Gurriers (12 page)

“Oh, I know that Dolores, but sure what are ye gonna do?”

“I’ve got Eight Ray and someone else. Ray go ahead.”

“Are you still in bed, Ray?”

What’s going on here? I thought.

“I mean that Mick has north covered, Dolores is on the way in and now you decide to radio in.”

Ray was one courier that I remembered from the previous day. I was eager to know what this new base controller was playing at with this sort of antagonism. Ray must have had a lot to say, for it was a while before I heard the base controller again.

“All right Ray, I’m only havin’ a laugh. I know you need the money and ye won’t make it from bed; it’s just funny that you radio in immediately after the other two northsiders every morning. If you were lazy you could be lyin’ in bed makin’ eejits out of the lot of us. Now, who else is callin’ there?”

Was Ray still in bed? Did couriers stay in bed until work was despatched to them? That could mean a lot of extra time in bed, but frantic scrambles when work was despatched; including tearing away at speed with a cold engine.

“Roger, Naoise, stand by there. Who else is calling?”

“No thanks, Ray, I don’t want to hear your engine. Who else is calling there?”

I knew what was going on here; Ray was protesting that he
was ready to go and was going to let the base man hear his bike to prove it. The thing about that was that he could easily have put on a dressing gown and run down to his bike by now anyway. This was highly amusing though.

“Roger, Gizzard, stand by there, who else?”

“Ray, I believe you, you’re logged in, there’s no hassle now please, people are trying to get logged in, I need the airways clear!”

Then there was a little beep followed by a courier’s voice. “Go back to sleep Ray, ye little bollix!”

Another little beep followed by Ray’s voice. “I’m fuckin’ ready an’ waitin’ for work an’ I’m noh havin any of youse dick-heads sayin’ otherwise, yez cunts!”

“Get off Channel Two both of yez - people are tryin’ to call in an’ I’ve got work to dish out.” The base controller’s voice was totally different now: deeper, louder and angrier. “Sorry, John.”

“Get back onto Channel One, Ray, an’ watch yisser fuckin’ language on the air. Rie, who’s callin’ there?”

The radio seemed to come to life then, with courier after courier being answered in the scramble to get logged in before nine o’clock.

I finished my cigarette, drank some tea and then lit up another one while the work started to be despatched.

“Nineteen Naoise,”

There was the customary pause while Naoise answered.

“BIM on Crofton Road’ll give ye one for Fitzwilliam.”

“Seven, Mick.”

“Nip up as far as Tayto there, Mick, an’ grab something from accounts comin’ into College Green.”

“Twenty-one Dolores.”

“One in the treasury for you goin’ as far as Tallaght.”

At this stage I was sitting on the edge of my seat. North, south and centre had been despatched work - that just left west. The radio went silent.

Again, I felt ignored, left out, unwanted. What happened to my turn? I was the first person on the air and all of these people were getting work before me. I tried to console myself with the fact that it was just logistics, but found myself to be oddly reluctant to stop sulking at the base.

“Twenty-one Dolores, coke for the Western.”

More silence. The suspense was killing me. The cigarette and the tea were butchered equally voraciously, leaving me with ten fidgety fingers and nothing to occupy them with. I put on the kettle again.

“Roger, Vinno, no worries.”

That was the first I had heard from Vinno that morning. It was twelve minutes past nine. Listening to the base controller’s attitude towards different couriers left me with the distinct impression that all couriers were not equal - far from it, actually. There was poor Ray calling in well in time and still being wound up and here was Vinno calling in late and not a peep. It made me wonder how I could expect to be treated, assuming that I was on the bottom of the heap - being brand new and totally inexperienced. It was quite eerie the way the very next job fuelled the notion of me being treated badly.

“Two Charlie, .Woodies in Tallaght will give ye one for Sandyford - giz a shout when ye have it on board.”

I might have been new but I knew that I had radioed in a good ten minutes before Charlie, who I also remembered from bumping into me at the hatch the previous day. I was gutted. There was no need for me to be passed over like that. Maybe I would never be treated fairly in this industry. Maybe I should just give up now and save myself a lot of being walked over, preempting the fact that I would never get a fair crack of the whip from these people.

“Four Sean.”

The radio skittered across the table and onto the floor via the chair having been sent flying by my over eager hand - such being the enthusiasm with which I grabbed for it on hearing my name and number being called. I scrambled around the table and onto
the floor in a panic, just barely failing to get my finger on the button before being called again - by number alone this time- in a tone that was on the verge of irritation.

“Four”

“Yes, yes go ahead,” I answered, wondering if the base controller would be able to tell by my voice that I was lying breathless on the floor.

“There’s one in Superquinn on the Newcastle Road for you. See Mary in the office and she’ll give you one for Sutton.”

“Roger, yes-no problem. Thank you.”

I couldn’t believe it, that’s where we went shopping! I knew exactly where it was- happy days! Tallaght was miles away from me so he gave that other job to Charlie, waiting to get something closer for me, which worked out perfectly.

Nobody was trying to walk all over me.

I put on my jacket and walked out to the bike, a man happy in his new job.

I had experienced, without even noticing it, my first taste of the extremes to which mood and temperament can swing almost instantly with the base controller in this most testing of professions.

It was totally gratifying for me to make the familiar journey as a courier instead of just a shopper. I was at work: a man on a mission. People were depending on me to take important documents from one branch to another as quickly as possible. I drove a little faster than usual, egged on by the constant activity of the radio, a non-stop reminder that I had a job to do.

I parked and locked my bike in the appropriate area and had walked about half way to the main entrance when Aidan’s voice replaced the now almost familiar John that had been in my ear all morning.

