Skin Grows Back (Fingers Don't)

25 January – A relatively normal morning where I did my final permanent mail runs for Kathlicks and Kapers before I hand them back to their rightful owner when Swalls returns from his semi-hiatus on Monday – at least, a relatively normal morning until I received a phone call from Kurt asking me if I was willing to work the late shift because our venerable juicer, Shifty, had been involved in a rather nasty accident, somehow catching his right index finger in his chain when he fell off, severing the end of it.  After briefly debating whether I should offer my resignation (because this job is f**king dangerous at times) I accepted and was given his permanent work for the day – barely left the core of the CBD all day after that – a couple of serious delays caused by mailroom incompetence and technical failures but other than that was moving constantly with a swathe of profitable trips and had what was probably my highest earning day of the year.  Was a bit strange having to explain to the various mailrooms and receptionists that their regular guy was out for the second time in the week – especially when they probed me for details.  The sewing circle spread the story around pretty quickly and I’m sure my Monday the injury will be recounted as losing his arm.  Still, after doing the last job at 10 past 5 there was nothing at all until I logged off except to smoke cigarettes and have a textual chat with the man who has taken over Butter’s role at dispatch.  He’s promised to study the city map over the weekend and he seems to be as aware of his failings as we are.  A few beverages and a few bits of much needed soul bearing were afterwards – glad I finally got some of it out of the way but also think its another step over the edge into a realm where I dare not tread.  After this draining experience rolled down past Martin Place to find the last bedraggled remnants of the drinking set sprawled across the benches under the suspicious eyes of the new restaurant – their contempt was palpable – the alcohol differential was a bit too much to engage them too much that didn’t stop South African Brian give me a his rather interesting and unexpected life history (and his age, 21, God!) nor Ian give me rather baffling advice on the etiquette of working as a courier.  Whilst I respect the young man’s worldwide experience immensely I think he’s woefully misinformed of the nature of this business.