Can You Make a Living Delivering Food on Foot in Australia?
I stumbled across an online post about people delivering food on foot in Melbourne’s CBD and thought it might be a good fit. I enjoy walking, and the free tram zone in the city centre is incredibly convenient, with trams arriving every two minutes. And so, I joined the ranks of food couriers.
At first, I was thrilled to start, feeling as though I’d unlocked a new character in a video game. Friends back home expressed surprise; I could hear the unspoken question beneath their words: “Why would someone with your background as an urban professional be doing this?” But in Australia, no one looks down on the work.
In my view, delivering food is far better than the job I had in Beijing’s cultural sector, which felt like trying to carve flowers out of shit.
1. How much can you earn delivering food in Melbourne per month?
I obtained a Police Check and an Australian Business Number (ABN) – securing an ABN means I’m registered as a sole trader, able to file taxes and accept delivery orders as a self-employed contractor. Next, I verified my identity on the platform and completed the online safety training. With all the formalities sorted in just a week, I soon received the safety kit dispatched by Uber Eats.
Many people start delivering to cash in on the platform’s new-user sign-up bonus, and I was no exception.
At the time, Uber Eats offered a reward of AUD 400 (roughly 1,868 Chinese yuan) to both the new courier and their referrer, provided the newcomer completed 40 deliveries in their first month. To put that in perspective? If you’re cooking at home, that’s enough to cover two to three weeks of groceries, with eggs, dairy, meat and vegetables at every meal.
In 2023, Australia’s minimum hourly wage stood at A$23.23 (roughly 108 yuan). Can you actually earn the minimum wage by delivering food?
If you drive and keep a steady stream of orders, your average take-home pay comes to around A$25 an hour. Once you factor in fuel, vehicle upkeep, and the like, your net earnings tend to hover around the minimum wage. My friend Emma drives for delivery platforms in Melbourne. Her car guzzles petrol, so after deducting expenses, her effective hourly rate drops to about A$22.
For foot couriers like me, the limited range of jobs means each delivery brings in roughly A$5. When you crunch the numbers, it falls well short of the minimum wage. Then again, as a Working Holiday visa holder, I’m only doing this to “have a go” rather than to pay the bills, so I don’t mind the shortfall.
I deliver food three days a week, working three to four hours a day during the lunch and dinner rush, with an hourly wage ranging from AUD 10 to 20. Occasionally, bonus promotions are running, and completing just three orders will net me around AUD 10.
All told, I completed over eighty orders in my first month. Factoring in platform bonuses, peak pay and tips, I earned just over AUD 1,200 (roughly 5,617 RMB). A separate part-time job at a café covers my rent, and I sometimes have AUD 300 to spare each month.
For me, keeping my work week to under 30 hours is a genuine blessing. I’m fed up with the eight-hour shift and the routine of sitting in an office from nine to five. The café closes early, so by 4 p.m. I’m usually already unwinding by the sea. By then, plenty of people are already out along the shore, chatting, walking their dogs, or simply kicking back.
If you’re not chasing big money, working a legal 30 hours a week in Melbourne is more than enough to enjoy a well-balanced life.
II. Not an advert, but Uber Eats treats me fairly well
To begin with, Uber Eats doesn’t impose strict delivery deadlines. I won’t be penalised for running late, nor am I expected to carry the order right up to a customer’s door. Most people I’ve dealt with simply wait at the building entrance. That said, I work hard by the principle of ‘not making things difficult for others’ and do my best to deliver on time.
Melbourne’s weather is notoriously unpredictable; one minute it’s bright and sunny, the next it’s bucketing down. Add in occasional tram delays, roadworks, strikes or protests, and the streets get even more congested. An order that should take ten minutes can easily turn into a thirty-minute trek. Remarkably, the customers I’ve met—young or old, men or women—are never in a rush. They’re always full of gratitude, often telling me, ‘You did a great job!’
The worst situation I’ve run into is someone giving me a cold shoulder, skipping the thanks, and leaving a couple of grumpy comments about the delivery speed on the app. But I don’t get docked any pay for it.
While riders aren’t under the pump to rush, the platform doesn’t dictate a strict prep time for restaurants either. Instead, it nudges kitchen efficiency through other means, such as calculating an ‘estimated prep time’ based on historical order data.
If a restaurant consistently takes longer than this benchmark, the system flags it as a ‘slow prep’ outlet. This can result in the algorithm demoting its ranking, pushing the restaurant further down the list for customers. It may also make it more susceptible to lower ratings, and can even deter riders from taking orders—since they aren’t compensated for waiting past the estimated time.
