August 2023. The hottest time of year, when sunlight stings any exposed skin. It’s past three in the afternoon, peak heat hours, when the radio crackles to life.
“Dispatch to Unit 12. Citizen requesting assistance at the DMV office on Main Street.”
My partner Mike and I are halfway through our iced coffees, trying to stay cool. When we arrive at the DMV, Lisa at the counter looks exasperated, rubbing her temples. Across from her sits a young woman, maybe five-foot-four, no makeup, tears glistening in her eyes.
I glance around and sigh before starting the paperwork. The complainant: Jessica Chen, female, 23 years old.
Mike eyes the line of waiting customers and gestures for Jessica to step outside. Once in the lobby, we begin gathering details. Jessica takes several deep breaths before speaking. “Your staff is deliberately making things difficult. They’re not protecting my legal rights.”
I activate my body camera. “Can you tell us exactly what happened?”
“I want to change my name, and she won’t let me. When I asked why, she said I was being too impulsive.” Jessica’s voice cracks, tears streaming down her face.
Mike scratches his head. “That’s unusual. As long as the name change is legal, we typically support it.” He pauses. “What name did you want?”
Jessica wipes her tears and answers quietly, “Jordan. Jordan Smith.”
Mike thinks he misheard. “You’re saying you want to change your name from Jessica to… Jordan?”
When she nods firmly, he laughs. “A young woman like you wants to be called Jordan?” Then, suspicious: “You’re not filming this for TikTok or something, are you?”
But Jessica is deadly serious. “I want to change my name to Jordan Smith. That’s not illegal, is it?”
Seeing she’s not joking, we try reasoning with her. Name changes should have valid reasons—doing it impulsively could cause complications. What I don’t say directly is that a woman named Jordan might face unnecessary challenges.
Jessica pulls out her phone and starts reading: “According to state law, every person has the right to change their name through proper legal channels, provided it’s not for fraudulent purposes…”
Mike quickly interrupts. “Miss, we’re not saying you can’t change your name. We’re concerned about potential problems this might cause you down the line.”
Jessica falls silent. Mike goes to check with Lisa at the DMV while I continue talking with Jessica. Before I can finish, she covers her face and sobs. Through broken sentences, I finally understand why she wants this change.
After graduating with a law degree, Jessica couldn’t find suitable work and joined the gig economy as a delivery driver. The flexible hours would let her study for the bar exam. That morning at 11:30, as lunch orders peaked, she accepted a grocery store pickup. While waiting, she noticed a message from the customer: “Are you male or female?”
Confused, Jessica replied, “Female.”
Three messages pinged back immediately—the customer wanted a male driver instead. Jessica froze for two minutes, unsure what she’d done wrong.
After another minute, the customer messaged again demanding a different driver. Jessica felt rejected for no valid reason. She tried being polite: “Did I do something wrong?”
The customer responded more civilly this time: “No, I just don’t want a female driver. Get someone else.”
Jessica’s anger flared. “Isn’t that gender discrimination? I haven’t been late or delivered early.”
Seeing her resistance, the customer snapped: “I don’t give a damn about discrimination. If you deliver this order, I’ll not only give you one star, I’ll file a complaint.”
Jessica had studied law. The job market for law graduates in major cities is brutal—you need at least a master’s degree for decent positions. After trying various jobs, she’d chosen delivery work. She’d never sought special treatment for being female, never planned to film content while delivering. She dressed simply, looked just like any male driver.
“I can handle the physical demands and exhaustion. I just don’t understand how being female affects him at all.” Tears fall again. Mike, returning, offers comfort: “There are bad people of all genders. This guy’s probably one of those internet trolls who stirs up gender conflicts. Don’t take it personally.”
Jessica continues: “The more he insisted, the more determined I became to prove I’d done nothing wrong, that I shouldn’t face unfair treatment.”
She picked up the order from the store: a case of water, three large sodas, five instant noodle cups. Nearly twenty pounds of groceries. The water case was awkward to carry, so Jessica struggled to balance it on her scooter’s footrest.
The customer lived in an old walk-up building. Fourth floor, no elevator. Under the blazing sun, Jessica hauled the groceries up, pausing at the third-floor landing to catch her breath. Only when her breathing steadied did she knock gently: “Delivery.”
