Gurriers (32 page)

“Er, the head.”

“Couldn’t be, not in a two year old bike. What mileage is on it?”

“Er, em, about eight thousand miles.”

“The cam on them CBs is always good for at least fifty grand and there’s not an awful lot else could be knocking in your head. C’mon and gis a listen to it.”

Two minutes later we were coming back to our tea with me jingling my keys and feeling like a gobshite, vowing never to spoof a mechanical ailment ever again and Paddy reassuring me that there was absolutely nothing wrong with my engine.

The ice had been broken though, and we were ready for the conversation to turn to other things. Eventually I just blurted it out.

“So, er, you like Elaine, do ye?”

His first reaction was to shoot me a guarded glare, as if prepared for me taking the piss out of him. This softened when he realised I wasn’t.

“She’s the nicest in there,” he answered, jerking a thumb to
wards the base room, still being defensive.

“So why don’t you ask her out?”

“Er, yeah. Maybe. Someday.”

“Someday like today?”

“Er, nah, no. Not today.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. What the fuck do you care anyway?”

“Well, I was kinda thinkin’ of asking her out myself, like, you know?”

That got his attention

“But if you’re really into her I won’t bother. I’m not one to step on a workmate’s toes.”

“Er, yeah, well, nice one, I suppose.”

“So I shouldn’t bother?”

“Well, er, do what you want, like!”

“So it’s Okay if I do?”

“No, er, well, yes but…”

“But what?”

“Okay, all right, I fuckin’ am into her!” Paddy, in his exasperation, had forgotten where he was and his voice had risen to a high volume for such personal sentiments. Also, Elaine had just walked out of the base-room with her cup in her hand – bound for the kettle in the kitchen and in a perfect position behind Paddy to have heard his last statement.

It has never ceased to amaze and astound me the way fate seems to lend a hand when it comes to love stories. Paddy and Elaine are just one example and I can recall specific instances where fate has given a dig out each and every time I have been in love myself.

“Into who, Paddy?” Elaine was curious.

Paddy was mortified. “Er…em…” He went bright red almost instantly and suddenly depicted the most awesome example of awkwardness that I have ever witnessed. “Well, I mean…”

I nudged the shin-guard of his boot with the toe of mine to get his attention. When he looked at me I gave a high eyebrow nod to him in her direction to say “go on – tell her.” Elaine was beginning to get amused, as women do when men make
bumbling gobshites out of themselves. I often wondered if deliberately acting like a clumsy, awkward, disorientated and badly coordinated eejit would bring more success with the ladies.

“I’m…into you, Elaine!” blurted Paddy.

That wiped the grin off her face fairly quickly. She also went red and her eyes directed straight to a piece of the floor that had suddenly become so interesting to her that she couldn’t help herself stare at it.

“Do ye want to go for a drink or sum’in some nigh’?”

She delayed an agonising length before answering that one, as women have done since the dawn of time.

“Er… Okay.”

I was spellbound. It was like watching a beautiful flower open up in front of me. He seemed to regain his composure in the time it took the huge grin to spread across his face, raising himself to his full height and sticking his chest out in delight. She had managed to tear her eyes away from the spot on the floor and look straight at him. She was also grinning.

“Can I get your phone number so?”

“Yeah.”

They were mesmerised with each other as I watched on.

Nobody had noticed Aidan’s head appear in the hatch, and the three of us jumped when he roared, “Doctor Zhivago eat your fuckin’ heart out! I’ve fuckin’ seen it all now!” He turned back towards the base room. “They’re fuckin’ fallin’ in love out here! In the name of Jaysus, I don’t know!”

Two minutes later Paddy was heading west with me putting my lid on trying to work out my best route with the four jobs I had going south. Elaine sat in her corner of the noisy office like a little mouse, knowing full well that she might as well have been on stage in front of the rest of them for all the attention she was getting.

She was still grinning, though.

The saga continued over the next eleven months and Paddy and Elaine developed into as solid and loving a couple as I have ever known. I gained two precious friends in the process.

As time passed by I became more accustomed to being spoken to by total strangers as if we were close friends just because we were doing the same job. I had come to this job from an industry where competitors were rivals and by association people who worked for the competition were regarded as opponents. Not so in the courier industry. Courier companies competed for accounts with each other as voraciously as anybody but couriers were all brothers! Couriers were the only people on the road that appreciated what couriers went through with the whole world against them at speed all day, every day.

I felt terribly alone when I started the job but every courier that commented on my bike at a traffic light or nodded across a junction in the pissing rain in mutual sympathy, contributed to making me feel more and more like one of the club, with several hundred brothers on two wheels suffering the same pressure, adversity and burdens as I was that I could count on to be on my side.

This feeling was strengthened by my workmates waving at me when we passed each other on the streets. They all seemed to recognise me immediately whereas it took me a while to get
the hang of distinguishing the people I knew as they approached at speed. No matter which one of them it was, they invariably waved first – meaning that they had spotted me before I recognised them; they were sharper.

They didn’t always just wave, either.

On the Wednesday of my first full week I was travelling along Stephens Place, coming from Mount Street Lower, scrutinising the garage door style entrances to my right in search of number 14 when I was startled by a simultaneous roar of a powerful motorbike and a continuous beep. I looked to the front instantly and almost jumped out of my skin to see an outstretched Sidi motorbike boot thundering out of the archway that led onto Mount Street Upper heading straight for me. There was, of course, a rider and motorbike attached, but Shay, high up on his BMW trailie, had his boot held high and wide enough for his right sole to be the sole focus of attention as he beeped the horn. This grabbed my full panic–stricken attention for an instant, a crucial instant, to get maximum effect. I ducked while braking hard just as he swerved away, retracting his leg to safety. This sent me wildly off balance and I had to stomp my left foot to the ground to stop my bike and me from toppling over. I only realised that it was Shay who had caught me napping when I turned angrily, having steadied the bike, to identify the offender. He gave two short beeps and raised his left hand in a salute as the cold wave of terror washed over me. I was a little bit surprised that somebody who seemed as sensible as Shay would pull a stunt like that, but grinned at his departing salute, knowing that I would be glaring in a horrified manner at him.

