A Secret Shop

When I moved to New Jersey a year and a half ago, Charity told me about secret shopping services. I signed up with three and completed a few assignments to make some cash while I was looking for a job. Now that I have a job, I revisit the sites from time to time to pad the coffers a little bit. It's a great way to get free stuff and get paid a little bit extra on top of it.

I've done shops for Aeropostale, Exxon, Papa John's, Equinox Fitness, and Barnes and Noble. Papa John's is by far the most lucrative. I started doing them "delivery" in Jersey City, but because only one store delivers to my address, I expanded to other areas and doing the shops as "carryout." This gives me an opportunity to visit neighborhoods in New York City, and check out those areas. Granted, I only get to see the area between the train station and the store, which is usually only a block or two, but I still get to visit areas I wouldn't normally visit. I've been to two or three areas in Brooklyn, one in Queens, and a couple in waaaay north Manhattan.

The other night I did a shop in Harlem. These things never go quite as quickly or smoothly as I imagine when I sign up for them. I got off work at 4:30 and came home to sign up for the shop. Once I sign up for it, I then go to that area, make the phone call, wait for the pizza, and come home. In my mind, I should have been home by 7:00. It went more like this:

I got home and signed up for the shop around 5:30. As I was leaving, Charity got home. She said, "See you in a couple hours?" I said yeah, and left. I took the PATH to New York City, then walked two blocks to Penn Station. Taking the 3 train uptown to Harlem, the train, stuffed with people, emptied out the further north we went. I got off the train at 145th St., and made the phone call at 7:50. I was immediately placed on hold-for over five minutes. While on hold, I realized that it had begun snowing. This wasn't the way this was supposed to go. When I finally placed the order, I was told it would be 30 minutes until the pizza was ready.

I went across the street to a diner to use the restroom. Since "Restrooms are for customer use only," I sat down and ordered some mozzarella sticks and watched people. The three young men behind the counter were Latino and chattered among themselves in Spanish. I wondered about places like this. How do they stay in business with three customers at a time? How do they find people willing to do this kind of hot, hard work? As I waited and watched, the occasional person would come in, bark their order and sit down to wait. Twenty minutes later, I got up, went outside, lit a cigarette, and watched people outside. Where were they going? What was going on in their lives at this very moment?

I was able to pick up the pizza just after 8:30, and called Danny. He was going to meet me at Penn Station on my way home, but told me that he needed to take a shower and would be a few minutes. I told him that I would just go home and see him there. I got on the empty train with my pizza and sat down. At 96th St, four people got on the train and the comments began. There are always comments when I take a pizza home on the subway.

"I didn't realize there was a food car on this train," said one lady. The other wondered if there was a bar car. I would offer a slice to them, but the requirements of the shop include photos of the pizza, so I largely ignored the comments and watched for my stop.

When I got back to Penn Station, I called Danny, who was leaving his house to come to mine. I told him I would wait for him at the PATH station. Forty-five minutes later, he finally showed up. The pizza box was covered in a light dusting of snow. We got on the train, and the looks began again. A small scowl here, a little chuckle there. I I didn't care what they thought. I knew I was going to make $20 for this little excursion, and I knew I would do it again soon. Danny and I got back to my house around 11:30. Time spent: Five and a half hours. Money spent: $15.00. Opportunity for an excursion and get paid for it: Priceless.