I want you to stop for a second and think about the last thing you had delivered. Was it a late-night pizza? A last-minute birthday gift from Amazon? Maybe your weekly groceries from Walmart? We’ve wrapped our lives in a seamless, invisible web of convenience, a world where almost anything can appear at our doorstep with a few taps on a screen. It feels like magic. It feels like the future.
But it’s not.
When I read about the current state of the food delivery and logistics world, I don’t feel the thrill of innovation. When I see headlines about a restaurant owner saying, “Delivery saved us during the pandemic… Now they are killing us,” I see a system that’s gone terribly wrong. When I read about DPD, a delivery giant that made nearly £200 million in profit, allegedly firing drivers in “revenge” for protesting pay cuts that would cost them thousands a year, I honestly feel a knot in my stomach. This isn't the future we were promised; it's just the oldest story in the book—exploitation—wrapped in a shiny new app.
This isn’t a bug in the system; it’s the system’s core feature. We’ve built a model of “convenience maximalism,” as Derek Thompson so brilliantly put it, that prioritizes speed and ease above all else. Above the dignity of the driver, above the soul of the neighborhood restaurant, above the human connection that food and commerce are supposed to foster. We have ghost kitchens creating food that never sees a dining room and delivery drivers risking their lives in a storm to bring us ramen. We have Amazon delivery partners like JARDE LLC in Washington, employing 110 people one day and shuttered the next because their contract was unexpectedly terminated.
This is the friction of a revolution happening in the wrong direction. We’ve become so obsessed with the what—getting a burrito in 20 minutes—that we’ve completely forgotten the how and the why. And the cost is becoming terrifyingly clear.
So, are we doomed to a future of transactional, soulless consumption? Is this the end of the line? Absolutely not. To believe that is to have a stunning lack of imagination. What we’re seeing right now is simply the messy, painful, and deeply flawed first draft of a logistics revolution. Think of it as the dial-up modem phase of the internet. It was clunky, frustrating, and its true potential was hidden behind a cacophony of screeching noises. But it was the necessary first step.
The problem with today’s delivery platforms—DoorDash, Uber Eats, Grubhub—is that they are fundamentally transaction engines. They are built to be intermediaries, extracting value from both the consumer and the producer, while controlling the person doing the actual work. A restaurant that doesn't serve people, as one writer noted in How Delivery Ate the Restaurant, isn't a restaurant; it's "something else." And that’s the key. We’ve accidentally built "something else."

Now, we have the opportunity—the responsibility—to consciously design what comes next.
The next great leap won't be about shaving another two minutes off a pizza delivery. The breakthrough will come from re-engineering the entire system around a different goal: not just convenience, but community, equity, and human flourishing. We're on the cusp of a shift from centralized, extractive platforms to decentralized, empowering networks. We’re talking about a move towards intelligent logistics—or, to put it simply, a smarter, fairer system that isn't controlled by one giant company in the middle playing kingmaker.
Imagine a system that isn't owned by a single corporation, but is a shared protocol, like the internet itself. A system where local restaurants can plug in without surrendering 30% of their revenue. Where a driver’s earnings aren't dictated by an opaque algorithm but are transparent and tied directly to the value they create. Imagine an AI that optimizes for more than just speed; it optimizes for driver welfare, for reduced city-wide carbon emissions, and for strengthening local economies. This is the kind of breakthrough that reminds me why I got into this field in the first place.
This isn't a sci-fi fantasy. The technological building blocks are already here. We have the data science, the AI, and the distributed ledger technologies to build systems that are more transparent and equitable. The real question isn't a technical one. It’s a question of will. Do we have the courage to demand something better than just "fast"?
What happens when a city’s small businesses—its florists, its bakers, its booksellers—can band together on a shared, open-source same day delivery network? What happens when our grocery delivery doesn't just feed us, but also supports local farms and pays the delivery worker a living wage, all verified on a transparent system? We could see a renaissance of local commerce, a strengthening of community ties, and the creation of meaningful delivery jobs that offer stability and upward mobility. The speed of this is just staggering—it means the gap between the broken system of today and the beautiful potential of tomorrow is closing faster than we can even comprehend.
Of course, with any powerful new technology comes a profound responsibility. Building these new systems requires us to think deeply about ethics, governance, and the digital divide. We can't simply replace one set of problems with another. But the alternative—passively accepting the current race to the bottom—is simply not an option.
What we're witnessing with the current delivery economy isn't the final chapter; it's the chaotic prologue. It's a powerful, painful demonstration of what happens when we let technology lead without a strong sense of human values. The stories of exploited drivers and struggling restaurants aren't just sad headlines; they are a call to action. They are the data points telling us that the first draft has failed. It’s time for us to pick up the pen and write the next one. The future of delivery isn't about getting more, faster. It's about building a system that delivers more than just a package—it delivers dignity, connection, and a thriving community right to our collective doorstep.