Gurriers (26 page)

Then there are the Friday accounts. These are (usually small) businesses that have an account but only use couriers when it’s really, really urgent, which is much more likely to be on a Friday than any other day, and therefore pester the base with phone calls panicking because their courier has not arrived to collect their package in the three minutes since they booked the call. These calls take up so much telephonists’ time and bother the office staff so much as to make the accounts not worth having. No matter how much the Friday accounts are panicking about their jobs they are treated as low priority. Friday accounts change their courier services a lot.

On my first Friday, Aidan was screaming an answer to one of these accounts down the phone when I approached the hatch at ten past one with a job going north that I had brought in from Sandyford. I had ten jobs in already, although four of them were minis, I would be clear once he took this off me and I was close to fainting with the hunger.

“Tell the fuckin’ geebag tha’ he’s not her courier, he’s my courier, and he’s busy doin’ work for people tha’ fuckin’ use us every day and if she doesn’t like tha’, she can fuck off and use someone else.”

“Here’s that one for Clonshaugh, Aidan!” I said, cheerily anticipating lunch. If looks could kill I would have dropped dead on the spot. I had made two errors: firstly, I had presumed that he was going to take the north bound job off me without being told so. Base controllers, and Aidan in particular, hate presumption. My second mistake was addressing him so cheerily when he was just finishing a stress tantrum on the phone. I ran into his bad mood like a rowing boat would run into a 20 foot high swell in the ocean.

“What the fuck do you want me to do with it?”

“I...er...well…”

“You seem to be taken i’ for granted tha’ I’m going to give this to someone else an’ then give you some more fuckin, sou’ side gravy!”

“But I only know the south side!” Again, that little voice in my head urged me to give him back the radio and escape from this stinking profession.

“Well, it’s about fuckin’ time tha’ changed! I need couriers tha’ know everywhere and go anywhere. Go ahead, Dolores.”

As his attention went to the radio and my blood boiled, a three way debate raged in my head.

“Tell him you’ve had enough and just walk out!”

“Yeah, to go home, watch TV, cry about her and wank! Grow a pair an’ and tell this prick not to talk to you like that and that you’ll be as good a courier as he ever saw someday.”

“Just tell him that you made a mistake thinking that he’d take the envelope, but that’s what he’s been doing all week.”

The debate ended with Aidan’s voice snapping me back into reality. “Roger, Dolores, an’ I’ve one in the base for Clonshaugh to go wi’ them. Maybe get ye home for a bie!”

Oh, no! Not me again, I thought.

“Rie, we’re gonna’ star’ gettin’ you used to the whole city so ye’ll be more use to me, bu-.”

“Of course ye are, that’s what ye said at the start; and I’ve been north and west and got the job done! I only thought you’d take this one off me because that’s what you’ve been doing the past few days and don’t forget, that’s as long as I’ve been doing this stinking job! Actually d’ye know wha’?”

That’s the one, Sean! Go on, ye good thing, the little voice said. Tell him to shove it up his arse!

After flinging off the bag I held eye contact as I slowly and dramatically took the radio from my shoulder. “I don’t think this is for me.”

No wonder she dumped you as soon as the going got tough! the voice nagged.

I ceremoniously placed the radio on the ledge of the hatch with great angst tearing me to pieces over the onslaught from my harsh self doubt.

Aidan seemed surprised both at the outburst and the subsequent obvious depression. “Look, Sean, I was jus’ makin’ a point!”

“You’re being an asshole – giving out to me when there is no need for it.” My fear of the man waned in the light of my imminent departure from this profession.

“I say who goes where with what in these here parts, man, and I always come down hard on anyone who tries to undermine my authority.”

“I wasn’t doing that!”

“Okay…give me that Clonshaugh an’ get yerself a quick bie to eat. Ye can take this with ye,” Aidan tentatively pushed the radio a symbolical inch in my direction. “Ye can always hand
it in later.”

I made him endure an exaggerated pause before complying. “Later,” was all I said as I picked up the radio. I actually felt complimented when he shouted after me from the hatch to be sure to make it a quick bite because he was expecting it to “hop” this afternoon. It thrilled me that he deemed it so important to get the last word in.

