Instacart shopper Courtney Fox stands in the checkout line at a Safeway in Palo Alto with groceries for three separate orders.

A few months ago, I was in a grocery store and heard shrieking at the seafood counter. A frustrated woman was pointing her phone at the various fish, struggling to communicate in halting English with someone on a video call. She was confused about all the salmon options behind the glass counter; from the look of the phone, she was an Instacart shopper.

I’ve seen more and more scenes like this during the past few years, though none as tense as that fish encounter. Grocery stores have taken on almost gladiatorial atmospheres — and I’m not just talking about Berkeley Bowl on a Sunday afternoon. City streets are clogged by double-parked delivery drivers hoping to shave off a few precious minutes of pick-up time. Gig work has created a combative, stressful atmosphere in these places that stinks of desperation and labor exploitation.

It’s easy to say that if we don’t approve of the working conditions of gig workers, we should just eschew those apps. Yet most of us probably know people who depend on these services — perhaps because they’re disabled or otherwise not able to go pick up food themselves. For them, gig services are necessities, not luxuries. These companies, essentially middlemen, exploit the public for profit — but what if they didn’t need to make enough money to appease venture capital and private equity firms? Could we square that circle if gig work was a public utility?

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In the Conversationalist, journalist S.E. Smith writes, “The gig economy has been a tremendous boon for the disability community, opening pathways of connection, communication, resources, and employment to people who are more at risk of being socially, economically, and medically isolated.” Amid increasing costs for medical care and a looming care worker shortage, Taskrabbit, DoorDash, Uber and other companies are filling in the gaps.

“How do we acknowledge that rather than having society address issues, we are going to just let the gig economy take care of it?” Smith asked when we spoke on the phone. It’s marginalized workers who tend to do the gig jobs, too — disabled people, caretakers, and Latino and Black people who may not fit in the regular, 9-to-5 working world for a variety of reasons. Smith called unregulated gig work a form of “mutually assured destruction,” of undervaluing social solutions to our problems in favor of more individualistic, profit-driven ones.

Haste and efficiency are the only ways to ensure you make a minimum wage. The companies certainly won’t help you, given the millions they invested in bypassing California labor and employee benefit laws via 2020’s Proposition 22. As an unprotected gig worker, your pay could be impacted by traffic, a backed-up kitchen, low customer ratings, declining orders or taking too long to shop.

In 2021, San Francisco DoorDash driver Jeffrey Fang told the Chronicle, “As a gig economy worker, the money stops the minute you stop working, and the pay is already low enough as it is.” Fang experienced one of the worst consequences of hustle culture when his van was stolen with his young children inside of it while he was making a delivery; he’d said it was more financially sensible to bring them along as he zipped around the city. After five hours, the van — and children — were found miles away, unharmed.

When gig companies fought California labor laws in 2020 and then pushed hard against San Francisco’s restaurant delivery fee cap in 2021, the argument was that regulating them was a disturbing gesture of governmental overreach into the private sector. Despite praise for the fee cap policy from the city’s restaurants, Mayor London Breed criticized the Board of Supervisors’ ordinance as “unnecessarily prescriptive in limiting the business models of the third-party organizations … (overstepping) what is necessary for the public good.” We’ll likely hear more of the same this year, with the onset of the Labor Department’s new rules on gig worker classification, which may override Prop. 22 and classify gig contractors as employees entitled to benefits.

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So why not skip over the private sector concerns and let the government take over the gig economy? That’s what journalist Nick Romeo suggests in his book, “The Alternative: How to Build a Just Economy,” which examines multiple case studies of companies and communities looking for other ways of handling their money. Drawing from the ideas of British policy expert Wingham Rowan, the book argues that a public platform could match job seekers with short-term work, charge lower transaction fees and provide full employment benefits. It could be privately operated by licensed companies, like the lottery system; but with capped earnings which would ease the pressure to turn a profit. A public option with low user fees would compete with the DoorDashes of the world, which are already vague in terms of how they’re really that different from each other.

It might sound like a pipe dream, but workforce boards in Ontario, Canada; Portland, Ore.; Long Beach and Louisville, Ky., already hope to launch their own versions of this idea.

The key part of this idea is that innovation doesn’t necessarily mean stepping back as companies chasing private equity dollars strive for hockey-stick profits by any means necessary. If we don’t like the fact that rideshare drivers have to pee in water bottles or that the public is stuck with all the external costs that these companies don’t have to deal with — like rampant double-parking and people losing their minds at the grocery store — we can, and should, imagine something better.

Reach Soleil Ho (they/them): soleil@sfchronicle.com; Twitter: @hooleil

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What would happen if government took over the gig economy?

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30.01.2024

Instacart shopper Courtney Fox stands in the checkout line at a Safeway in Palo Alto with groceries for three separate orders.

A few months ago, I was in a grocery store and heard shrieking at the seafood counter. A frustrated woman was pointing her phone at the various fish, struggling to communicate in halting English with someone on a video call. She was confused about all the salmon options behind the glass counter; from the look of the phone, she was an Instacart shopper.

I’ve seen more and more scenes like this during the past few years, though none as tense as that fish encounter. Grocery stores have taken on almost gladiatorial atmospheres — and I’m not just talking about Berkeley Bowl on a Sunday afternoon. City streets are clogged by double-parked delivery drivers hoping to shave off a few precious minutes of pick-up time. Gig work has created a combative, stressful atmosphere in these places that stinks of desperation and labor exploitation.

It’s easy to say that if we don’t approve of the working conditions of gig workers, we should just eschew those apps. Yet most of us probably know people who depend on these services — perhaps because they’re disabled or otherwise not able to go pick up food themselves. For them, gig services are necessities, not luxuries. These companies, essentially middlemen, exploit the public for profit — but what if they didn’t need to make enough money to appease venture capital and private equity firms? Could we square that circle........

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