Mercury Rising #6, April 1992
by Steve
Yesterday I was standing-by on Turk trip ping out on all of the Tenderloin characters when I noticed that the bum sleeping there on the sidewalk was resting his head on an ancient beat-up Zo Bag.
'Wow, a fellow messenger on hard times," I thought, and prodded him awake to hear his story. (The hand-to-mouth nature of this job often causes me to dwell on the possibility of sleeping on the street.)
"Hey, man, who did you work for?"
He opened his eyes slowly, propped himself up on an elbow, levelled his gaze with mine and started to speak; his voice was gravelly, and he spoke rhythmically, almost singing:
'Many is the time I've straddled a bike, off to make a delivery but there were days I rode the wind, once called Hermes, before that, Mercury.
In Greece I leapt from cloud to cloud, holding messages urgent; winged feet carried me aloft. over battles and fields verdant.
From Athens I ran with lightening feet. first on land, then in the sky; I was the gravy dog of yore, always flying high.
Time changed, though, and the economy went into a slump; no one then could read or write, Europe was a dump.
Messenging was put on hold, hip young people became pages; the time were poor for communication we were caught in the dark ages.
Time passed, I knocked around a bit, and found myself in Frisco; I got a bike and learned the streets (I had to ride, 'cause in the days of disco, I'd been too into coke you wouldn't believe what I've put into this nose and on one of my flings I pawned my wings, so I had to pick up a bike, a cheap one, but one that would go), and I became a messenger, the only job I know."
I couldn't believe that I was talking to Mercury himself, and that he was a Bum sleeping off the booze on Turk Street. What happened? Wouldn't he be the best messenger ever?
"Hey man, so why aren't you working now?"
'Well... I was used to the open sky, not the traffic, the tracks, and the hills; when a ped ran out, or a bus went by, out of fright I'd almost spill.
And when I lived in Greece, we set our belongings down without a care here I left my bike unlocked on the street. and when I came out it wasn't there.
I turned to booze to calm my head, it was the only way I avoided the dread of losing another bike, or getting hit and left for dead but riding drunk I lost packages, ( and he started to get choked up, forcing out his words ) and finally even Aero had given up on me, I was riding like a lump of lead, now here I am, a bum," he said.
What could I do? I gave him my lunch, a cheese and onion sandwich, and was about to buy him a cup of coffee, when I got a call to get back downtown and grab a hot filing. I started to apologize to him, explaining that I had to run, when he raised his hand and fixed me in his gaze.
"Messenging is truly the oldest profession. You mustn't forget that. You are carrying on an ancient tradition. Go do the filing remember that Mercury, the God of Messengers, will be watching over you."
I turned to unlock my bike, and felt a slight breeze on my neck. No...could it be? I looked back, expecting him to have vanished, to have flown away back to Greece or somewhere else, maybe; but he was just limping away down the sidewalk, eating the sandwich and muttering. I made the filing in plenty of time, flew through traffic like usual for the rest of the day, and lay in bed last night, remembering the dude's rhymes, and wondering if he really is just an old bum or what.
Who knows, but damn that was cool meeting Mercury. It’s not every job that has a god watching out for you.
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