First of, let me begin by saying I love my job. Most of us bike messengers do. In fact, we love it so much that, despite day-after-day of moronic run-ins, near-death experiences, shitty pay, and even shittier clients (some, at least), we keep on comin' back each morning to bust our asses for pennies because of the simple fact that our job rules and yours more-than-likely sucks.
The first thing that really puts a huge fuckin' smile on my face is the idiotic small talk I have to listen to and sometimes, grudgingly, reply to while riding in an elevator with some fresh-outta-law-school mamma's boy, or even worse, the smooth-talkin' Rico Suave law dog whose greying hair and grandfatherly demeanor doesn't stop him from outwardly hitting on me, the young female bike messenger with "great legs". I'm getting the creeps even thinking about it. *shudder*
Another things that gets me really hot is those really beautiful rainy days we see here and there in this great city. The rain itself doesn't bother me much. You become accustomed to riding in it and dressing suitably to maintain a certain level of comfort throughout the day. The thing that I hate about the rain is the amount of times I hear "stay dry" during my day. I would like to think the 30-something receptionist's eyesight isn't beginning to fail her at such a young age, but I can never be too sure when I walk into the office drenched from head-to-toe, shoes sopping wet and making that funny sloppy fart sound with each step, and then this bitch tells me to "stay dry"! What the fuck? Don't you think if I could, I would? I'm obviously doing the best I can here, and it really ain't helpin' much. It's helping even less for you to tell me to fuckin' stay dry. God damn!
You know, us bike messengers don't really make what one would consider a "livable San Francisco wage", yet we manage to get by somehow. But you know what could never hurt? A fucking tip every now and then! I mean, you tip your waiters, you tip your dog walker, you tip your goddamn pizza delivery boy, why not tip your fuckin' messenger?! Worry not, the awkward humiliation of a tip being refused will NEVER happen. We will gladly take your money with a huge fuckin' smile plastered on our little, hungry faces. It would be our pleasure to stuff that meager wad of three $1 bills into our little pockets along with the lint and a couple of quarters left over from the bar last night.
Us messengers get pretty gnarly jobs sometimes. We can only do our best. If our best isn't good enough for you then go fuck yourself, and while you're at it, try doing what you request of us yourself and see how much fucking fun you have. If you want me to get from your office downtown to court in four minutes, ha! Six minutes, maybe, but not four. That's just totally unrealistic for anyone. And please, for the love of all that is good and holy, tell us when we do a good job. Who doesn't like to hear that? A little pat on the back is nice every now and then.
As for you drivers out there, holy God! I don't even know where to start with this one. Shit, let's see...OK, for starters, if there isn't a bike lane I get use of the entire lane! Did you know that? Betcha didn't. Here's another goody: if I'm in the left lane DON'T FUCKIN' HONK AT ME, YOU STUPID SONUVABITCH! If I'm in the left lane I'm going to make a goddamn left turn at the next intersection! Fuck, is that such a hard concept to grasp? Oh, here's another one that tickles me pink. I love it when you are driving, driving, driving along and suddenly, BAM!, you make a right turn and cut me right the fuck off. IT'S CALLED A FUCKING TURN SIGNAL! USE IT! LOVE IT! And then you act surprise and/or angry when I start calling you a fat fucking asshole driver. Which you are if you don't use your turn signals. So start using them and become a beautiful, skinny, courteous driver. Thanks in advance.
Lastly, I'd like to end this rant of mine with a few raves:
1) Free coffee
2) Good office candy (no Dum Dum pops, Smarties, or shitty foreign candy)
3) When I'm offered a drink while waiting for the package
4) Security guards who don't suck their supervisor's balls, and are actually cool towards messengers
5) Beautiful, skinny, courteous drivers
6) When I'm offered left over food from an office party. Pizza, sandwiches, soda, etc.
7) When you and your co-workers actually make eye contact with me and smile as opposed to ignoring my presence completely like I'm some sort of fucking jerkoff
8) Allowing me to use your restroom. I'm not a heathen. I can piss without hitting the seat and I flush each time. Amazing, right?
Well, I guess that's all for now. Be nice to your messenger. We don't all suck.
EDIT: Hey, another thing that really grinds my gears is this notion that a lot of people have that all bike messengers are uneducated, and only do this type of work because, hey, that's all us halfwits are qualified to do! Take, for instance, this lovely email I woke up to:
Oh honey your job is so not better than mine. I make 75 thousan a year and I take care of people. Stop botching because you aren't willing to go to school to get an education to get a better job. Do your job am shut the fuck up. Don't expect handouts. I know it's hard and all considering you make shit wages but don't expect other people to give to you just because you aren't able to take care of yourself. Go to school get and education and a real job and shut the fuck up. -Beautiful skinny nurse
Perhaps if Ms. Craft here and others like her would take a moment to look outside of their self-centered existence, she would realize that just because I choose not to become a nurse, or a doctor, or a lawyer, or get a "real" job does not mean that I am uneducated. Freedom of personal choice is really fucking neat!
Friday, February 27. 2009
Posted by in bike at 08:41 | Comment (1) | Trackbacks (0)
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