Tuesday, January 26, 1999
So I was flying down Congress st. on my way to the North End today, and at the intersection of State st. the light turns yellow but I decide to blast through it and it turns red before I get to the other side. Then I hear this voice behind me saying, "pull over." Now, I was kinda expecting this to happen at some point, and I wasn't really surprised, but I let out a superfluous "Fuck!" anyway. I pulled over to the side of the road, straddling my bike as a cop on a motorcycle pulled up in front of me. I didn't even hear the fucker, he must've had his engine shut off just waiting to seize someone like me, an obvious scofflaw punk who was inevitably going to give him a hard time. But I was cool and calm, obedient even. This is what I've become since the police decided they owned me. So I gave him my courier license, and he started writing shit down while I stood there freezing, trying to ebb the continuous flow of snot seeping from my nose. Then he asks me the question I've been dreading: "Where's your helmet?" He hadn't pulled me over for running a red light after all. It was all for not wearing a helmet!
Now the story on why I can't wear a helmet is this: My ears are ridiculously sensitive. I noticed this a few years ago, when it got to be so that I couldn't even venture outside in the fall, winter, or even spring, without a hat covering my ears. Well, when I first started riding a bike, I realized that the colder it got, the less a single hat was going to suffice. I got a windproof fleece earband in the fall to wear under my wool hat. Then it got colder, and I had to get ANOTHER fleece earband, this one thicker than the last. Then, as the temperatures dipped below freezing, I broke out the heavy armor: A giant polarfleece hood/face mask thing which ensconced my whole head in a blanket of exquisitely velvety-soft warmth. Anything less would cause a great stabbing pain in my ears, which usually spreads to my whole head. My tiny helmet, which, I found, can only be worn comfortably on those few summer days when the temperature is above 85 degrees, obviously does not fit over the many layers of fabric necessary to keep my head/ears warm.
On this day, I was wearing my spandex Pearl Izumi skullcap, the windproof earband, the thick earband, and my double-layer bright orange wool "T" hat. I explained to the officer my predicament, and he suggested that since they were going to be strictly enforcing the courier helmet law from now on (notice it applies only to couriers, and not average bike-riding citizens), that I get a bigger helmet. This idea I was not fond of. The officer also suggested to me a few ways to get out of paying the ticket, which included getting a doctor's note stating the condition which causes my earaches, or buying a new helmet and sending the reciept along with the ticket. He didn't give me a hard time, and I didn't give him a hard time, and we both went our separate ways. I didn't notice until I got back to the office and showed Kyle my ticket that the fine was A HUNDRED DOLLARS!! That's a fucking INSANE price to pay just for choosing not to protect myself. Personally, I don't believe it's the city of Boston's place to tell me to protect myself. Isn't it my choice? I'm sure they don't give $100 tickets to motorists who aren't wearing their seatbelts, so why the double standards? The ratio of car crashes to bike crashes is highly unbalanced unfortunately in favor of the cars. So why are they coming down so hard on bikers?
Furthermore, nobody ever gave us a warning that the police were going to suddenly start enforcing this law today. The cop had said to me "I know you read the paper this morning." Actually no, I don't get to read the paper til the afternoon, and besides, as I found out later, the article he was referring to was in the Herald, and I usually read the Globe, which gives very little press to the working man's concerns. Well, it said in the Herald today that they were going to start enforcing both the traffic and the helmet laws (for couriers, mostly), but what the fuck good does that do me, to give me a warning on THE SAME DAY? Whatever happened to a week's notice? Or at least a few days. A DAY at the very least. I think it's unfair to suddenly start cracking down without giving us time to prepare.
When I got back to the office I had to figure out a way to put my helmet on over all my hats. Luckily, I had my thinner Pearl Izumi hat to use in place of the thick wool hat, and I managed to uncomfortably fit my helmet on over only 3 thin layers. I sprinted to 100 Cambridge st. for my first helmet test run, and surprisingly my ears didn't hurt at all. But later on, I started feeling the cold badly, though not in my ears, but my sinuses. You know the ubiquitous "ice cream headache?" Well I had one of those, about 10 times worse, for an hour straight. I was riding around constantly blinking my eyes, wincing in pain and trying to make my helmet less tight to ease the strain. As soon as I got to Shitty-post and took my helmet and all my hats off, the pain went away. Curse you, Boston Police Department! As the old feminist saying goes, "Keep your laws off my body!"
