought this tactic could either be a trick to get women to believe he was trustworthy, or, a reflection of his morals and values. One of the best things he said was that he wanted a friendship first, above all, because that was the most important thing. In my view, looking at someone who has kids and has already been through that kind of relationship and is now starting over in a new country without even knowing the language (just like my own mother did, too): well, that was all very admirable to me. Everything about him seemed so really fantastic and fun - even just as friends - with us translating our words for each other into English/Spanish so that everything was crystal clear between us both and in each other’s native language.

My second mistake (yes I take the blame with this too, because I am too trusting and didn’t heed all of the dating blog advice like I should have) was me inviting him over to my apartment for our first “real” hang out/meeting. I should have let him take me out as he first suggested or have met him in a public place. But I thought, “ok he already knows where I live anyway and it will be relaxed and chill.” Again: dumb choice by me, I know, and I have been kicking myself for it ever since. I will also give the benefit of the doubt before the rest of this story since even though he asked me out, I thought that just talking, getting to know each other, and listening to music (which I told him that we would do at my place, as I am also a musician) would be a casual, fun, but nice environment as we had both talked about our love of music and how we had worked in the industry.

Perhaps in his mind or in his culture or experience, a woman inviting you over to her home - even when you’re first meeting or getting together - means that it’s really just an invitation to sex or something fast and easy. I will never know and still don’t know if it justifies everything that happened.

Since I had just moved, my place had boxes all over but I had my furniture and some things set up. He brought me flowers and we sat down on the couch to hopefully chat, using google translate when my nervous Spanish didn’t suffice and when he needed to communicate in English to me. And I was SO nervous! He hugged me affectionally and kissed me passionately at first, which I truly didn’t mind. My love language is physical touch plus my Venus is in Scorpio so I’m OK with a bit of upfront sensuality, especially if its to figure out if you’re compatible or not in those ways.

However, as we settled in and I started things off by asking sincere questions about him/his life in order to get to know him better - he kept interrupting my questions by full-on mouth/tongue kissing me. Which, because I was attracted to him and like making out, I went with. It felt good at first, but then he got extremely aggressive (I’m talking he was sucking my lips into his mouth like a goddamn jet engine & then biting them so much that it hurt.) Well, maybe that was just ‘his style’, I thought, and because I was still interested in getting to know him, I participated for a while.

*Trigger warning: things get very detailed from here on out, so please know that there will be forceful sexual situations described and explicit language used.

He soon kicked back and laid down on a part of my couch and I noticed what looked like a hard-on through his sport shorts. I was still a little bit startled and taken aback by all of the making out, as even that was a bit too much, too fast as he had barely been here half an hour. Then almost as immediately, he started to put his hands all over me. And I mean ALL over. The kissing and making out was fine, but that was as far as I had both planned and wanted to take things. I told him so right away, via translate, but it made zero difference. All I did for the next hour was push him away while I kept trying to initiate conversation holding my phone and writing questions for him to answer but he would read the question and just keep aggressively kissing me, still trying to put his hands everywhere.

At some point, he again sat back after one of my rebuffs and motioned towards his now very obviously erect member, nodding and pointing towards it in a suggestive manner. I responded by telling him that no, I didn’t want to have sex right away, but maybe next time? Didn’t matter. I told him via translate how I sometimes get men ONLY wanting to sleep w/ me because I have tattoos & they assume that I am a whore since I have them…thinking that maybe THIS was his motive and we could talk about it? Still nope, and active hands everywhere. I told him I didn’t want to get an STD and that he doesn’t know me either - I could have a disease for all he knows! (I don’t) Didn’t care. I told him that I really wanted to get to know him more before having sex - can we please do that tonight? Nada.

ALL of this was communicated to him in perfect Spanish as I was using my hands to type into Google translate or, I would attempt to speak these phrases sometimes as well. I tried to be casual about it, even - saying these dumb things because he knows where I live and he was already aggressive… what else was he capable of? And how was I going to get through this evening, as by now I wasn’t even attracted to him anymore?

