The True Confessions of a Bicycle Messenger
by Ratius Roadius
Mercury Rising #9, December 1993
12 years ago the alarm went off and I woke up broke, unemployed & badly hung-over.
The summer after High School ended I was workin at the car wash. I had worked there on weekends & during the summer for the past 3 years. Eventually earning that coveted position of driving the cars off the track. First you jump in while the cars still on the track & do the inside windows. Then you drive the car down & park it, jump out & do the rear windows. The driver also collects the tip, if any, & splits it with the other rag men. Sometimes, if the owner was still inside, one of the guys would squirt some soap into the path of the rear wheel, then I'd floor it and the wheels would spin out. When the tire finally caught dry pavement the fucker would fly out of there like the proverbial Bat you've all heard so much about. One time he owner came out just as his car was getting airborn & almost clocked me when I got out of his car.
I remember sayin, Sorry mister, your car is just so powerful, I wasn't expecting it".
Well the boss wasn't fooled & he canned my ass pronto.
A couple days later the phone rings & it's my brother asking me if I want a job ridin a bike around downtown delivering packages.
"Sounds pretty easy, I say, so when do I start?" "Come down to 84 & 2nd St. tomorrow at 8 & talk to the Boss, Okay ...click...
Hell Bent Couriers is a total fucking looney bin. Phones are all ringin & people screamin & this guy's motioning me to come over. One of the women answering the phones yells...
They need it now, what do you want me to tell them! "Tell them to fuck off, I don't care, tell em anything", then tumlng to me, "when can you start?"
"Uh...now, I guess."
So after fillin' out some paperwork they give me a shirt & a pager & a stack of order slips.. Then they show me to this piece of shit old Ross 5-speed, blood red, with a wild basket, pull back bars, heavy as hell, & destined for destruction.
The boss says, Get over to 1234 Market St., White & Williams are losin it, get over there now & clean this shit up, then call me right back"
So here I am, ridin this behemoth up Market St. & it feels good. I get goin faster & faster, feelin' the wind on my face, thinkin how easy this is gonna be. Suddenly I realize that this thing's got no brakes. Great, now I'm gonna die & I haven't even made my first pick-up, how embarrassing. I finally manage to stop the thing & tighten up the brake cable so I've got some brakes at least.
1234 Market is a vast affair with giant escalators goin from the street level up to the mezzanine or down to the subway station. White & Williams are on 20 & as I step into the elevator I find buttons 1-10 only. I try to escape but the doors are closed. I hit 3, too late, I finally get out at 6 cursing & vowing not to ever make that mistake again. So it's back to the lobby & over to the other elevators & finally I'm deposited on the 20th floor.
Greeted by a dull florescent glow which seems almost audible, I wander into the reception area. Some expensive looking chairs are squatting ugly on an Oriental rug. A glass coffee table, neatly adorned with those idiotic business magazines, grins up at me as if to say, 'Howdy stranger, none of this is for you,' so hurry up & get the hell out of here.
The receptionist looks up at me & says, "What took you so long, where were you? This is supposed to be delivered by 9."
I just shrug & smile stupidly, grab the package & take the tables advice.
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