I know there are a lot of stressful jobs in this world; lion tamer, air-traffic control tower guy, suicide bomber. Somehow I just don’t see bike messenger fitting into this category. Yes, they have to weave in and out of downtown traffic wielding their precious cargo like that crazy guy from Lord of The Rings, ready to get lost under a truck tire at any moment. Ok, so they do have to deal with the police a lot of the time (but c’mon guys – driving in pedestrian lanes and knocking over little old ladies isn’t totally socially acceptable - yet).
Sure, they have some strict deadlines and I’m sure some jackass somewhere asking them to get a package from New York to Antarctica in nine and a half minutes, but really, the rest of the time they sit out in the sun, watching women in business suits walk by, smoking cigarettes and possibly some doobs.
That’s why I get utterly mystified when my courier packages go inexplicably missing, and the courier I call to ask about it sounds like the world is caving in underneath him so he has no time to look for it now but he’ll call me back. Which he obviously never does.
If there were a horror movie based around missing packages, I would be the star – especially if said packages were actually legal letters involving millions of dollars potentially incoming to The Company. The plot would go something like this:
A hard-working girl trying to make it big within The Company always takes the necessary precautions to send deliveries promptly – even marking a big red RUSH on each important envelope. A crazed letter-hungry thief stalks each courier that has the girl’s letters and takes out vengeance upon them. Crazed guy turns out to be her boss’s old assistant, fired for stealing paperclips and toilet paper; now out for revenge. There would be some sort of secondary plotline involving a love story or possibly a plan to take over the world.
So this morning, I hand-delivered a Very Important Letter to avoid any risk of it being lost. Somehow a package was delivered to this same address last week, signed for and everything. However, no one at that company recognizes the signature. Nor can the letter be found. My plotline isn’t too far off I tell you.
Anyhow, walking over there, through the Plus 15*, I discovered one of the greatest joys of having long hair ever: a wind tunnel. Obviously I had to stop and make Marilyn-esque poses. For half an hour.
Don’t you worry; the package did eventually get there and yet again the heroine** saved the day. Now excuse me while I go fix my hair.
[Update: I just got to walk through the wind tunnel again in search of a garbage can (I'm an integral part of the team). The average price of garbage cans at The Bay is $147.99. Seriously for $147.99 my garbage can had better compact my garbage, take it to the dumpster and give me a massage when it gets back. Who the hell pays $147.99 for a garbage can? No wonder they sold the company.]
*Equivalent to a Skywalk. Otherwise known as a gerbil-tunnel that connects one building to another in the downtown core, 15 feet above the ground
** Not to be confused with the drug heroine – which I’m sure has not saved many a day, rather made many a day much, much worse. But I digress.
Sure, they have some strict deadlines and I’m sure some jackass somewhere asking them to get a package from New York to Antarctica in nine and a half minutes, but really, the rest of the time they sit out in the sun, watching women in business suits walk by, smoking cigarettes and possibly some doobs.
That’s why I get utterly mystified when my courier packages go inexplicably missing, and the courier I call to ask about it sounds like the world is caving in underneath him so he has no time to look for it now but he’ll call me back. Which he obviously never does.
If there were a horror movie based around missing packages, I would be the star – especially if said packages were actually legal letters involving millions of dollars potentially incoming to The Company. The plot would go something like this:
A hard-working girl trying to make it big within The Company always takes the necessary precautions to send deliveries promptly – even marking a big red RUSH on each important envelope. A crazed letter-hungry thief stalks each courier that has the girl’s letters and takes out vengeance upon them. Crazed guy turns out to be her boss’s old assistant, fired for stealing paperclips and toilet paper; now out for revenge. There would be some sort of secondary plotline involving a love story or possibly a plan to take over the world.
So this morning, I hand-delivered a Very Important Letter to avoid any risk of it being lost. Somehow a package was delivered to this same address last week, signed for and everything. However, no one at that company recognizes the signature. Nor can the letter be found. My plotline isn’t too far off I tell you.
Anyhow, walking over there, through the Plus 15*, I discovered one of the greatest joys of having long hair ever: a wind tunnel. Obviously I had to stop and make Marilyn-esque poses. For half an hour.
Don’t you worry; the package did eventually get there and yet again the heroine** saved the day. Now excuse me while I go fix my hair.
[Update: I just got to walk through the wind tunnel again in search of a garbage can (I'm an integral part of the team). The average price of garbage cans at The Bay is $147.99. Seriously for $147.99 my garbage can had better compact my garbage, take it to the dumpster and give me a massage when it gets back. Who the hell pays $147.99 for a garbage can? No wonder they sold the company.]
*Equivalent to a Skywalk. Otherwise known as a gerbil-tunnel that connects one building to another in the downtown core, 15 feet above the ground
** Not to be confused with the drug heroine – which I’m sure has not saved many a day, rather made many a day much, much worse. But I digress.
10 comments:
Me thinks that given your behavior in the Plus 15, your movie might have been downgraded to music video. Or hair commercial. Nothing to be ashamed of!
Hey, where do we ask you things - right here in the comments? Okay here you go..
Dear Ask Alice,
Why do I cry so much?
Yours,
Weeping in Winston-Salem
They still have bike messengers in Canada?
It's like the land before time up there!
Oh boo, I always had this image in my head of bike messengers being hotties, preferably in college, pre-med, or pre-law, or something like that. Le sigh.
A movie about a bicycle courier WOULD be pretty neat. Write to Hollywood with your idea! LOL
I love that you stopped to pose in the wind tunnel! Whenever I'm at a club or somewhere where they have a strong A/C vent or fan blowing I always stand in front of it and let my hair blow like it's my rap video.
I almost got run over by a bike messenger once. It was outside of a hospital. It was pure luck that saved me, pure luck.
That's one movie I would definitely watch. :)
firstly, i'm confused with rs27's comment. now that it is mentioned, i SUPPOSE bike messengers are quite old school, but how do letters get around in the good old US of A?
secondly, i would expect a $150 garbage can to massage me as well. and possibly bring me ice cream afterwards.
But if you didn't deliver it on a bike, you couldn't do any extreme jumps, thus making the story less compelling.
Ben - I always wanted to be a back-up dancer...
Falwless - You cry so much because you are a sad, sad human being. Also, my real name isn't Alice but to find it out you must Ask Alice...Try finding her (if you do she owes me ten bucks).
Rs27 - you Americans and your fancy Motor-mobiles
Lyla - there are a couple pretty cute messengers but most seem quite content to smoke up and hang out
Angela - screenplay is a work in progress
Ringleader - Totally must do that everytime there is any wind. Strong hand dryer? I pose.
Sarcastica - they are crazy drivers!
Heartbreaker - I guess they have fancy flying machines to do their dirty work down there
Pistols - if I tried to do extreme jumps I would end up concussed on the sidewalk, letter in hand, covered in blood. I know that is one of your twisted fantasies but just not my cup of tea
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