The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. I had a strange encounter with a Just Eat driver today. I was taking out the trash when a man on a bicycle stopped me. He had a big Just Eat bag on his back.

"Do you know where Alamo Street is?" he said.

"Sorry, I've never heard of that street in my life," I said.

Then I checked my phone and it was the street we were standing on. A street I walk on every day. The street my kid's school is on.

"It's this street," I said.

He showed me his phone. "I'm supposed to go to 44 Alamo Street. And my phone says it's supposed to be here."

I looked at his phone. He had the Just Eat courier app open. There was a map of the street. The map showed our location. And at the top of the map, it said "44 Alamo Street" and "You have arrived" in French.

I looked around. The number of the nearest building was 28. On the opposite side of the street, the buildings said 27 and 29.

"That's not right," I said. "Let me check my phone."

I put 44 Alamo Street into Google Maps on my phone. My phone immediately told me 44 Alamo Street was two blocks further down the street.

"It's down there," I said, pointing the direction. "Just two blocks."

"Thanks," he said and rode off. I watched him pedal his bicycle down the street. I felt happy knowing I'd helped him. All he had to do now was cycle two blocks straight on and he'd be there.

But he took a left down a random side street. Then he was gone.

I stood there, perplexed. Where had he gone? He had been on the correct street. Why had he turned left?

I waited for a while for him to come back. But he didn't come back.

I shrugged. Then I threw the big bags I had been carrying into the communal bins. And I started to walk back home, back the way I'd come. I was almost home when there was the man again. He was still on his bicycle but now he was talking on his phone. When he saw me, he thrust the phone into my face.

"Here, talk to her," he said.

"Hello?" I said into the phone.

"Hello," It was a woman's voice. "Tell the delivery driver the door of my building is made of glass."

"Okay," I said. "So you live at 44 Alamo Street, right?"

"Yes, that's right," she said.

"Okay, we'll be there shortly," I said.

I gave the man back his phone.

"Follow me, I'll show you where the building is," I said.

I walked to the building. The man followed on his bicycle. I found the building, 44 Alamo Street.

"Here it is," I said.

"Thanks," he said. Then he added: "This is my first day."

"This is your first day?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Well, good luck to you," I said. I walked off.

So if your takeaway food ever arrives cold, you know why.