“Good morning campers!”

It startled me to be the first courier called. “Four Sean.”

“Er, yeah go ahead.”

“You’re picking up in Superquinn, yeah? How’re you getting’ on?”

I felt proud to answer. “Just going in the front door now.”

“Good man. Giz a shou’ when ye have it on board. Who’s callin’ there?”

I was beaming as I bounced into the supermarket, going straight up to customer services as per my strategy determined en route to boldly announce my mission.

The girl on duty was looking inquisitively at me by the time I arrived at her station.

“I’m collecting something from Mary going to Sutton.”

“One moment, please.” she said, through pursed lips that were flexed to resist movement in an effort to appear posh. She picked up a phone and pushed a button. The other end was prompt to answer, then some more silly posh talking

“Hi Mary, it’s Celeste here at customer services. Your courier’s here for you. Okay?”

The phone was given her full attention as she gently re-cradled it before updating me. “She’s on her way down to you now.”

“Thanks.”

I’m in the right place and have made contact with the sender who is on her way. Couldn’t be going smoother than that! This courier game is going to be a walk in the park!

While showering myself with silent praises, I had started wandering across the aisles, looking down to see if there was any sign of Mary trotting eagerly towards customer services, laden down with my important cargo. The supermarket was pretty quiet, as I imagined most of them would be at this time of day, so I had a good view down the full length of each aisle. The only member of staff that I had seen coming towards this end of the shop had been a young, mousey looking girl making her way up the third aisle over carrying a cabbage. It appeared that Mary had decided to take her time leaving the office.

Upon getting back to the customer service desk, I placed my helmet on it in a gesture of impatience. Celeste looked up briefly from a clipboard that she had been writing in, but returned her disinterested gaze to it immediately. I turned to march along this end of the aisles again only to find myself face to face with the cabbage- bearing girl. As I sidestepped to let her get to the desk, I happened to notice her name badge. It said Mary. She
didn’t move to pass me.

“Are you the courier?”

I hadn’t got the wherewithal to answer her due to the fact that my brain had two and only two overpowering words overrunning everything else leaving no space for any other thoughts or words or actions: a cabbage!

“Er, I know it seems funny but they’ve run out of cabbage in Sutton. Well, me ma works in Superquinn in Sutton and today is bacon and cabbage day and there’s none there and she’s off at twelve so…I’ll put this in a bag for you.”

My horrified eyes couldn’t help but follow it and her to the checkouts and back. It must have been obvious how deflated I felt because Mary was full of apologies as she handed the bag over to me. To my credit I managed to croak that it was Okay, as I took the morale killing green bastard from her. With nothing else left to do or say, the hero of five minutes ago turned weakly and trudged towards the exit on much heavier feet than those that had carried him in, struggling to insert the vile vegetable into a bag that was designed to carry flat cargo.

“Four Sean.”

“Go ahead, Sean.”

“I have this…er…job on board.”

“Roger, Sean. I have one more for ye. Header down to number ten Sheepmore Way in Blanchardstown. See Jackie there and she’ll give ye one for Aer Arann in the airport. Giz a shou’ when ye have it on board.”

“Er, Roger.”

“Do you know your way around Blanch’?”

“No.”

“Did you buy a map yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll see how ye get on with this one so-call me if ye have any problems. Now Fifteen John…”

They weren’t joking when they said that he didn’t like giving directions, but the way he said “see how ye get on” convinced me that this was a test. He knew that he was sending me into the unknown and he was going to monitor my progress. I was more
than likely being timed on this one. No time for delay or panic, straight out with the map, right there in the car park.

P, Q, R, S…Sh…She…There! Page eighteen, co-ordinates D1

Upon turning to the appropriate page and locating the square D1, I found the tiny stretch of road that was my destination, surrounded by the rest of the Sheepmore Estate not too far from the Blanchardstown Shopping Centre, which made things a little easier.

It was clear to me that my best route was to take the M50 as far as the Navan Road, drive past the shopping centre on my left, taking the next exit on the left onto Blanchardstown Road South.

From there it was a right turn at the next roundabout onto Blakestown Way and then the next left into the Sheepmore estate. I jammed the map in beside the cabbage, unlocked my bike and set off to follow the directions, which I repeatedly mumbled to myself to hammer home my route and also to drown out the negative voice in my head that was snarling that this pick up was probably going to be a fucking turnip.

M50-Navan Road - Blanchardstown Road South - Blakes-town Way -Sheepmore Avenue - Sheepmore Grove - Sheepmore Way. Onto the M50 and up to the toll booth, repeating the remainder of the route. Navan Road - Blanch Road South - Blake-stown Way - Sheepmore Avenue, Grove, Way. Here we go onto the Navan Road so its Blanch South - Blakes Way then Sheep-more Avenue, Gardens,way. No that’s not right. It’s definitely avenue then something then walk.

Details and directions don’t seem to stay in the head very long while driving a motorbike through traffic. The constant chatter of the radio is no help either, filling my head with place and company names that are of no consequence to me whatsoever.

As I veered left for the off ramp at the slightly familiar shopping centre, my head was a jumble of place names jostling for position around the skeleton of the turns I had to make, which I was clinging onto for dear life. Realising that I was now on Blanchardstown Road South reduced the clutter slightly, but I
still clung to the turns I had to make with all of the concentration that wasn’t employed on my driving. The traffic was light enough so I wasn’t overtaking many cars, but I was driving a little faster than normal in the gallop to complete the route, the skeleton of which I was constantly repeating in my head with more than average determination. Right at the roundabout, then left a good bit up then second left then right and finally left into the cul-de-sac.