Dear DoorDash Doppelgänger

In mid March, during my earliest memories of COVID beginning to upend my life, you placed your first DoorDash order. Roughly 2,987 miles away in southern California, you hastily set up your account using my email address. I assumed no malicious intent here. Perhaps the high anxiety of the day combined with your excessive hunger in that moment led you to add one extra letter or so to the email, thereby linking my contact information with your orders. You used your credit card for purchase and physical address for delivery, and so other than giving me the strange voyeuristic opportunity to lurk at your ordering preferences, I considered it a harmless accident that unintentionally launched my new and strange obsession with you. It was the Spring of 2020, and I yearned to focus on anyone or anything far from the actual confines of my own current reality. Creating a completely fictitious life and relationship with you, my DoorDash doppelgänger, became my new pastime.

At first, my questions were innocent enough. Who were you? Did you have a partner? Did you have children? Were these orders a splurge after the baby went to bed? Were you trying to be healthier? After all, just yesterday you asked to substitute the mixed veggies for fries. And also when was the last time I had weighed myself? Maybe I too should swap out the fries for the mixed veggies. We’ve all put on the COVID 19, haven’t we. How is the Chinese Chicken Salad from Mama Chen? I really should start ordering more salads.