The door opened instantly. A man under thirty took one look at Jessica, then easily lifted the items she’d struggled with. Jessica said automatically, “Enjoy your meal, and if you could—”
The door slammed before she could ask for a five-star rating.
Whatever. Jessica fanned herself walking downstairs. Around 1 PM, her supervisor called—she’d been reported. The customer had followed through: one-star rating plus formal complaint.
Jessica called her supervisor immediately, demanding, “So I have no rights as a delivery person? Complaints count regardless of merit? Any complaint is automatically valid?”
The supervisor, already in a bad mood, delivered the classic line: “If you can’t handle the job, quit.”
Jessica was stunned. Before she could respond, he continued: “You do less work than others and cause more problems. We’ve already been accommodating you. Get another complaint and you’re fired. Take it or leave it.” He hung up.
After ten minutes of forcing herself to calm down, Jessica called customer service to ask about the complaint. They said: “The customer reported poor attitude.”
Jessica was incredulous. “How was my attitude poor? Did you investigate what happened? He discriminated against me based on gender. I didn’t argue, delivered on time, knocked quietly, didn’t call. What did I do wrong?”
She’d followed every protocol to avoid complaints but got one anyway. After appealing to customer service, her tears quickly evaporated in the sun. Stubborn Jessica came straight to the DMV to change her name.
Mike and I didn’t know how to comfort her. Realistically, the platform’s complaint system wasn’t our jurisdiction. Bad ratings were the customer’s right, and the platform had appeal procedures. Whether the customer’s refusal of female drivers constituted discrimination would require a court decision. From a law enforcement perspective, the male customer hadn’t broken any laws.
Jessica seemed to be making an impulsive decision after an emotional breakdown. After five or six minutes, she appeared calmer but still insisted on the name change. Mike tried again: “What would changing your name accomplish? If it’s just for delivery work, people like him will still complain. And even if people don’t mock you to your face, they might behind your back.”
Jessica said stubbornly, “Let them laugh.”
Mike sighed. Unable to dissuade her, he rubbed his head and proposed a compromise. Jessica should go home and think it over. If she still wanted the change tomorrow morning, he’d personally ensure the DMV processed it, even if they initially refused.
After a day of frustration, Jessica said coldly, “Get rid of me now, then who knows if you’ll be here tomorrow? I’ve seen through it all—everyone just wants to avoid trouble for themselves.”
Mike laughed despite himself and gave Jessica his personal number, promising he’d be there tomorrow. Even if he was out on a call, she could phone and they’d return immediately.
Jessica memorized Mike’s number and left. Mike hoped that after a night’s rest, she’d reconsider this impulsive decision driven by someone else’s malice.
After she left, Mike and I returned to the office. Our iced coffees had melted into brown puddles. Soon, dispatch called again: “Unit 12, respond to 402 West Grove Apartments. Complainant reports harassment.”
We didn’t think much of it until we arrived and found Jessica there. The complainant was the male customer from earlier—Wayne Miller. Seeing us, Wayne pointed at Jessica: “Officers, she’s been pounding on my door, harassing me. Get her out of here.”
Mike didn’t respond to Wayne directly. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you earlier, but delivery apps hide customer numbers after orders complete. So I’m curious—why won’t you accept female drivers? No wonder there’s conflict.”
Wayne was taken aback. Mike explained that Jessica had come to the station earlier, so we knew the background, but wanted to hear both sides. He added pointedly, “Coming to your door was definitely wrong. We’ll handle that.”
Mike’s approach was reasonable. Wayne couldn’t argue, so he challenged: “No special reason. I just don’t want female drivers. Is that wrong?” Seeing our silence, Wayne explained he orders the same items regularly. He works from home editing videos and rarely goes out. Previous female drivers caused problems—couldn’t carry the water, wouldn’t switch with male drivers, arrived at the third floor exhausted, forcing him to come get the items himself.
“I pay the heavy item fee. I’ve done nothing wrong, but somehow I feel guilty.” Wayne vented in one breath. Simply put, he didn’t want female drivers because he thought they couldn’t handle the weight. He’d encountered drivers who called from the building entrance, apologizing they couldn’t carry everything up, asking if he could come down. He figured if he could go out, why order delivery? The store was a three-minute walk away.
