The bank in Baggot street became our central meeting point. If it rained we stood under the overhang of it's edifice. If it was dry we sat on the low wall out front. If it was dry and sunny it was the Costa del Dublin 2. By 2002 when I did my last Summer it had all changed. Or at least society had. The economy was thriving. Messengers were not. The pay was alright I guess, but the companies were charging customers an arm and a leg because the money was there. Couriers wages never rose exponentially but the size of courier company owner's houses and cars did.
The city was changing too... not quite Gotham but no longer Pleasantville. Traffic doubled as did messengers getting doored. Broken collar bones and shoulders seemed like an epidemic. If cycling the city had been a steady game of Space Invaders it was now on level 100 and there were way to many invaders to avoid. Drivers changed from fairly predictable hamsters on the city fly-wheel to coffee/ blood-pressure/ mortgaged stress balls willing to take you on in fisticuffs on the middle of the road. Cocaine was sniffed off cisterns all over the city to the point of normality, the whiff of joints as you passed cars in rush-hour slowness was common-place. Then the same people popped you with a door or wing mirror because they couldn't see you.
Jobs came in waves instead of a steady drip. You would sign-out by midday because you had done one job and go home only to hear of an epic afternoon. Or you'd lazily radio in from a warm bed in Rathmines only to be buried with 5 drops before you'd poured milk on your muesli. Receptionists became waitresses in Hollywood, i.e. they were only receptionists until something in HR or a bigger administration came along. So they stopped flirting/ making eye contact /caring /smiling /being receptionists. They'd question you if a delivery was late but not give a damn if you had to sit waiting on one of them to fumble a job into an envelope.
A lower class of motorbike couriers brought the standard down. One guy lost an envelope from his satchel on the way to the airport and swore he'd delivered it, including forging a signature, only for the envelope to be found on the verge and delivered. Instant dismissal. A pair of guys I used to work with had their own base robbed on wages day and couldn't be implicated as they'd not physically done it themselves and were miles away.
It was time to get out. I was mentally tired and not giving my all. The rain and cold were wiping the smile off my face. I didn't finish on bad terms...I just couldn't process everything anymore. But it was beautiful and horrible in equal measure. On one level I'll never have a better time. What an unbelievable way to spend my youthful energy! But I gave a lot. A hell of a lot. I miss the idea of being a bike messenger but not the reality. I needed a time scale with a finite number of months or years. I feel the love affair died out and took my soul with it for a while. So I shut the book and put it in my bag for safe keeping for fifteen years. Thanks for helping me open it! Sign here please.
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