work gets despatched to you, where you go and with how many on board. He’s under pressure to ge’ the work done an’ he wants i’ done withou’ any hassles, fuck-ups or messin’. He doesn’t have to like ye for you to make a decent wage but he needs to be able to forge’ abou’ any work he despatches to you. The more things don’t go wrong the more he’ll start loadin’ you up. You’ll prob’ly make fuck all for a few weeks bu’ keep pluggin’ away a’ i’ an’ he’ll start givin’ ye more an’ more an’ ye’ll no’ice yer wages improvin’. Look on i’ like an apprenticeship an’ ye’ll be alrie. You fuck up, act the bollix or wreck his head an’ ye’ll never make a decent wage. Get yerself a map today. The Stree’finder is the best one, costs abou’ seven quid. We all call i’, The Bible.”
“Thanks, Vinno.”
“What’s yer name?”
“Sean Flanagan.”
“What’s yer number?”
“Four.”
“Is Barry gone?”
“I heard Fatso fire him.”
He grinned when I referred to Aidan as Fatso, just as he had. Well, why not?
If I was going to walk the walk I might as well talk the talk also. Something told me that I was going to get very good at throwing insults around in the next few weeks, as well as get to know Dublin well and drive my bike through traffic with the same expertise as I had seen couriers employ.
As the Gizzard ambled away from the hatch, still writing in his signature book, I heard Aidan from the other side of the hatch for the first time call, “Four Sean.”
I was still as nervous as hell, but there was an air of enthusiasm around me as I picked up my signature book and approached the hatch ready to document my first work as a courier.
The first thing that struck me as I gazed through the hatch once more was how busy it was. My first impression of the base had been during the lunchtime lull in business. On average the company processed about one fifth of the amount of calls between one and two o’clock as in any other hour between nine and five. The company stayed open until half six, but the last hour and a half was also quiet, with the priority being shared between getting the work done and trying to finish couriers somewhere close to where they live. I had been given the impression that this lunchtime lull was the norm, so things looked particularly hectic to me when I got to the hatch and witnessed the full afternoon fervour of the company. The phone rang constantly, ending up quite often with every line flashing on hold while Aidan or Frank investigated something. The radio never stopped, with couriers calling in to report pick-ups and drop offs every couple of seconds, always hopeful for more work – preferably handy for where they are or where they’re going. Then there were couriers having problems; looking for a contact name again, needing directions, broken down, a punctured tyre etc.
Then there was the work. Every couple of seconds another job to be despatched blipped on the computer screen to demand a share of Aidan’s already thinly spread attention. Sometimes this blip brought woe and despair of gargantuan proportions to Aidan, who regularly vented his frustration for all to hear.
“Ah, for fuck sake! Kilternan! Kil-fuckin’-ternan! What the fuck would anybody be sendin’ anything to that middle of fuckin’ nowhere kip on a fuckin’ bizzy afternoon for? They can fuck off with themselves, I don’t give a fuck. I mean, what the fuck is there in Kilternan to send anything to? Someone’s fuckin’ sheep? No way. No fuckin’ way! I’ve nobody for them.”
This torrent of disbelief was invariably directed across the table at Frank, who seemed well used to it and knew exactly how to handle it, nodding sympathetically, saying nothing and doing his damndest to hide his amusement at the outburst.
My second visit to the hatch was a real eye-opener for me about Aidan’s job. I spent a good three minutes watching him deal with: four different
“Thanks, Vinno.”
“What’s yer name?”
“Sean Flanagan.”
“What’s yer number?”
“Four.”
“Is Barry gone?”
“I heard Fatso fire him.”
He grinned when I referred to Aidan as Fatso, just as he had. Well, why not?
If I was going to walk the walk I might as well talk the talk also. Something told me that I was going to get very good at throwing insults around in the next few weeks, as well as get to know Dublin well and drive my bike through traffic with the same expertise as I had seen couriers employ.
As the Gizzard ambled away from the hatch, still writing in his signature book, I heard Aidan from the other side of the hatch for the first time call, “Four Sean.”
I was still as nervous as hell, but there was an air of enthusiasm around me as I picked up my signature book and approached the hatch ready to document my first work as a courier.
The first thing that struck me as I gazed through the hatch once more was how busy it was. My first impression of the base had been during the lunchtime lull in business. On average the company processed about one fifth of the amount of calls between one and two o’clock as in any other hour between nine and five. The company stayed open until half six, but the last hour and a half was also quiet, with the priority being shared between getting the work done and trying to finish couriers somewhere close to where they live. I had been given the impression that this lunchtime lull was the norm, so things looked particularly hectic to me when I got to the hatch and witnessed the full afternoon fervour of the company. The phone rang constantly, ending up quite often with every line flashing on hold while Aidan or Frank investigated something. The radio never stopped, with couriers calling in to report pick-ups and drop offs every couple of seconds, always hopeful for more work – preferably handy for where they are or where they’re going. Then there were couriers having problems; looking for a contact name again, needing directions, broken down, a punctured tyre etc.
Then there was the work. Every couple of seconds another job to be despatched blipped on the computer screen to demand a share of Aidan’s already thinly spread attention. Sometimes this blip brought woe and despair of gargantuan proportions to Aidan, who regularly vented his frustration for all to hear.
“Ah, for fuck sake! Kilternan! Kil-fuckin’-ternan! What the fuck would anybody be sendin’ anything to that middle of fuckin’ nowhere kip on a fuckin’ bizzy afternoon for? They can fuck off with themselves, I don’t give a fuck. I mean, what the fuck is there in Kilternan to send anything to? Someone’s fuckin’ sheep? No way. No fuckin’ way! I’ve nobody for them.”
This torrent of disbelief was invariably directed across the table at Frank, who seemed well used to it and knew exactly how to handle it, nodding sympathetically, saying nothing and doing his damndest to hide his amusement at the outburst.
My second visit to the hatch was a real eye-opener for me about Aidan’s job. I spent a good three minutes watching him deal with: four different
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