Confronted with the dim lighting, dark wood, and the tangy, sweet scents of barbequed meat, Kaylee stomped her right foot twice, then, lips pursed, exhaled. Better Ribs BBQ had no signage directing DoorDash drivers where to pick up orders and she dreaded asking. “Can I help you?” said the young woman at the hostess station. “I’m…here…for…Door…Dash.” The hostess tilted her head. “You drive a car?” If Kaylee could speak normally, she would––every day, every time, every...
