I’m Risking My Life to Bring You Ramen

Images above, from left: Darnell Young and his skateboard; Indigo, a popular restaurant in the H Street corridor of Washington, D.C.; Tymeer Roberts delivering meals on his scooter

When the coronavirus arrived in Washington, D.C., and Homeland Security named me an “essential critical infrastructure worker,” free to work as others sheltered in place, I felt like a wallflower at a party suddenly beckoned to the dance floor. I nearly glanced right and left—no other girls there—and put a hand to my bosom. Me?

I doubt I’ve ever before been considered critical or essential to anyone not immediately waiting on a meal I was delivering. Lurking at restaurants until my app dings and offers me a job, then dodging in and out of traffic on my bicycle, I normally drift between invisible and pain in the ass. But here we are.

I’d been sitting out the last few winter weeks, looking forward to riding in warm weather. It arrived on the second day of spring, 71 degrees and balmy, when the coronavirus claimed its first victim in the city.

I suited up for my evening rounds. Leggings in a light-colored print that would flash in headlights, layers of tops,