Gurriers (7 page)

“And another thing,” Vinno performed the same trick again, “wuzzle nic nic usha doo.”

I could see Aidan to the left of Vinno’s shoulder strain to hear and then react to him before realising that he was being had. I wondered if anybody else had noticed.

“Yaaah! Ye gobshite ye!”

They had. It was Ray, at the opposite side of the table to me, who had spotted Aidan falter past Vinno’s other shoulder.

“Number one gets ye again! Gowan the Vinno!”

Aidan seemed dejected as he weakly implored, “Remember, I said please!”

I caught the expression that Vinno shot him because he did it over his right shoulder. It was a genuine, comforting, affirmative gaze accompanied by the barest of nods. It was enough for Aidan, who turned to answer his phone, which had been ringing in the background for the previous thirty seconds or so.

Vinno fished a sandwich from his courier bag, placed it on the table and made for the kettle as normal conversation resumed in the canteen.

“Okay! Three, Shay, three.” Aidan was on the phone and mike simultaneously again.

I hung on every word that was said that lunchtime, sometimes straining to keep up with two separate but equally fascinating conversations on topics that seemed universal in this environment: bikes, women, Gardaí, wages, work, crashes, claims, pubs, taxi scum, football, stupid bitches in cars and so on. I was quite happy to sit quietly at my corner of the table and absorb all that went on around me, fascinated by the manner as well as the content as these colourful characters expressed their opinions and experiences with each one’s own original flair for expression. I had never before encountered such a highly strung group of people who had so much to say, who were so intent on saying it, and who delivered their respective rhetoric with such gusto.

I also continued to relax more with the company of these rough, gruff individuals who flung insults and threats at each other so readily while, oddly enough, emitting an aura of camaraderie that I have never witnessed in any other company.

It gradually dawned on me that there was no danger or hazard of any sort for me with these people, however loud or angry the situation became. I was very quickly beginning to feel at home with couriers.

Every now and then Aidan would shout through the hatch for the next away whereby one of the couriers would approach him armed with signature book and pen. Everybody seemed to know exactly where they were in the queue because most of the time one individual alone went hopefully to his base controller unchallenged. I witnessed two exceptions to this routine during my first lunch break in Lightning. The first was when the Gizzard tried to jump ahead of John for no reason other than
to wind him up, only backing down when it was pointed out to him that he would most likely earn more money that afternoon if he didn’t have to visit the “hoppo” to have a size nine Sidi motorbike boot removed from his arse. The second was a dispute between Naoise and Ray centring around the fact that Ray had arrived in the yard first but had stayed there having a smoke with Ger while Naoise came in behind him and got into the canteen first. It confused me at first why they stayed outside for a smoke instead of coming in because everybody who smoked did so in the canteen. I scolded my naivety when the penny finally dropped that they had been smoking a joint outside. Aidan sorted out the dispute by letting Naoise go first, quelling Ray’s protests by telling him that he was dopey enough at his job without getting stoned into the bargain and that if he forgot to pick up or drop off even one job that afternoon, he would be fired. This amazed me. Any job I had ever done before would have an employee fired on the spot for smoking dope or taking drugs of any sort while at work but here he just got a warning to do his job properly or else.

As two o’clock approached and the number of couriers in the canteen systematically lessened, it looked more and more likely that I was going to have to engage in conversation with somebody before very long. This scared me, despite me feeling less threatened by the minute, because I had no idea what I could say to any of these men that would be of any interest to them. I was also becoming anxious because I knew that my turn for work was coming.

Butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach as the daunting task of going forth with bag and radio to do battle in that stinking city, as Vinno had put it, became ever closer and more real. I decided about nine times that I was not going to become a courier but didn’t make a single move out of my seat, with the image of me being a rabbit under the glare of a hungry snake being invoked by my own helplessness to act in my own good. There was only the Gizzard, Vinno and myself left, with the other two deep in conversation about how nasty the porno faggots were (it was not until the next day that I found out that Porno Faggots
were motorbike traffic Gardaí, who gave couriers a particularly hard time), when the rolling thunder of a big bike once more distracted me from the proceedings.

I was glad to see another courier come in, hopeful that he would delay my transformation into a courier that little bit longer, my nerves refusing to let me realise that I had my place in the queue and whoever came in after me would go out after me. I did consciously realise that the Gizzard was the only one left that had been in the room when I had arrived and that I was out after him but I think that I had subconsciously intended just to sit there and let other couriers answer the call next until there was no-one left, then sneak away quietly.

The big trailie style BMW pulled up about as close to the front door as possible without actually going through it. In one fluent movement the courier that was driving it put the side stand down with his left foot, leaned the bike over to his left onto it and launched himself off the saddle. He seemed to land on the ground running, swerving around the protruding handlebar of his bike without even looking at it, and burst through the door raising up his helmet and loudly addressing Aidan as he was barely over the threshold. I had never before witnessed so many different actions being done with such efficiency and speed.

He was half way across the room, had his base controller’s attention and was well into his explanation about this gobshite out in the airport who had delayed him for twenty minutes, in less time than it would have taken me just to put the stand down and get off the bike.

He didn’t even take the helmet off his head, just pushed it up until the chinguard jammed on his forehead, leaving his face visible, his voice audible and his hands free. He spent about twenty seconds at the hatch talking to Aidan while shifting his weight hurriedly from one foot to the other as if in a dire need to visit the toilet. To say that this man gave the impression of being in a hurry would be a gross understatement; this man exuded such urgency that I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything I could do to assist him. I saw an envelope being handed to him through the hatch. The minute he had it in his
hands he started moving away from the hatch, simultaneously sliding the courier bag under his right arm to get it from back to front to put the envelope in, even though he hadn’t finished what he was saying to Aidan.