I had got the better of him.

My heart sank when I returned, with a ham salad bap that was in for a swift and merciless devouring, to see that the only bike there was Dolores’. This wasn’t because she scared me (well, a little bit) but more because I knew that she was going north, where she would try to have a quick bite at home. She wouldn’t be hanging around to accompany me for lunch. Sure enough, she was doorwards in full battle gear, as I opened the door. We exchanged nods as I held it open for her to exit without breaking her stride.

I put the kettle on and then sat at the table with my back to the window to extract the doomed bap from my bag prior to removing my outer layer. I didn’t notice it at the time but as Dolores left the yard, John entered it. The 600 CC single cylinder Yamaha noise and the 500 CC single cylinder Honda noise mixed perfectly as the one departed while the other arrived leaving me sitting there, rooting in the bag, with the distinct impression that Dolores had gone out, turned on her bike, revved it a bit and then turned it off again.

As I took the bap from my bag, the door burst open energetically.

“This is it, Aidan old boy! The moment of the week that makes all the other moments almost worth it,” bellowed John from the frame of the door.

A quick glance at Aidan revealed him trying not to grin.

“I believe you have a little piece of paper with my name and hopefully a large number written on it?”

“Fifteen isn’t that big a number, John!”

“I mean that number after the Pound sign, oh wise and funny one!”

“So do I,” Aidan said, placing a small brown envelope on the ledge of the hatch.

“A full week with no deductions brother – there’ll be other digits around that 15. Maybe a seven before it – that’d make me happy enough!” John ripped open the envelope while taking a seat opposite me.

“Fuckin’ sure you would. If you bet seven wi’ the work I gev ye las’ week I’d go back on the road meself!”

“You appear to be forgetting that I got Athlone and Portlaoise on the same run last Wednesday.” John replied, unravelling the folded up piece of computer paper.

“One run doesn’t make a week’s wages.”

John had by now isolated the cheque that was stapled onto the unravelled job sheet and I could see his gaze go straight to the right hand side of the cheque – the bottom line.

“Well,” There was a pause for effect, as I took my first ravenous bite. “I didn’t break seven but I wasn’t a million miles away from it, thanks to your help, good buddy!”

Aidan seemed satisfied with himself as he returned to his ever present duties. John started at the top of the job sheet and had quickly scrutinised his way down about halfway when the approach of an engine caused him to hurriedly fold it and put it back in its envelope. He was in the process of tucking the envelope into his inner jacket pocket when Ray entered the canteen.

“D’ye want me to go ou’ an’ come back in a minute, John? Y’know, official fuckin’ secrets act an’ all tha’ shite!”

“Raymond please! There are no secrets among true friends! I’m just slightly embarrassed by my meagre earnings!”

“Not wi’ all those country jobs ye goh goin’ together. Maybe my spy goh a look a’ yer meagre li’le cheque.”

I jumped, but only slightly, as his hand landed on my shoulder. I was delighted to see Ray and nodded vigorously at him, as I doubled my chewing speed to empty my mouth.

John stared straight at me, his slowly rising right eyebrow displaying his measured intrigue at my participation.

“Well, buddy, wha’ number did ye see?”

“Eight hundred and sixty!”

“Wha’?” Ray’s astonished gaze went straight to John who feigned nonchalance to play along with the spoof, then back to me – almost catching the end of the grin I had shot John but not quite. I managed to look solemn just long enough to prolong the shock slightly.

“No way!” Then back to John who now was the ultimate picture of nonchalance, as he examined his filthy black fingernails. Back to me for a shrug, back to John again who gave away nothing and finally back to me, to give the game away with a big grin.

“Ahh, I knew yiz were only messin’ all the time. Eight sixty! Fifteen John – Nah! Good try tho’, new kid!”

“Fifteen John is well capable of high earnings, you scruffy little man!”

“Noh tha’ fuckin’ high! You’re too busy learnin’ big words and wrie’in’ yer bleedin’ poetry, an’ ye’d want to look in the bleedin’ mirror before ye call me scruffy. Here, gay man, giz ou’ me cheque, will ye?”

