11. Benz But Also Broken

 

You have to try and take pride in what you do. Especially if you don’t particularly enjoy doing it. It’s a foolish proposition, I know. But it’ll get you through the major fuck-ups that are going to happen eventually. Regardless of your line of work.

My version of trying to take pride today, is not freaking out that I’m lost right now. Not lost, I know where I am. The package I’m carrying and meant to deliver isn’t quite where it’s suppose to be. Not really a problem in this day and age right? Except that all this technology we depend so heavily on, in turn depends on one power source or another. And if that power source gets say, completely depleted to the point of nonexistence? You are then officially shit out of luck.

However, at that point you shouldn’t expect anything ceremonious, nor a formal commendation. What you may get instead, as is my case, is bothered by some old woman in a Mercedes Benz. One that pulls to the curb, rolls down the window, and promptly asks where the dealership is? As a guy standing on the sidewalk, behind a bus stop, I’m not sure what kind of logic is being employed here.

Starting to lose any remaining patience, I step towards the street to tell her off. Then I sense something large, moving fast in my direction. I turn just in time to see a cyclist, on the sidewalk, going over 30mph.

 “Watch it jackass!” he yells as I jump out of the way. In doing so, I drop the package that was carefully being held with both hands because of it’s various fragile demarcations. It’s no surprise when sounds of breaking glass accompany it’s meeting with the pavement. And jackass? Me? I was the one where you would expect. Where I should be, sort of.

This is a prime example of a cyclist thinking that sharing the road means he owns the road, and the sidewalk too apparently. He’s probably the type you see yelling at motorists every other day. Completely entitled to the road. Despite not signaling, stopping at stop signs, or following the rules of it himself. It’s very confusing, because in the split second he flew by me I noticed he had those large spacer earrings. So you know he’s usually great at making decisions.

I also made him as a courier. The blur of colors, style in disarray, more than one backpack. I’m staring down the street, trying to discern any possible details that would help me track this prick down. Just seething. Then I’m reminded by the old woman I haven’t informed her of the location of the Benz dealership.

 “Just look it up on your cell phone if you can’t remember,” she demands.

I can’t manage a verbal response at the moment. What I do is repeatedly pick up the box, and spike it back down to the ground as hard as I can. Each time the sound is finer and finer. Same as the glass pieces inside. The old woman is now asking what company I work for. She wants to make sure she never hires us for anything.

 “I ship fragile items sometimes too. I really don’t want them broken by a butter fingers like you.”

It makes me want to spike the box even harder. When I’m picking it up to do so, I notice the address has additionally been printed on the side of the box. It’s about a block up and half a block over from where I am. Which I now remember is right by a Mercedes dealership. I lean into her driver’s side window, giving my biggest smile.

 “I can tell you exactly where it is,” I say. “What you wanna do is head back the way you came, and at the third traffic light, make a right. You can’t miss it.”

week 11 pic

As far as what to do with this package, hmm? I can’t afford a third strike right now. That would mean my job. And if you get let go by one messenger service, none of the others would touch you. “Way to go you dumbass!” I can hear Carol saying.

I grab a small stack of free newspapers, and head to a nearby shipping store. There I open the box, carefully wrap all of the broken glass in one paper, taping it up into a ball. Then fill the box with the rest of the papers before taping it closed again. On the short walk to its destination I shake the box repeatedly. Trying to recreate that sound. The relative silence of it  amuses me. I’ll let the shipper and receiver sort this one out.

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