Coincidently, all of my participants work through the same P2P (peer-to-peer) food-delivery platform. The couriers who use this platform to work decide when and where to work, having no manager nor any other superior to whom they are accountable. Further, being a P2P platform, the app refers to their couriers not as ‘our couriers’ but as ‘our partners’; the couriers are not actual employees of the platform but peers who get paid for servicing the platforms’ clients (those who order food); one may even question what the platform means by ‘partners’. The restaurants from which the food is ordered, to clarify, are also ‘partners’ of the platform. Hence, peer (the ordering client) to peer (the restaurant). In broad strokes, the app simply gives its platform to allow the two peers to conduct business together (it profits from doing so), and it then enables them to fulfil their business with the help of other peers — the couriers.

        From anywhere and at any time can the courier make themselves available for pick-ups as long as they (and their smartphone) are located in a city where the app offers its service. A ‘pick-up’ means going to a restaurant (or any other sort of establishment, e.g. bakeries, pizza parlours, juice shops, etc.) and collecting a box or a bag containing the goods ordered by the customer. A pick-up consequently supposed to be followed by a ‘drop-off’, which is the handing of the goods to the ordering customer.

        According to my participants, they can set a preference between ‘single’ deliveries (i.e. one pick-up and one drop-off per route) and ‘bundle’ deliveries (i.e. simultaneous pick-ups and drop-offs that were incorporated by the app into one route). Having no superior, the courier gets to decide which ‘singles’ or ‘bundles’ to take, but (and this will be explained later) they find themselves much more independent with ‘singles’. Naturally, the couriers are not limited in that manner and may take as many ‘singles’ or ‘bundles’ after another, as long as there is enough demand for such (if people are making orders).

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        Despite having conducted all the interviews in the local language, Hebrew (also my mother tongue), participants almost exclusively use English when referencing the app’s functions (due to its English interface). One example relevant to this article is when they make themselves available to take deliveries, like turning the app on or off. The app, of course, is ‘turned on’ when they open it, but it does not mean that by opening it they make themselves available for deliveries. In a remarkably influential manner, the interface features a ‘status’ that indicates the city’s demand for deliveries (demands made against the app) and gives the courier the option to ‘go online’ (the app’s terminology). Consequentialy, participants use the English words ‘online’ – ‘offline’ to refer to their status and not the Hebrew equivalents of them (e.g., they say 'matai she’anni online' – מתי שאני אונליין = when I am online), but more often they simply use Hebrew for ‘on the job’ when not referring to the app’s functions but to their activity.

        The demand indicator, as noted, is crucial for my participants’ decision making, ipso facto — to their independence. The demand (or ‘status’ as the app’s interface presents it), my participants tell me, classifies demand trends into (a) quiet, (b) normal, and (c) busy; and the use of the app's English (verbatim) prevails (here again) among my research participants over the equivalent Hebrew terminology.

        Adam (pseudonym) — a 23-year-old courier participating in this research — seeks to fulfil 4-5 deliveries in an hour, ‘normal’ and ‘busy’, therefore, are preferable for him; though, he does wonder what the threshold is for ‘quiet’ to become ‘normal’. Saying that ‘normal’ can indicate a demand closer to ‘quiet’ as well instead of being in the middle of ‘quiet’ and ‘busy’, Adam deems ‘busy’ to be the most promising indication.

       Both Adam and Dror (pseudonym) — a 30 year-old courier participating in this research — admit to opening the app just to see what the status is when at home, having made no plans to work. I found it to be much like checking the weather forecast and reflecting on whether the day is fair outside or not; or in other words, simply finding out what is going out around their neighbourhood. Adam remarked that even if he has no plans to work, having seen that the demand is normal or busy, he is likely to go ‘online’ and start taking deliveries. Dror even used the term FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) when he told me about how he often feels guilty about watching Netflix at home instead of working, knowing the demand ‘outside’ is fair (he says ‘outside’ instead of ‘on the app’).

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        Even though one may imagine a courier becoming ‘online’ from anywhere and in between errands, it is rare for them to do so and all of my participants leave home to work. Even Michael (pseudonym) — an 18-year-old courier participating in this research — who still took his high-school final exams at the time of the research, goes back home before making himself available for deliveries. None of my participants testify on going ‘offline’ at all besides taking a lunch break (only some do) or when they are done working for the day. This finding is almost paradoxical to the significance my participants pay for productivity; they almost never ‘pencil in’ a delivery in between errands or social activities, and go ‘online’ in a manner similar to how one goes to their office. When I inquired on certain gateways or anything symbolical of the beginning and the end of their work-day, I have found almost none besides the outdoors and the familiar indoors. But I have, throughout the study, identified a certain social consciousness that changes — as expected — between positions (that of a courier, and that of a resident); this dynamic is outlined in depth in the ‘Your Courier’ article and yet, it can be symbolised by the ‘online’/’offline’ state of the couriers.