I used to love GTA as a kid.
Then I grew up and stopped playing.
Turns out I didn’t really stop. The game just changed platforms.
I had a meeting at two o’clock that I absolutely could not be late for. There was still plenty of time, so I figured I’d squeeze in a few deliveries first.
I have two delivery apps on my phone — DoorDash and Uber. At that moment, DoorDash was running.
A stacked order came in: Clark Café and Canadian Tire. Both deliveries were heading roughly the same way, toward Baie-d’Urfé.
Perfect.
Pick up, drop off, finish on time.
What could possibly go wrong?
There was only one warning on the Canadian Tire order:
**Large vehicle recommended.**
I looked at my car.
Please don’t be a refrigerator.
Accepted.
I’d never picked up a delivery from Canadian Tire before. The setup was actually excellent: a separate entrance, pickup lockers, a code in the app. Enter the code, the door opens, take the order and leave.
No line. No conversation. No people.
The future.
The app listed two items, so I opened the locker expecting something worthy of the large-vehicle warning.
There was one small bag. Inside it was a bottle of some kind of liquid.
Why this required a larger vehicle remained unclear.
But I wasn’t complaining. I still had time before two.
The package was going to a large organization on the West Island. I didn’t realize how large until I reached reception.
“I have a delivery. It requires a signature.”
The receptionist looked at the bag.
“I can’t sign for it. Deliveries go to the other end of the building.”
Fine.
It was a long building.
And now I had slightly less time before two.
Back in the car. Around the building. I found the other entrance.
Locked.
Luckily, two employees were coming out.
“I have a delivery. Reception sent me here.”
They looked at the bag.
Then at me.
Then at my phone.
The three of us started reading the delivery instructions together.
One of them pointed at the screen.
“But it says reception.”
I looked.
It did.
**Mission updated: return to previous location.**
Back in the car. Back around the building. Back to reception.
The receptionist recognized me now.
This was starting to feel personal.
“Look, the instructions specifically say to leave it here.”
“I can’t take it. I don’t even know who it’s for. We have about 3,500 employees here.”
That clarified the mission.
Somewhere among 3,500 people was one person waiting for a bottle of mystery liquid from Canadian Tire.
And apparently I was supposed to find them.
I couldn’t just leave it. The app required a signature.
I called the customer.
No answer.
I messaged.
No answer.
I messaged again: I’m at reception, they won’t accept the order, and I need a signature. What do you want me to do?
Silence.
Meanwhile, DoorDash started a countdown. If the customer didn’t appear within a few minutes, I was supposed to return the order to Canadian Tire.
I’d get paid for the return.
For the first time, the situation was beginning to make financial sense.
Eventually, a message came back:
“Leave it there.”
Excellent plan.
One minor problem.
**They won’t take it.**
I explained that again.
The timer kept running.
I stood at reception. The receptionist stood across from me. Somewhere behind her were 3,500 employees.
The only one I needed appeared to have left this dimension.
Time ran out.
DoorDash made the decision for all of us:
**Return order to store.**
Fine.
But I still had the second DoorDash order from Clark Café, and that one was food. So I delivered it first.
Miraculously, nothing happened.
The customer got the order.
For a few minutes, life felt normal again.
Now all I had to do was return the Canadian Tire package.
There was noticeably less time before my two o’clock meeting.
On the way, I turned on my second app — Uber.
Almost immediately: Tim Hortons.
I checked the time. Checked the route.
Still doable.
Accepted.
I picked up the Tim Hortons order.
And now the real game began.
In the car was food that somebody was waiting for right now. It was lunchtime.
Then there was the Canadian Tire package. That only needed to be returned. It wasn’t going anywhere.
Which one first?
I checked the route. Did the usual calculation: kilometres, time, gas.
Logic said: customer first.
But Canadian Tire was almost on the way. And the pickup that morning had been flawless — code, locker, door opens, grab the bag, done.
So the return should take two minutes.
What could possibly go wrong?
I decided to make a **quick** Canadian Tire return, then head straight to the customer.
The mistake was the word “quick.”
Naturally, there were two people ahead of me.
Normally, two people is not a line.
When someone’s Tim Hortons is sitting in your car and you have a meeting at two, it is the population of a small town.
Finally, my turn.
“I need to return a DoorDash order.”
The employee looked at the package.
“I can’t take it.”
I had heard this sentence somewhere before.
“The app requires the signature of a store employee. Are you a store employee?”
“Yes.”
“Then I need your signature.”
She looked at the phone.
At the package.
Back at the phone.
Then she called someone.
A conversation in French began.
I stood there waiting.
Tim Hortons was in the car. The customer was waiting. My meeting was getting closer.
And somewhere on the other end of that phone call, the fate of one bottle of liquid was being decided.
Eventually, approval came from above.
She signed.
Done.
I was almost out the door when the app said:
**Enter employee name.**
Of course.
“One more thing. Your name, please.”
She entered it.
**Return complete.**
I walked out of Canadian Tire feeling less like I had returned a small package and more like I had successfully evacuated an embassy.
No time to celebrate.
Tim Hortons was still in the car. A customer was waiting somewhere in Baie-d’Urfé. And at two o’clock, someone else was expecting me somewhere completely different.
I drove.
Luckily, the customer came out smiling and took the order.
No signature.
No reception desk.
No calls to management.
No 3,500 employees.
She just took her Tim Hortons.
Sometimes happiness really is that simple.
I got back into the car and checked the time.
I still had a little room.
My phone made the familiar sound.
**New order. Tim Hortons.**
I looked at the screen.
Then at the clock.
Then back at the screen.
Accepted.
Another Tim Hortons ahead.
And at two, a meeting I could not be late for.
I used to love GTA as a kid.
At least in GTA, you could save the game.