Went through a period, in the wreckage of my Mr. Suburban Man period, where I got gas money and (on a good month) helped pay the rent on my borrowed bedroom by delivering food in the evenings*. This was a service subscribed to largely by people in big houses, too busy or discombobulated or dysfunctional to cook their own food.
This gig gave me a look inside a whole bunch of Socal McMansions, and one thing I often wondered is “how do they change the light bulbs in the ceilings of those way-high foyers?”
If you could perfect this, you could sell at least one per McMansion.
*OT, let me say in case you didn’t know that the smell of spicy food in the back of your rundown car, while you lack a buck for a hamburger, can be nearly maddening.