None of that had any affect whatsoever on him. My pleas for logic, my pushing him away, my wriggling to the other side of the couch after my free will was ignored completely and he kept coming after me. He shoved his hands down the front and back of my jeans, trying to pull them down and unzip them. I constantly had to keep pulling his hands away while he would then switch to trying to take my tshirt off as I zipped/pulled my jeans up. This was an endless, exhausting cycle for a long time and I couldn’t get away because every time I pulled his hands/arms away from one private area, he was already working on conquering another territory.

between one of these sessions, he sat back a little bit and it gave me some hope. But then he started rubbing his crotch over his shorts before finally just taking his rock hard D out and looking straight at me, licking his lips, wanting me to look at it while saying “sí, sí” in answer to my “no, no’s.” At one point he stood next to my sitting form on the couch and waved it near my mouth, saying “meterlo” (put it in) and nodding his head as if to say “c’mon, c’mon… just do it.” Sometimes he played with it himself, then kept grabbing my hand forcefully to get me to touch it, which I did, because even though I tried to pull my hand away he was too strong. So I just looked down at the floor until he let my hand go.

He would also run his hands over my skin and say “mmm, blanquita” and touch or point to my crotch over my jeans and comment “rosita” and get all excited. I remember reading on a dating blog a few months ago, how a lovely Mexican gal was asking for advice on how to cheaply bleach her lady parts because there are Hispanic guys who are obsessed with white women and their supposedly “pink” nether regions. I was ugly crying on the inside each time he said and did that, thinking of this girl, thinking of all the beautiful Latina women that have been made to feel “less than” because of how fcked up racism even extends to this kind of horrific sexual obsession in men. And even given that: it certainly didn’t seem that I was being treated any better by being a blanquita? I cannot say, it’s certainly not my place to say, but these thoughts depressed and angered me all the more.

Yes I should have tried to force him out. Yes I could have screamed but it wasn’t exactly “rape’, was it? I consensually let him in and kissed him, as I did want that kind of affection. But I was also confused at that point, in shock, and utterly disappointed as he seemed so nice! I was getting more worried by the minute and more scared as the night dragged on. I didn’t want to piss him off because again: he totally knew where I lived now and even though he was the same height as me (5’7”) he was still very powerful.

So after a while of stopping, he would go at it again and all of his answers to my rejections and pulling away were: “if the desire is there in the moment why not do it now?” Literally that was all he would respond with (in Spanish) to my protests or questions, again and again and in various forms, using translate to answer so that there was no confusion on my end about what he now wanted. And it wasn’t the conversation that I kept so desperately trying to initiate.

During one of those times later in the evening of me trying to push away and keep my clothes on, I happened to turn around to try and pull up my jeans that he had managed to get down around my hips. Even one of my socks had been pulled off earlier when he had grabbed my left leg, held it up in the air, and started licking my foot up and down and putting it in his mouth. But in that split second of me bending downward and trying to get my loosely-fitting jeans back up, he quickly jerked them completely down all the way along with my panties in so swift a motion I didn’t even know what was happening. During that same process, he had quickly navigated himself behind me, bent my hips over the couch, and aggressively planted his face between my thighs from the back. He held me there firmly in place with his hands gripping both sides of my booty as I still tried to get away. I was weakly protesting at this point since I realized he was never going to stop and it was extremely hard to move as he now had a hold of my vulnerable body parts and had placed me in a very vulnerable position. 

I’m also not gonna lie: as horrible as this sounds, my biological body still responded to what he was doing back there and it felt good for a minute. Which was also confusing and such a gross, icky feeling to be experiencing while being betrayed by your body in that way, without being able to control it.

Soon, he started putting both his tongue and fingers into me while he was doing the above mentioned stuff. But something felt a bit off a minute later and when I looked back to see what he was doing, I saw him slipping his raw dog D into me and start to f*ck me, totally without my consent and totally without a condom. I tried to stop this and reason with him at this point - agreeing to continue but asked him to at least put a condom on (even though it was too late as he’d already been inside of me.) So he pulled out, followed me to the bedroom, put on the condom I gave to him, and I let him finish, which was thankfully very short. Unfortunately, a different part of him was NOT short. And although I normally might have considered his chorizo a lovely thing to behold, he had used it so aggressively that I was left bleeding into the next day - especially because my own lady-parts are quite small on the inside so I usually have to ask guys to go slow at first. But there was no time for that. No time for anything even remotely tender or fun.

