The worst thing about this NY Post story detailing the shameful, secret lives of the city's Seamless addicts isn't even the appalling amount of money they spend having their morning coffee delivered from downstairs.
It isn't that 27-year-old Kris Ruby racked up a $225 delivery bill on her daddy's credit card buying "superfood salads," whatever the fuck those are.
It isn't that 36-year-old Jason Saltzman considerers a bagel with cream cheese a "cheat day" splurge.
It's not the unidentified monster who uses the service WunWun to have Starbucks, located "below her building," ferried to her front door each day.
It's not even this sentence, although this sentence is pretty goddamn noxious: “'Seamless is . . . great for your average Joe who isn’t into artisanal food at all,” says Chawla, founder of Fueled, an app and mobile design company based in Soho. Caviar lets you “order from restaurants that are too cool to deliver. Those are typically the restaurants you want to eat from.”
It's that, unless you're some sort of monastical miser-type accustomed to packing a healthful lunch of farm-shared kale leaves and homemade ratatouille each day (and if you are, 1,000 accolades), your own delivery bill is probably disgustingly high, too. You could argue that Seamless and its high-end associates have contributed to making us fat and lazy, but it's our own inability to lift our gelatinous asses from the desk chair/couch to go collect food that we don't even have to make that fuels this burgeoning economy in the first place. We created this bloated hydra all by ourselves.
In conclusion, we're all awful. Hey, what are you getting for lunch?