Most of the orders I pick up are fast food, so I rarely encounter significant prep delays. On occasion, I’ll hurry to a restaurant only to find the food isn’t ready yet. The staff will simply wave me over and say, ‘Take your time, no rush.’
They’re constantly saying things like ‘take it easy’, ‘no worries’ and ‘have a good day’. This philosophy has slowly seeped into my own life. How much money I make has become secondary; simply earning enough to get by is something to be proud of! When I do have to wait ten to fifteen minutes, I don’t fret about it. I just treat it as a break. Of course, this sense of ease is largely thanks to the platform’s safety net.
For instance, if a restaurant forgets an item and the customer calls to ask if it can be delivered, the next steps depend on the status. If the courier has already marked the order as delivered, the customer should contact the restaurant for a refund. If not, the courier can choose to return to the shop to collect it, and the platform will issue a corresponding delay allowance.
Restaurants are primarily responsible for food-related issues. I once had a bowl of noodle soup spill inside my thermal bag. After contacting support, I was not only cleared of any blame but also received an AUD 3 compensation. I suppose it was meant as a small consolation for having to clean out my bag.
I normally have to hand the order to the customer face-to-face, and once I key in the PIN they provide, the job is done. One time, a customer refused to give me their code, complaining I was too slow. I simply left the food at their door, tapped “Need Help – Delivered” on the app, and that was it. When customers don’t answer their phones, I just report to support that I couldn’t find them. I’m simply not willing to let work chew me up inside.
III. Delivering by Bike: It Feels Like I’m Risking My Life
Melbourne has plenty of steep hills, and on certain stretches, bikes share the road with motor traffic. Add my unfamiliarity with keeping to the left to rain-slicked roads, and I ended up taking a couple of falls. Those were the moments it truly felt like I was risking my life, so I finally stopped telling myself that delivering food was just a bit of exercise and entertainment.
Even for someone as terrible with directions as me, Uber’s built-in navigation can occasionally lead me astray. On one rainy day, inaccurate directions caused a significant delay. To my surprise, the customer was waiting at the door, handed me a $10 AUD tip, and repeatedly thanked me, saying how tough it must be to deliver in the rain. Every time I cross paths with strangers like this, it leaves me feeling remarkably secure.
Rainy weather brings a surge in food orders. Uber’s map highlights these peak zones in red and shows an additional $1–5 AUD per delivery. On the one hand, I think the premium is justified; delivering in the rain is genuinely gruelling work. On the other, I believe riders’ rights and protections should not stop there.
In Australia, whether a delivery rider has workers’ compensation insurance is entirely up to the platform. Uber Eats does provide injury coverage for riders, but the protection is strictly limited to active delivery hours—a stark contrast to the comprehensive cover available to full-time employees. Gig economy riders (gig workers) also miss out on standard entitlements such as pension contributions, paid leave, and overtime pay.
Others are keen to dismantle this gig economy model.
The Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC) reported that former delivery rider Vishal Plato launched Fuel It Up, a service partnering with restaurants. Under this model, restaurants pay a monthly fee based on delivery volume, plus a flat charge of $6.99 AUD per order. Plato aims to use this structure to guarantee a minimum wage for delivery riders.
Australian governments are also strengthening legislation to protect riders’ rights. In March this year, New South Wales amended the Industrial Relations Act, formally classifying delivery riders within the gig workforce, mandating a minimum wage, and providing assistance to mediate disputes between platforms and gig workers.
Many claim Australia is the peak of what wage labour has to offer. I think it earns this title not because its welfare system is flawless, but because individual workers are truly seen and respected.
4.Optimistic Australians and the Cure for My Anxiety
I imagine customers think the same way. Getting angry is pointless; that’s just how the pace of work and the environment are here. No one takes convenience and speed for granted.
Living overseas, I often hear people complain about how slow certain locals are. But is it possible that the pace in China is just too fast? I’ve actually grown quite fond of the rhythm here. You don’t rush me, I don’t rush you—it feels like a pace we were simply born to inhabit.
Following the delivery orders, I’ve “unlocked” plenty of places I’d never visited before, making mental notes to eat there once I’ve earned a bit more. Gradually, I’m settling into this new city, and the initial anxieties of arriving as a newcomer have faded considerably.
That said, I can’t picture myself doing this full-time. Whenever I see the busy streets of Melbourne and watch a rider suddenly crash and swiftly get back on their bike to ride away, it instantly brings to mind similar scenes I often witnessed in Beijing. This serves as a reminder that the so-called “experience” of delivery isn’t some boundless “wilderness” of freedom; it’s merely a young person, privileged by age, dipping their toes into the cruel river of reality.
Edited by: Zeen