I left him there in my bed and he promptly fell asleep. I went to my living room couch and sat there for hours in a daze, crying and thinking: do I now have an STD? I’m so confused…he seemed so nice and genuine… I feel so dirty and used. I am SO stupid for inviting him over. I thought I was a strong-ass woman, how did I allow this to happen, what’s wrong with ME?

I also started recalling stuff that I had noticed about him and things that he had told me in between everything: why does he have an angel figure wearing a balaclava mask holding an AK-47 tattooed above his heart? Why does he have so many scars everywhere? How come the 18 yr old trap music artist he said that he supports and sends $$ to in Medellín only rap about drugs (song titles: “Ketamina”, “Fentanilo”)? Why didn’t he ask anything about me and only talked about himself?

He slept in my bed until morning without asking if he could stay. After he woke he sat in my living room making calls for an hour. As he was on the phone laughing with someone, he told me that he was waiting to hear from a friend to tell him where he was going to work doing deliveries today. Wait: if he was a Dasher, why was he waiting for a friend to tell him? Why didn’t he just choose the jobs himself? 

I offered him coffee (he didn’t have any), water (he did take) but other than that, we didn’t really interact much. I just really wanted him gone. Before he left, he grabbed my phone, pulled me close and planted a kiss on my cheek as he took a few photos of us together in that pose. WHY??? And when he finally walked out of the door, he told me in Spanish to “drop him a line” whenever I wanted him to come over again. Not “when can I see you again” or “I hope to see you soon” or even “thank you” for hosting him and providing food, drinks, letting him stay over, etc. He didn’t kiss me goodbye - but why did I expect THAT out of everything?! Again: it only added to my tornadoes of ugly confusion going on within me.

For hours afterward, almost all day, I again sat on my couch. Hating myself. Beating myself up. Feeling like trash and a loser. Putting the toilet seat down that he left up, making up the messy bed, cleaning up after the night, trying to get rid of what happened. I started writing down pages of my feelings and documenting what happened just to hopefully start getting it out of my mind, whatever one wanted to call “it”. I wondered if I should just block him right away, or wait to see if he actually texts again - because maybe since he got…whatever it is that he got…he’ll disappear, which is what I expected and which I obviously wouldn’t be mad about.

But around 11am, I received a text from him. It was the same type of text he was sending before, calling me a beautiful princess (which, btw, princess is the last thing I’d ever want to be called) asking how my day was and thanking God for it, along with a pic of his hands on his steering wheel saying he’s making a delivery. I debated answering at all. I thought about pretending like everything was normal too because maybe this was all just a big misunderstanding due to language/cultural barriers and I needed to give him a second chance? Because he seemed SO NICE before! Or, do I let him know how I truly felt about his behavior so that he knows and hopefully doesn’t do it again to anyone else (unlikely, but I could still try.) And if so, do I really let him have it or do I remain calm about it? I decided on the later and sent 3 short texts in answer to him, in Spanish. Here they are, verbatim, in English and the original Spanish: 

1)  I'm sorry, but I don't know what to say right now. I didn't enjoy the night before. You should look for other women who like your behavior. It's not for me...😓🥺

Lo siento, pero no sé qué decir ahora mismo. No disfruté la noche anterior. Deberías buscar a otras mujeres a quienes les guste tu comportamiento. No es para mí...😓🥺

2) Thank you for the flowers. I had no expectations for you or anyone, since I am a free, loving and open-minded person. But I didn't feel respected, and now I can see who you really are.

Gracias por las flores. No tenía expectativas para ti ni para nadie, ya que soy una persona libre, cariñosa y de mente abierta. Pero no me sentí respetada, y ahora puedo ver quién eres realmente.

