Can You Make a Living Delivering Food on Foot in Australia?
I happened to come across posts online of someone delivering food on foot in central Melbourne, and it felt like the perfect fit. I love walking, and trams are free in the city centre, arriving every two minutes, which makes getting around quick and easy. And so I joined the ranks of food delivery riders.
At first, I was thrilled – it felt like unlocking a new character in a game. Friends back home were surprised, and I could hear the unspoken question behind their words: why is a former city girl like you doing this? But in Australia, no one looks down on what I do.
To me, delivering food is far better than my old job in Beijing’s cultural sector – gilding a turd.
1. How Much Can You Earn Delivering Food in Melbourne Each Month?
I obtained a police clearance certificate and an Australian Business Number (ABN). With an ABN, I had sole trader status, which meant I could file tax returns and take delivery orders as a self-employed worker. Next, I verified my identity on the platform and completed the online safety course. The whole process took about a week, and soon after, the safety cycling gear arrived in the post from Uber Eats.
Many people take up delivery work to claim the platform’s new-rider incentive, and I’m no exception.
At the time, Uber Eats’ rule was that if a new rider completed 40 deliveries within their first month, both the rider and the person who referred them received a 400 AUD bonus (approximately 1,868 CNY). What does that mean? If you cook at home and have eggs, dairy, meat and veg in every meal, 400 AUD can cover two to three weeks of groceries.
In 2023, Australia’s minimum hourly wage was 23.23 AUD (approximately 108 CNY). Can food delivery earnings match the minimum wage?
If you deliver by car and keep orders coming, you average about 25 AUD per hour after tax. But after deducting fuel, car maintenance and other costs, your net income hovers around the minimum wage. My friend Emma delivers by car in Melbourne, but her car has poor fuel economy, so her effective hourly rate after costs is around 22 AUD.
For someone like me delivering on foot, the delivery radius is limited, so each order earns about 5 AUD, which certainly works out below the minimum wage. But as a Working Holiday visa holder, my attitude towards delivering is “just giving it a go” rather than making ends meet, so I don’t fret about it.
I deliver three days a week, working 3–4 hours during the lunch and dinner peaks, earning between 10 and 20 AUD per hour. Sometimes there are promotional campaigns – complete three orders and you get around 10 AUD extra.
By the end of my first month, I had completed over 80 orders, and with platform bonuses, peak-time bonuses and tips, I earned over 1,200 AUD (approximately 5,617 CNY). A second part-time café job covers my rent, and some months I even have a surplus of around 300 AUD.
For me, the real blessing is not working more than 30 hours a week. I’ve had enough of the eight-hour workday and sitting in an office from nine to five. The café closes early, so I’m usually resting by the beach by four in the afternoon. By then, plenty of people are already chatting, walking their dogs and lounging by the sea.
If you’re not chasing big money, working 30 hours a week legally in Melbourne is enough for a well-balanced life.
II. Not an Ad, but Uber Eats Has Been Good to Me
First, Uber Eats has no set delivery deadline, so I’m never penalised for being late, and riders don’t have to deliver all the way to the door – most of the customers I meet wait at the building entrance. But I still work hard to my own code of “not troubling others,” doing my best to deliver on time.
Melbourne’s weather is notoriously changeable – one moment it’s bright and clear, the next it’s pouring. Add tram delays, roadworks, strikes and marches, and the streets get even more congested; a delivery that should take ten minutes might require twenty extra minutes on foot. The customers I meet, young or old, never seem in a rush and keep thanking me: “You did a great job!” (Brilliant!)
The worst I’ve experienced is someone giving me a cold face, not saying thanks, and grumbling a couple of times on the app about the delivery being slow. But I’m not docked any pay for it.
Riders aren’t rushed, and the platform doesn’t dictate how long restaurants have to prepare food, but it does encourage efficiency in other ways, for instance by calculating an “estimated preparation time” based on past order data.
If a restaurant regularly exceeds this figure, the system tags it as a “slow prep” store. This means the algorithm lowers its ranking – customers may see it further down the list, it’s more likely to attract low ratings, and riders may be less willing to accept its orders, as they receive no compensation for waiting beyond the expected time.
Most of what I pick up is fast food, so preparation delays are rare. Sometimes I rush to the shop only to find the food isn’t ready yet, and the staff simply wave me over to sit for a bit – “No worries, take your time.”