“Yeah. Right. Okay – so I get these two on board then straight to Rathgar up to Terenure and then west. Keep us in mind if ye ge’ an’in on me rou’.”

He was moving backwards towards the door, gesturing directionally with both hands as he made sure that his base controller knew his intended route should any calls come in within striking distance of him and raising his voice as he got further
away to make sure that everything was perfectly clear to both of them.

“An’ if yer one in the AIB gets on to ye jus’ tell ‘er that some fuckin’ eejit delayed me by not signin’ for a letter ‘cos i’ was addressed to someone else…yeah well, the reason for tha’ is that she wouldn’t sign for sum’in off me before tha’ was addressed to the manager…exac’ly, educate the fuckin’ bitch while givin’ ‘er an excuse tha’ she can’t complain about’ ‘cos she fuckin’ did the same thing herself!”

I heard Aidan’s chuckle again, although I couldn’t make out what he was saying because the leather clad whirlwind was between him and me. Having completed his business with Aidan he turned to face his workmates at the table. It seemed that he could afford to spend a fraction of a second to be jovial with Vinno and the Gizzard, although he never stopped moving towards the door.

“Jaysus! Lunch breaks an’ all for fuck’s sake! I don’t know! D’yiz not need to make money or wha’?”

“Don’t fuckin’ need to make as much as you do, Shay. Sure ye only stuff it into yer mattress anyway, ye greedy fuck!” It was the Gizzard who got the first retort in.

“Ah, but I’m sure he sleeps well on it every nie, eh?” Vinno added.

“D’yeh hear rich, number one!”

Shay was at the door by now, time for a final witticism be
fore tearing off. “Sure, if I had your money I’d burn me own, for fuck’s sake!” All three were laughing as Shay jumped on his bike, straightened it up and turned on the ignition while kicking the side stand up before sliding his helmet back down over his face and hitting the start button while pulling the handlebars with the same hand to get the front wheel pointing the right way. As soon as the left hand joined the other end of the bar the bike started to move, performing one of the most graceful turns I have ever seen such a big bike do, which landed him perfectly at the little gate. The slightest of pauses to make sure that there was no traffic coming along Lad Lane and then he was gone, the thunder of his engine fading away as if it was chasing after
him, struggling to keep up with the blistering pace at which this man did everything.

“Shay’s some earner!” commented Vinno.

“Never stops for a second once there’s work to be done. Fatso knows he can load him up wi’ any amount of work an’ jus’ forget abou’ i’!”

“Bit like yerself, Vinno.”

“No, not me Giz – sure don’t they all call me slow Vinno?”

“Who?”

“All the lads.”

“All wha’ lads?”

“Y’know.”

“I know you’re a bullshitter!”

“Sure, aren’t we all?”

“Gizzard! You next?” Aidan enquired from the hatch.

“Yep.”

“No messin!”

“I fuckin’ wasn’t messin’ las’ time!”

“Ask me bollix!”

“I was half way through me bleedin’ chips before that poetic fucker, John came in!”

Did I hear right? Did he just call John a poetic fucker? Don’t tell me one of these boys writes poetry! Now that would surprise me. Although, didn’t I look like one of them now and don’t I write poetry? I shouldn’t be so judgemental with these
people, just as others had been judgemental with me because of my chosen form of transport. I made a mental note to investigate the statement as the Gizzard picked his signature book off the table and headed for the hatch to be allocated his first run of the afternoon, leaving just me and Vinno in an awkward moment’s silence. It was Vinno that broke this silence, naturally, since I didn’t know what to say.

“That CB’s yours, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice bike, meant to be grea’ for the job.”

“What job?” I mentally scolded myself upon saying this. Oh, you gobshite! What a stupid fucking thing to say , Sean. Cop on!

He looked at me in a sort of bewildered way for a second before answering.

“Window cleanin’! I believe the CB is the favourite bike among window cleaners these days, meant to be grea’ for carryin’ ladders an’ buckets an’ all tha’ shi’e’.”

I could feel my face burning up with the embarrassment of being the brunt of such a well-earned smart comment, but I was laughing at the comedy of it.

“I’m sorry. I, er, wasn’t quite with you there. This is my first day.”

“First day here?”

“First day as a courier.”

“Wha’ d’ye think of it so far?”

“There, um, isn’t really much so far! I haven’t done any work yet.”

“Bran’ spankin’ new, eh?”

“Yep.”

“Wha’ did ye do before?”

“Program computers.”

“Wha’ the fuck are ye doin’ here so?”

“Well I-er-lost my job and . . .”

As my voice trailed away, I realised that in the time since
I had entered the base, I had been so distracted by all of the activity around me and the antics of these wild creatures that I hadn’t been moping over Saoirse anywhere near as much as was customary these days. She had been on my mind but I had been concentrating on what was going on around me so much that I hadn’t been dwelling on my misery. I had not been the sorrowful, miserable wretch that she had turned me into for a whole 75 minutes! That was amazing, and I was delighted about it, but, of course, thinking about it had turned me back into the aforementioned wretch and my heart sank back to the depths that being around these couriers had lifted it out of.

The customary wave of depression washed over me as my eyes glazed over and my throat developed that sickly lump once more, oblivious to the fact that I had been in mid-sentence until reminded.

“And wha’?”

“And my,” I found it difficult to speak. “My girlfriend.” Before I had thought about it, I had blurted out what was on my mind. That could have been a bad mistake – especially in this company.

“Oh, Jaysus! A broken heart! Say no more. I suppose ye didn’t have the boa’ fare to France for to join the Foreign Legion, so ye came here to forget, eh?”