A Same-Day Delivery Startup Brought Me A Fish We Both Assumed Would Die

A Same-Day Delivery Startup Brought Me a Fish We Both Assumed Would Die

No one ever needs a live pet fish, 11 litres of water, a fish tank, a heater, food and various fish home accoutrements at a moment's notice. And yet, at 11am on a Tuesday, I texted a stranger and told them I needed all of this, and yes, I needed it today. Three hours and $US200 later, my new friend arrived.

A Same-Day Delivery Startup Brought Me a Fish We Both Assumed Would Die

This all-too-simple delivery came courtesy of the vaguely mysterious new service Magic. There's no app. No web interface. You simply text the number your request, make a payment with Swipe, and Magic handles the rest. Literally. There is nothing separating from your most fleeting, absurd flights of fancy. For example, there is no account sign-up process during which to think to yourself Wait, really? Nary a moment to reconsider your absurd demands. It is equal parts abhorrent and brilliant. And it works like a goddamn dream.

Supposedly, you can ask Magic for anything that doesn't violate the laws of the American justice system. Knowledge, deliveries, dating advice — nothing is theoretically outside the realm of what Magic is willing to do for its lazy clientele. It's available all across the US — local couriers permitting. For more reasonable requests (food, commodities, cleaning, etc), it's easy to imagine how Magic gets the job done. Hire a messenger to run by the bodega. Queue up a delivery through Seamless. For more bizarre, more intricate requests, however — it's unclear who gets the job done.

That's not for you to worry about. And therein lies the appeal. So in testing Magic to the fullest we could, we of course decided to lean towards the strange. I needed a chiclid and I needed it now.

A Same-Day Delivery Startup Brought Me a Fish We Both Assumed Would Die

Happily. Of course. I'd love to. The fish will die, but if that's what you desire, condemning it is my pleasure.

Maybe I was lucky, or maybe it was the $US50 I paid to skip the 13,685(!) lazy but poorer people in line ahead of me, but texting Magic felt like texting a very competent and ephemeral Stepford Wife.

My new nameless friend wasn't just a robot on the other side of the phone, a consciousness floating somewhere in digital space — he/she/it had opinions. And input. And the gumption to go talk to an aquarium specialist for 20 minutes about the viability of demanding an instant fish ecosystem as a matter of course. My operator even made sure to include species-specific food — and rocks, plastic trees, a tank heater, and a giant bag of ready-to-go water. Someone carried 3 gallons of fish-ready water through New York and up two flights of stairs because I asked. I felt like garbage human.Well, until I saw this handsome little guy:

A Same-Day Delivery Startup Brought Me a Fish We Both Assumed Would Die
A Same-Day Delivery Startup Brought Me a Fish We Both Assumed Would Die

Above: A fish called Stango.

Of course, all this convenience comes at a cost. A monetary one, in addition to the self-loathing. Supposedly, Magic's fee varies according to the time and effort it takes to fulfil your request, and as one of the cofounders told Wired, there's still no uniform system in place for determining service charge. We were never explicitly told how much Magic was charging us on top of the fish, tank, and courier cost, but we'd estimate it to be somewhere in the realm of $US50 to $US75, that in addition to the $US50 I'm-rich-and-lines-don't-apply-to-me fee. Of course, if you have them find someone to fetch you a bag of chips, they likely wont stick on more than a few bucks.

That casual approach likely comes from the fact that Magic came about as more of an accident than a master plan. According to Wired, Magic's founders started the request number on a lark, with only a few people standing by to take requests. But as word got out this past weekend, it blew up into the thousands-long waitlist you'll find yourself at the back of should you try to use it today. The founders say there are still just 10-20 employees taking your requests, coordinating the moves of contracted local deliverymen from some mysterious bunker. (Maybe under the sea. Maybe in space?) But considering the wild, self-indulgent demand, Magic is very much in the process of hiring more.

We reached out to Magic to ask about how its employees were handing the sudden explosions of requests, but have yet to hear back. In the meantime, I decided to go to the source itself.

A Same-Day Delivery Startup Brought Me a Fish We Both Assumed Would Die

That's the last we heard, so there are indeed some things even its regrettably named "Magicians" can't — or won't — do.

Where Uber and TaskRabbit and WunWun put you face-to-face with the unfortunate souls doing your bidding; you are the contractor. Magic makes that all go away. You just a kind friend and POOF, so it is. It prides itself on facelessness. There are no real people to see, no phone calls, no real thought on your part at all. No time to think, no time to second guess yourself. You simply express a desire, and this shapeless service simply figures out the rest.

And, for the record, our fish is doing fine.

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