After listening, Mike clicked his tongue. “I get it now. Forget gender—if someone makes you come downstairs, sure, complain away. But this young woman brought everything to your door and you still complained. How is that fair?”
“She stood on the third floor landing forever before coming up. I know she did.”
“So what if she caught her breath? As long as the delivery wasn’t late, what’s wrong with that?”
Wayne’s jaw dropped in disbelief, then he clapped his hands. “Officer, if that’s your take, we’re not on the same wavelength. We can’t understand each other.”
I understood his perspective—feeling guilty despite paying for service, when simply requesting a male driver could solve everything, but she insisted on confronting him. Our lack of response emboldened Wayne: “I was polite at first. I said switch to a male driver or I’d complain. She wanted to challenge me. If she’d switched to lighter work, we’d both be happier. Who was she fighting?”
Seeing Wayne getting agitated, Mike rubbed his forehead. “I get it. You’re both too sensitive and overthink everything.”
Wayne’s silence was confirmation. After ordering, when he saw a female driver assigned, he probably imagined previous encounters—female drivers complaining about heavy orders, some unable to carry items and asking him to come down. These experiences soured him on female drivers.
But what puzzled us was that other female drivers might have had issues, but Jessica hadn’t. She did the same work with no difference. If the complaint cost her thirty or forty dollars in penalties, her morning’s work would be wasted.
Seeing Wayne completely silent, Mike sighed. “Look, we can’t control your complaints. That’s your right. Just try to put yourself in others’ shoes. We’ll take her with us. She won’t bother you again.”
Mike signaled me. I turned off my body camera and we escorted Jessica downstairs. Behind us, the door slammed shut with a bang.
Walking down with us, Jessica looked defeated. Mike couldn’t help himself: “Why do this? Harassing him could earn another complaint, plus it’s actually illegal. You studied law—you know this.”
Jessica didn’t answer directly, looking dejected. Suddenly she pulled out her phone and made a call. Mike and I exchanged glances but stayed put. Jessica shouted into the phone: “I want to know what you meant about me doing less work than others? And what did you mean about ‘accommodating’ me?”
She’d called her supervisor. Clearly, Jessica was determined to get justice today. Through the speaker, the supervisor’s accented voice emerged: “You deliver the least orders monthly, don’t you know that? The station assigns all the quick grocery runs to female drivers, don’t you know that? Where’s your gratitude?”
Jessica said incredulously: “If I deliver less, I earn less. It’s not like I deliver less but get paid the same. You assign grocery runs to women not because we asked, but for the station’s overall on-time rate. How is that helping me? Why should I be grateful?”
The supervisor cursed: “Then don’t give me this crap. You admit you’re not as good as others but still act righteous. I don’t want to hear it. You working or not? If not, get lost.”
Jessica crouched on the ground crying. Mike took the phone: “Hello, supervisor?”
Silence. Mike continued: “This is Officer Williams from the police department. Let’s keep things civil. I understand it’s hot and tempers flare, but women’s right to work is protected by law. She’s not wrong—less work means less pay. We’re all adults responsible for our words and actions. Why make it ugly?”
Jessica’s sobs echoed in the apartment courtyard. The supervisor hung up after a few words with Mike. Local police don’t carry much weight after all.
As a law graduate, Jessica should know better than anyone how to protect her rights. But many things fall outside legal jurisdiction, or require efforts far exceeding any benefit.
I bought some popsicles and drinks. Jessica crouched there eating, tears flowing again. Mike patted her shoulder. “You were right about one thing—everyone’s priority is avoiding trouble for themselves. Every profession has its difficulties. Different perspectives create different approaches. Ask your supervisor for time off. Rest, then get back to it.”
Jessica stared blankly at the grass, muttering, “I must be cursed.”
Mike and I stood up, reminding Jessica to use legal channels to protect her rights, then prepared to leave. She nodded silently. All we could do was sigh.
Jessica never returned to change her name. When we asked other drivers about her, we learned she’d won her appeal but chose to quit anyway. Her departure wasn’t escapism. Often reality can’t be changed—we can only change ourselves.
Between people, there’s always malice, with or without reason, obvious or hidden. Those who recognize life’s harsh truths but still embrace it—they’re the real warriors.