“Wha’?”

“I said Aidan giz me cheque, will ye?”

“Is it worth collectin’?”

“Three an’ a half days wi’ the loan an’ the Mountjoy taken ou’ of it…nah, prob’ly not.”

“Well that’s wha’ happens when ye don’ pu’ in the full weeks. The bonus’d prob’ly cover yer Mountjoy fer ye.”

“Ah, ye know how it is, man!” There was a heavy sigh as he plodded over to the hatch.

I had several questions for John. The first was, “What’s the Mountjoy?”

Having been screened for pisstaking before being asked after the Gizzard episode the previous day, John answered, “Mount-joy motorcycles. They have an account here for Mountjoy which we can use to get bike bits or gear or whatever and they can take it ou’ of our wages bit by bit every week.”

“Handy.”

“Indeed. It’s great if you have a bad week and desperately need a tyre or whatever. Most of the lads use it to keep themselves
geared up well also. You’re gonna be surprised how quickly everything wears out in this profession, new kid. Everything wears out…” His gaze drifted up and away as his voice trailed off.

I had intended to ask if he really did write poetry but instead, “Do you want a cup of tea, John?”

His head, still angled towards the ceiling, shook slightly in response without diverting the now intensely furrowed stare.

“I’d love one, man; two sugar, loadsa milk.”

Ray returned to the table with his little envelope just as I was getting up. As I looked at him I caught Aidan’s eye as he looked over from the hatch.

“Tea?” I bellowed past Ray. I saw Aidan shake his head as Ray simultaneously spoke.

“He never lets couriers make him tea anymore since Charlie got caugh’ stickin’ his knob into a cup tha’ he made for him.”

“No way! No one would do that with a hot cup of tea!”

“Well the way it really happened, he was actually only makin’ the tea an’ burnt hisself by accident.”

“He burnt his knob?”

“Yeah he did, man, I was fuckin’ here mesself. Naoise pu’ the kettle on bu’ he filled the fuckin’ thing rie up to the top, yeah? Charlie go’ the cups together an’ pu’ the teabags in them all wi’ou’ knowin’ how full the kettle was, yeah? Now, Aidan has his own mug tha’ no one else uses, so we’re all in here lookin’ at Charlie wi’ Aidan’s cup in his hand when ou’ comes the weapon. We’re all sittin’ here tryin’ to noh break our bollix laughin’ an’ there’s Charlie in the kitchen wi’ Fatso’s cup under his willie, flickin’ it up and lettin’ it fall an’ rub aroun’ the edge of it,” He paused for a chuckle and continued. “Y’know rie where his mouth is goin’ to go, yeah? Next thing the kettle boils so Charlie grabs it in his other han’ ‘cos he’s havin’ a ball lookin’ out at us seizin’ up an’ turnin’ purple an’ all fuckin’ sorts an’ he kinda reverses back over to the counter an’ goes to pour water into the cup on the fuckin’ edge, yeah? Gives it a good tilt over; abou’ three fuckin’ cups full a scaldin’ water splash into the one cup an’ then ou’ an’ all over his poor li’le ding a ling. Big scream,
big smash, he’s off towards the jacks, water everywhere in the kitchen an’ Aidan’s precious cup is on the floor in hundreds a bits. Never le’ a courier make ‘im a cup a tea again!”

“I’m not surprised!”

“An’ if ye ever want to piss Charlie off, make him go really bananas, yeah? Jus’ call him Scaldy Cock!”

“Er…thanks but no thanks. Two sugars?”

“Roger’ an’ loadsa milk.”

Ray sat and slowly, almost reluctantly, (in stark contrast to John) set about opening his pay packet, as I went into the kitchen to make the tea. When I returned with a mug in each hand, Ray was glumly studying his payslip and John was still catatonic. This ended the moment I sat in my chair.

“All weary of wear, the rip and the tear, tyre, jacket and hair, in this job despair!”

“Wow! Well done, John,” I was genuinely impressed. “Whatcha mean ‘tyre, jacket an’ hair’?” demanded Ray. “Everything wears out doing this job, my intellect impaired comrade – the bike, the gear and the rider.”