I rejoined the Law Society at its very reasonable rate for non-practicing lawyers. It was my first move on returning from London some time ago. Actually, it was my second move. My first move was to move in with my parents. My third move was to move out.
I may have been unemployed, but I was still qualified. Qualified (so said my new landlord) to rent. Phone, electricity, gas, water, food and (cask) wine soon followed. And bills with no billables, does not a happy lawyer make.
My profession was calling, but another called louder. I knew what I had to do and set off on my bike.
I arrived at my destination somewhat sooner than I had expected. In fact, I arrived somewhat sooner than my bike. It stayed behind in a ditch while I went headfirst over the handlebars! I almost went right through the front office window; my horrified eyes watching those wincing within.
It was no way to arrive at the bike courier company.
The “interview” was not nearly as stressful. After a nice video and a refreshing glass of water, I was informed of the subcontracting arrangements. Then I went to work. In the rain.
Me. A bike courier! At long last – my lifetime ambition fulfilled!
I had forgotten about rain. Bike couriers are supposed to be cool and when I was a kid mudguards were totally uncool. Wet bums are just cold.
I was surprised to find myself facing day two. I walked with a damp sort of a swagger, but could still pump the pedals. My radio ran hot with orders for jobs and by the end of the morning I had reached my first milestone. I broke even.
As a subcontractor being paid by the job it took some time to work off the uniform I had plucked from the pile at the courier company. I had never sweat so much for the shirt on my back.
That afternoon, I found my way to Hindmarsh Square and its ever present flock of fluorescence; I settled in with my colourful contemporaries to chew the fat and play hacky sack. My own colours were bright. My hair – not quite right. Around me, helmets crammed down bundles of dreadlocks while mine barely balanced atop my bald head. An egg and egg cup reversed: my helmet fit me so badly that when I hung it upside down, as if to test a potential purchase, the thing fell right off. It usually stayed on though, so long as I rode with my mouth open and took care dodging bugs.
I was new to the Square, but so well accepted by my fellow cyclists that it warmed me to the core of my oversized thighs. They taught me their tricks and sent me home with the best of advice. It was a day that I soaked up the three “R’s” of bike couriers: responsiveness, reliability and, most important of all, Radox.
By day three, my seat had shaped a new groove in my thing. I could barely straddle, let alone ride. I was at my lowest ebb when, staggering into the foyer of a one time employer, I was recognised by some of my peers in the profession. Though perhaps some of them missed me, judging by the eyes that darted away.
On day four, I took stock of the hurt.
I had expected sore legs, but not the sore arms and bruised hands that came with pulling on handlebars. My lips glowed red, having been burnt along with my poor eyes. They watered aplenty under newly purchased sunglasses. Even more so whenever I sat down on my seat. And I was not at all keen on my new sun stripes. Damned ventilated headgear and head.
These were, of course, mere passing afflictions compared with being hit by a car, or three cars in the case of one bike courier colleague. And I will never forget the guy who told me about taking off his shirt at the end of a day to find hailstone bruises all over his back.
The pain from the fourth day ran into the fifth and my inspiration grew by the moment. I started visiting potential employers – of the legal variety. My inquiries provoked pity and even outright disgust. Doors closed in the face of my utmost insistence: “Isn’t that cute? He thinks he’s a lawyer.”
Fortunately, some other wheels already in motion secured me a new role, ending my time living off front counter lollies. Bike couriering, like most things, proved to be much harder than I ever thought it would be. I must say I enjoyed walking into banks wearing a helmet and shades. And riding around like a maniac is always good fun. Though mostly, I am grateful for having earned what could only be described as an overly honest living. Even though it was for only a week.