3) I hope your daughter has better experiences when she meets a new man and invites him to her house. I hope you have a good time in Los Angeles. Good luck 😪

Espero que tu hija tenga mejores experiencias cuando conozca a un hombre nuevo y lo invite a su casa. Espero que la pases bien en Los Ángeles. Mucha suerte 😪

His response were only these reaction emojis on my texts:

1) 😮

2) 😓

3)

The third one he had no emoji and he never sent any actual response except those two emojis reactions. No apology or angry response…nothing. I figured that the third text probably hit him too close to home for a Hispanic man/family and made him a little mad. But I wanted him to think about how he would feel if his daughter had to go through that when she becomes a woman if she is straight and dating men. But to him: perhaps everything he did was just fine and expected for any woman to go through, even his daughter. I will never know.

There is still a huge part of me that still wants him to respond, whether it’s in anger, regret, or… just with anything? It almost made me feel worse that I wasn’t even worth any kind of response. Which also made me know that I probably didn’t have to worry about him retaliating or remembering where I lived because I didn't even matter that much at all. That this entire experience was meaningless to him. Stupid, I know, but that’s how f*cked up these experiences can make you feel because they are so impactful, especially when you’re hoping to make a connection at the very least. And gain a new friend, lover, or experience plain old mutual ancient human contact.

Were his actions warranted, totally consensual and respectful? Maybe to him they were, maybe to others too. But for me personally they weren’t and they hurt. Even physically, as previously mentioned.

I stayed up the next 2 nights on my couch watching YouTube videos and only sleeping for a few hours, waiting until it got light out. I still find myself watching my patio doors and continuously checking my front door every time I heard any little noise. Again, I doubt he would bother coming back and has probably already forgotten me totally. But that little bit of doubt is still powerful when you’re a single woman living alone in a ground floor apartment with no family and no friends or people you know nearby.

So why did I write this long ass story - whether you agree with it or not - and address this to DoorDash? This awful experience was not their fault, of course, nor my implication at all. I take responsibility for my own adult decisions and choices even when they hurt, get me into terrible situations, or put me in scenarios that I did not foresee nor want.

But after this all happened - including the first 2 Dashers that asked me out  - I went to look at all of their DD profiles. The first guy was using a woman’s name: Jenny, and I remember feeling uncomfortable noticing that the night he hit me up. The second guy was Turkish I believe, so am not sure if his profile name was male/female nor really him. The third one - this Colombian guy - had a completely different name on the profile that also didn’t look Hispanic or remotely Latin. 

I know that there are a lot of couples that deliver together for DoorDash, which I respect, especially for women because its safer. This I understand as a reason to use a different name for people who feel vulnerable. 

But these young straight guys: are they using a friend’s account or someone else’s to get work while not behaving in professional ways and getting away with it? I know that Mister Columbian does not have citizenship, which I have no problem with and am not mentioning for any other reason aside from his actions possibly reflecting a fake profile or someone else’s profile. And how DoorDash might explore ways to better vet people and/or their profiles. I know DoorDash is a huge employer of immigrants who need work (legal or not) and I absolutely support and applaud them in doing so.

But I’d like to know if other women or persons of any gender are having negative experiences like this with drivers - in any kind of way? Are these isolated incidents or is there truly a lack of background checks or processes on DoorDash’s end? Is there a subset of straight male drivers that are using their access to women and where they live in harmful or unprofessional ways?

I was taking a long break from dating this year, wanting to focus on my own life. This experience truly set me back in my ongoing and desperate job hunting, settling in to my new place, getting back to the gym, and all of my other routine and important areas of my life. Being unemployed and desperately trying to find a job for so long, living in an area where I do not know anyone, all by myself, and running out of funds is trauma enough to be going through. This confusing and awful event has only added to more work that I now need to do on myself - both in therapy and in regular life. Please send good thoughts, prayers, Egyptian ritual spells, positive energy, or even Venmo my way, if you are so moved. I want to propel onward and upward and away from both this event and the past while finally being able to start my life over with good people surrounding me. Thank you for reading. 🙏🏻