Can you make a living delivering food on foot in Australia?
I happened to see people doing walking food delivery in the city centre, and I thought it would be perfect for me. I love walking, and since trams are free in the CBD and run every two minutes, it was incredibly convenient. And so, I joined the ranks of delivery couriers.
I was thrilled at first—it felt like unlocking a new character in a game. Some friends back home were surprised; I could hear the unspoken question: ‘Why is someone like you, a former city sophisticate, doing this?’ But in Australia, no one looks down on my job.
To me, delivering food is far better than the ‘polishing a turd’ kind of work I did in Beijing’s cultural sector.
1. How much can you earn a month delivering food in Melbourne?
I sorted out my police check and my Australian Business Number (ABN). Having an ABN means I’m registered as a sole trader, allowing me to report taxes and take orders as a self-employed courier. Then, I verified my identity on the platform and completed the online safety course. The whole process took a week, and I soon received my safety gear from Uber Eats.
Many people start delivering for the new-joiner incentive bonuses, and I was no exception.
At the time, the Uber Eats rule was that if a newcomer completed 40 deliveries in their first month, both they and the person who invited them would receive a 400 AUD bonus (approx. 1,868 RMB). To put that in perspective: if you cook at home with eggs, milk, meat, and veg, 400 AUD can cover two to three weeks’ worth of groceries.
In 2023, the minimum hourly wage in Australia was 23.23 AUD (approx. 108 RMB). Can delivery earnings match the minimum wage?
If you deliver by car and keep a steady stream of orders, the average after-tax income is around 25 AUD per hour. However, once you subtract fuel, maintenance, and other expenses, the net income hovers around the minimum wage. My friend Emma delivers by car in Melbourne; her car is quite thirsty, so her hourly rate after costs is roughly 22 AUD.
For those of us delivering on foot, the distance we can cover is limited. I earn about 5 AUD per order, which certainly works out to less than the minimum wage. But as a Working Holiday Visa holder, I viewed delivering as something to ‘give a go’ rather than a way to support my entire life, so I wasn’t too concerned about it.
I deliver three days a week, working three to four hours during the lunch and dinner peaks, with hourly earnings ranging from 10 to 20 AUD. Occasionally, there are promotional events where completing three orders can earn me an extra 10 AUD or so.
In my first month, I completed over 80 deliveries. Combined with platform bonuses, peak-time supplements, and tips, I earned over 1,200 AUD (approx. 5,617 RMB). My other part-time job at the cafe covered my rent, and some months I even had 300 AUD left over.
For me, the real blessing is keeping my weekly hours under 30. I’d had enough of the eight-hour workday and the 9-to-5 office grind. The cafe closes early, so I’m usually relaxing by the beach by 4 pm. By then, plenty of other people are already there chatting, walking their dogs, or just switching off.
If you aren’t looking to make a fortune, working 30 legal hours a week in Melbourne allows for a wonderful work-life balance.
II. Not an advert, but Uber Eats has been good to me
Firstly, Uber Eats doesn’t impose a strict delivery deadline, so I’m not penalised for being late. Furthermore, couriers aren’t required to deliver right to the front door; most customers I encounter wait for their food at the building entrance. That said, I still work hard and try to be punctual, following my own rule of not wanting to inconvenience others.
Melbourne’s weather is fickle; one moment it’s clear skies, the next it’s pouring rain. Combine that with occasional tram delays, roadworks, strikes, or protests, and the roads become even more congested. An order that should take 10 minutes might end up taking 20. Regardless of their age or gender, the customers I meet are never in a rush and always thank me: “You did a great job!”
The worst situation I’ve encountered was someone giving me the cold shoulder, refusing to say thank you, and leaving a couple of complaints on the platform about the slow delivery. However, my pay isn’t docked because of it.
Couriers aren’t rushed, and the platform doesn’t dictate the restaurant’s preparation time. Instead, it nudges efficiency through other means, such as calculating an “estimated prep time” based on historical order data.
If a restaurant frequently exceeds this time, the system marks it as a “slow-prep” shop. This results in the algorithm lowering their ranking, meaning they appear further down the list for customers, are more likely to receive low ratings, and may discourage couriers from taking their orders—since couriers aren’t compensated for excessive waiting times.
Most of the orders I pick up are fast food, so I rarely encounter delays. Even when I rush to a shop only to find the food isn’t ready, the staff will tell me to take a seat and say, “No rush.”