They’re always saying “take it easy, no worries, have a good day,” and that philosophy has gradually seeped into my own life. How much I earn comes second – being able to support myself is already a win! When I have to wait ten or fifteen minutes, I don’t fret; I just treat it as a rest break. Of course, this laid-back ease is largely thanks to the platform providing a safety net.
For example, if a restaurant leaves something out of the order and the customer phones to ask whether it can be redelivered, the rider who has already marked the order as delivered doesn’t need to go back – the customer should contact the restaurant for a refund. If the rider hasn’t marked it as delivered, they can choose to return to the shop to pick up the missing item, and the platform also provides a corresponding delay allowance for the extra time.
When there’s a problem with the food itself, responsibility falls on the restaurant first. I once had a case of noodle soup spilling inside the insulated delivery bag. After contacting customer support, I wasn’t held responsible at all – in fact, I received a 3 AUD allowance, which I suspect was meant to console the person who had to clean up the bag.
I usually hand the order to the customer in person and enter the PIN code they show me to mark the delivery as complete. Once, a customer refused to give me the PIN code, complaining that I was too slow. I simply set the food down at the door and tapped “Need Help – Delivered” in the app, and the job was done. If a customer won’t answer the phone, I just tell customer support I can’t find them – I’m not about to drain myself with workplace drama.
III. Delivering by Bike Feels Like Risking My Life
Melbourne has plenty of uphill stretches, some routes mix cyclists with motor vehicles, and on top of getting used to left-hand traffic and slippery roads in the rain, I fell twice. In those moments it truly felt like I was risking my life, so I stopped telling myself that delivering was just a form of exercise and fun.
For someone like me with a terrible sense of direction, Uber’s built-in navigation is just as likely to lead me astray. Once, on a rainy day, inaccurate directions from the Uber app made me very late. To my surprise, the customer was not only waiting at the door but also gave me a 10 AUD tip and kept thanking me, saying it must have been tough delivering in the rain. Every time I meet strangers like that, I feel a surge of security.
Rainy days are delivery peaks. Uber’s map marks these peak zones in red and shows an extra 1–5 AUD per order. On the one hand, I think the surcharge is fair – delivering in the rain is exhausting. On the other hand, I feel riders’ rights shouldn’t stop at a bonus.
In Australia, whether delivery riders receive work-injury insurance is left for each platform to decide. Uber Eats provides workers’ compensation insurance for its riders, but the cover is limited to active delivery time and differs greatly from the work-injury insurance full-time employees receive. Delivery riders working as gig workers don’t receive superannuation, paid leave, overtime pay or other benefits.
Some people want to challenge this gig model.
In a report by the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC), former delivery rider Vishal Plato founded a company called Fuel It Up that partners with restaurants: they pay a monthly fee based on delivery volume, plus a fixed charge of 6.99 AUD per delivery. Plato hopes this model can guarantee riders a minimum wage.
State and local governments in Australia are also working to strengthen the laws protecting riders’ rights. In March this year, New South Wales amended the Industrial Relations Amendment Act to formally recognise delivery riders as gig workers, set a minimum wage for them, and help mediate disputes between platforms and gig workers.
Many people call Australia the gold standard for working abroad, and I think it earns that title not because its welfare system is flawless, but because individual workers are seen and respected.
IV. The Optimistic Australians Who Healed My Anxiety
I suspect the people ordering food think the same way. Being angry doesn’t help. The pace of work here is what it is, the environment is what it is, and people don’t assume that convenience and speed are a given.
I often hear people overseas complaining about how slow things are somewhere. But is it possible that it’s simply China that moves too fast? I’ve actually settled well into the rhythm here. You don’t rush me, I don’t rush you – as though we were born to move at this pace.
I’ve also unlocked plenty of restaurants I’d never set foot in before, thinking to myself that I’d come and eat there once I’d earned enough. Gradually I’ve settled into this new city, and the anxiety of being a newcomer has faded considerably.
Still, I can’t imagine doing food delivery as a full-time job. Whenever I see a rider on Melbourne’s busy streets suddenly crash off their bike, only to scramble straight back up and ride on, I’m instantly reminded of the same scenes I used to see in Beijing. It reminds me that what people call the delivery “experience” is no “open wilderness” – just a version of myself, still enjoying some of the privileges of youth, wading ankle-deep into the bitter river of harsh reality.
Editor: Zeen