“Bastard, Shay! Oh! There’s fourteen there.”

Then there was the time that Ray pulled up beside me at the junction of Grand Canal Street and Haddington Road where Haddington Road split into South Lotts and Bath Avenue while Grand Canal Street continued on to become Shelbourne Road, meaning that five directions of traffic met at the one intersection. If you missed the green light at this junction you were more than likely in for a long wait. I felt as if I had been there an age when Ray stopped beside me. He was already talking,
and fast, fully aware of the time constraints involved in red light conversations.

“’kin ha’e these lights, man. If I wasn’t deliverin’ to Shel-bourne Road I’d a gone through the gap beside Grand Canal House an’ up along the path to Northumberland Road. D’ya know tha’ way? Could take five minutes off yer journey, man! See here ye have to wai’ for these fuckers to go across here,” he said, pointing along Haddington Road through the junction and down Bath Avenue. “Then ye have to wai’ for pedestrians there an’ then ye have to wai’ for these fuckers to go down there.”

This time he pointed along Haddington Road and down South Lotts but he left his hand there, hovering over my handlebars, as he continued. “Bu’ ye see the way tha’ li’e jus’ wen’ red tha’ means we GO!”

Our light went green just as he said go, catching me off guard because of listening to him, and the little shit flicked my kill switch to off with his perfectly positioned pointing hand before tearing away on his bashed up banger – leaving me motionless and stunned in front of a green light with no engine on. Granted, it only took a second to turn on the kill switch and fire up the engine but that was enough time for two cars to beep – heralding the fact that Ray had put one over on me. I knew that hearing the cars sound their horns was the icing on the cake for him. Bastard! I tore straight after him in a temper and caught up with him as he pulled over outside an office block on Shel-bourne Road. He was still laughing as I slowed down, lifting my visor to roar, “Ye little bollix!”

“Sharpen up man!”

Oddly enough, that’s the same thing that John said to me the time he made me jump out of my skin at a red light at the junction of Suffolk Street and College Green, after sneaking up behind me on my left, as I watched the traffic to my right and simultaneously beeping and slapping me hard on the back.

Vinno, on the other hand, advised me to stay on my toes with more than a little sarcasm after he had swept my left leg out from under me while I daydreamed at a red light where Warrington Place meets Mount Street. He was nice about it,
though, and made sure to brake hard as soon as he kicked my supporting leg out from under me so that I had the back of his bike to catch myself on and therefore regain my balance.

No place was sacred to these jokers and they never missed an opportunity to startle the shite out of a compatriot.

The morning after the Shy Boy episode, I was standing at the reception desk of the IDA headquarters in Wilton Park House, helmet balanced on head as usual, when my radio strap was grabbed from behind and pulled so hard that my right shoulder was dragged backwards, sending me wildly off balance. A hand pushed roughly on my left shoulder blade, combining with the force on my strap to turn me sharply through 180 degrees before all of the force converted to a forward direction, forcefully accelerating me towards the revolving doors. Taken totally by surprise, I was almost half way to the door before I managed to react, swinging my arms in the air in protestation at the unreachable assailant, still taking reluctant giant steps made essential by the increasing amount of force being applied to man-handle me out of the building.

“What the hell?” I managed to blurt out.

“I’m sick of youse bastards noh takin’ yer fuckin’ lids off so ye can jus’ ge’ fuckin’ ou’!”

This scared the bejasus out of me. I thought that I was being attacked by a psychotic security guard and knew that I had to fight back. I swung as hard as I could and stomped my right foot hard on the ground while bending my left leg in an attempt to change direction before I physically collided with the revolving door. I failed in this attempt.

The impact jolted the door into revolving and the offending hands gave me one more shove for good measure to see me on my way. They then pushed against the following section of door to further assist my departure. I had stumbled out of the building, barely catching my helmet in time as it fell off my head, before I had a chance to turn and see my assailant for the first time. It was Darren the pushbike courier.

As the burst of adrenalin surged through me it sparked off a miniature eruption of anger. I had been at the reception for
an agonising few minutes waiting for some asshole to bring my package down and I was in no mood for shite like this. I had no idea what I intended to do but it started with an angry stomp back into the building. Back through the revolving doors, staring at the source of my anger, as he quickly removed his bag and radio. I wondered if he was preparing for a fight.

Clunk! Motionless- trapped!

The bastard had jammed the door with his radio. A quick push in the other direction confirmed that the door only rotated one way. I was trapped until the shithead moved his radio out of the way. He didn’t appear to be in too much of a hurry to do that either, being so occupied with pointing, laughing and jumping gleefully in the air at the success of his tomfoolery. His delight was only magnified by the abuse I roared at him. I’m sure I would have been better off not giving him the gratification but I just couldn’t help myself. Most of the insults were snippets of what I had heard other couriers say to him.

“Just ‘cos you haven’t got the balls for an engine, ye little shite! You let me out of here now! I haven’t got time for this, ye bollix!” As I banged the glass of the door, he slapped his legs in exaggerated display of hilarity, infuriating me even more.