They always have “take it easy”, “no worries”, and “have a good day” on their lips. This work philosophy has slowly seeped into my own life; how much I earn is secondary—being able to support myself is already wonderful! When I have to wait 10 to 15 minutes, I don’t stress; I just treat it as a break. Of course, this “laid-back vibe” is primarily possible because of the platform’s safety net.
For example, if a restaurant misses an item and the customer calls to ask if it can be redelivered: if the courier has already marked it as delivered, the customer should contact the restaurant for a refund; if not, the courier can choose to return to the shop, and the platform provides the courier with a corresponding overtime subsidy.
When issues arise with the food, the restaurant is held primarily responsible. I once had soup noodles leak inside my thermal bag; after contacting customer service, not only was I not held responsible, but I also received a 3 AUD subsidy—perhaps as a consolation for having to clean the bag.
I usually hand the delivery to the customer in person; once I enter the PIN they provide, the order is complete. Once, a customer refused to give me the PIN because they thought I was too slow. I simply left the food at the door, clicked “Need Help – Delivered” on the app, and that was the end of it. When customers don’t answer their phones, I just tell customer service I can’t find them; I refuse to let the job drain me mentally.
III.Delivering by Bike: Feeling Like I’m Risking My Life
Melbourne has a fair amount of uphill stretches, and in some areas, bikes and motor vehicles share the road. Between struggling to adapt to driving on the left, slippery roads in the rain, and a few mishaps, I’ve had two crashes. In those moments, I felt like I was risking my life, so I stopped pretending that food delivery was just a form of exercise and entertainment.
For someone with no sense of direction like me, even Uber’s built-in navigation can lead me astray. One rainy day, inaccurate navigation made me very late. To my surprise, the customer was not only waiting for me at the door but also gave me a 10 AUD tip, thanking me repeatedly and saying how hard it must be to deliver in the rain. Every time I encounter a stranger like this, I feel a profound sense of security.
Rainy days are peak times for deliveries. The Uber map marks these high-demand zones in red and shows an additional payment of 1 to 5 AUD per order. On one hand, I think the extra pay is justified, as delivering in the rain is exhausting. On the other hand, I believe riders’ rights should extend beyond this.
In Australia, whether a delivery driver has workers’ compensation insurance is decided by the platform. Uber Eats provides workers’ compensation insurance for riders, but the coverage is limited only to delivery hours, which is a far cry from the insurance provided to full-time employees. Gig workers in food delivery also miss out on benefits such as pensions, paid leave, and overtime pay.
Some are seeking to break this gig economy model.
An ABC report mentioned that Vishal Plato, a former delivery driver, founded a company called Fuel It Up to partner with restaurants. Under this model, restaurants pay a monthly fee based on delivery volume, plus a fixed fee (6.99 AUD) for each delivery. Plato aims to use this method to guarantee a minimum wage for delivery drivers.
Local governments in Australia are also refining laws to protect riders’ rights. In March this year, New South Wales amended the Industrial Relations Act, formally recognising delivery drivers as gig workers, stipulating their minimum wage, and assisting in the mediation of disputes between platforms and workers.
Many call Australia the “gold standard for employees”. I believe it earns this title not because its social safety net is perfect, but because individual workers are seen and respected.
IV.Optimistic Australians: Healing My Anxiety
I suspect those ordering the food think the same. There’s no point in getting angry; this is simply how efficiency and the environment work here. People don’t take convenience and speed for granted.
When abroad, I often hear people complain about how slowly things are done. But is it possible that “China speed” is simply too fast? I’ve actually adapted well to the pace here—you don’t rush me, and I don’t rush you. It feels as though this is the way things were meant to be.
Following my delivery orders, I’ve “unlocked” many shops I’d never visited before, telling myself I’ll eat there once I’ve made some money. Gradually, I’ve integrated into the new city, and much of the anxiety I felt upon arrival has faded.
However, I cannot imagine doing food delivery full-time. Whenever I see a rider on the busy streets of Melbourne suddenly fall off their bike, only to scramble up and hurry away, it immediately reminds me of similar scenes I often saw in Beijing. This serves as a reminder that this so-called delivery “experience” is not some vast “wilderness” of exploration; it is merely someone with the privilege of youth dipping their toes into the cruel river of reality.
Editor: Ze’en