I don't know what it was. I think it was one of the bad days. It was the end of a tough year at Quickstream. A courier company that extracted the last drop from us. That day I'd hauled a postal franking machine to and from a post office, delivered a human stool sample (suitably sealed in a transparent test tube) from a hospital to a solicitor and around lunchtime I'd done the wages run from the bank to Pearse Street and watched as the Teller in Donnybrook had counted out 11,000 pounds in front of me. I kinda had a small meltdown. Now I'd blame the heat but back then I had stared at the cash before putting it in my satchel thinking how broke I was in night college, how much of a bloody Clydesdale horse I was for Quickstream and how tired I was.
Yes I delivered the cash but I'll admit a lot of scenarios ran through my head along the way.
My next job took me to a pick up in a nice office in Holles street. The Receptionist said I'd have to wait fifteen minutes. I radioed in the delay and asked to use the bathroom. The Receptionist was manic trying to get the delivery ready and told me the bathroom was on the next floor.
She didn't tell me it was super plush! Wall to wall tiles, showers, towels and infinite gels and shampoo....
Door now bolted, I stripped and had an unbelievable shower. In those few minutes I washed the dirt of the previous year's work as well as that day's carbon grime from my skin. The Receptionist noticed nada. But her urgency to get the package across town didn't stop me from a detour I'd planned in the shower. I rode around to a rival courier company and asked for a job. Quickstream was then behind me and I moved faster than ever in the city.
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