Wednesday, January 27, 1999
I was dreading going to work today because of the whole helmet thing, having to face the pain of cold hitting my sensitive face and a tight helmet squeezing my head. So when I got to work, Kyle called his friend at Community Bike and asked him if I could borrow one of their test-ride helmets for a couple of days. He said sure, and I rode down there without my license on so I wouldn't get nabbed as a courier again. I got there and the guy gave me these goofy old beat-up helmets to try on, and I was like, uh, I think I'll pass on these things, I'd rather spend the big bucks on a slick looking helmet anyway. So I looked at the cheapest acceptable models available, contemplated whether I should buy it for about an hour, trying it on over all my hats, wincing at how stupid it looked, and finally decided to buy this big shiny black thing which isn't as good as my Bell Evo Pro, but it's the next best thing. The guy knocked off $5 because I worked for Kyle. I also HAD to buy this calendar they had, "Female Bike Messengers of Boston." DAMN, what an awesome concept... I hope they have one next year, because I'll make SURE I'm in it. I'm sexier than most of these triflin' ho's any day...
So I had to ride around feeling terribly self-conscious and uncomfortable in this goofy new helmet. But there's no WAY I'm getting another $100 ticket.
Thursday, January 28, 1999
My mom's birthday today, and I had to go to the doctor to get this disgusting pus-filled boil on my back EXCISED & DRAINED. I don't know where the fucking thing came from, it's not like I had a cut there that could've gotten infected. I was hoping I could use this opportunity to ask the doctor if she could give me a note so I could get that ticket waived. So as she was slicing my boil open and squeezing the pus out like frosting for those frozen Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, I explained to her about my ears, and she suggested...... that I get a bigger helmet. Hmph! So apparently there's nothing WRONG with my ears, other than the fact that the wind causes them excruciating pain... Nah, nothing wrong with that, that's perfectly normal... I'm so jealous of all the bikers out there who don't even have to wear ONE hat, let alone 4 or 5... Their heads must feel so... free...
So a bunch of blood and pus later, my wound was dressed and I was sent off to work with a $97 doctor bill. Ninety-seven bucks to squeeze an overgrown, diseased pimple. I coulda done that myself for free, although without the novocaine. Not that I needed it, really. I once had a tooth filled without novocaine. People ask me "How did you do that?!" But I swear, it didn't hurt much at all...
The security guard at 110 Chauncy st. hit on me today. It was a very strange situation, because I was wearing my goofy helmet, along with the balaclava which covers almost my entire face, and all the rest of my winter gear. How could he even tell how hot I am with all these damn clothes on? I dunno, maybe he was one of those neanderthal guys who will hit on anything female. I could've been a guy, for all he could tell, but as I was going in the building he asked me if I knew what floor I was going to, and I said yeah, and upon registering my female voice, he therefore recieved the OK to hit on me. His icebreaker was pretty snappy - he pointed to the "I'm so fucking beautiful" sticker on my bike and asked me if it referred to me or the bike. I said both. He said he agreed, in reference to me. I was slightly insulted that he didn't find Shutu attractive. He tried asking me all sorts of questions which I couldn't hear with all the heavy armor on my head. I finally managed to get away, but not before he could say "Maybe we can hook up sometime," to which I replied, "Yeah sure," and then as I rode off, mumbled under my breath, "Dude's out of his fuckin' mind..."
There was a big snowstorm today. I actually like riding in the snow. As long as I'm warm and dry, it's all good. The roads have to be well-plowed and sanded though, or else I'll be sliding around and falling on my ass. A few weeks ago we had this huge snowstorm, and I swear, no roads, not even the main ones, were plowed. As it got to be like 4 to 5 o'clock, there was about 3 inches of snow, and it was IMPOSSIBLE to ride around in. I would slide and lose my balance every 2 feet, and it took me 20 minutes to get from Lawyers Weekly to NEMC, which usually takes me about 3 minutes. Then I get to NEMC and this guy is standing outside the front door puking. Like I REALLY wanted to see that. I got halfway back to Shitty-post, and decided to get off my bike and just run the rest of the way, cuz it was much faster. I still didn't get back til about 5:45. Crazy day.
But today wasn't so bad. People kept saying things like, "Tough day for you today, huh?" and "You actually ride your bike out in that snowstorm?" And I just smile and reply, "Nah, it's not bad at all. I like it." I'm not sure if they believe me, but it's true.
Friday, January 29, 1999
My last day at Shitty-post before I venture off into the big, wide world of professional bike messengery. On my way to work, in the snow, I was thinking about how this is the last time I'd make this trip, and all throughout the day, every place I went, I was thinking about it being the last time. Of course, in my new job, I'd be revisiting all the big companies, but all the financial research junk mail that I've delivered to the same Beacon Hill residences week after week after week... I'll probably never go there again. And do I feel a sense of loss over that? Hell no! Hahahahahahaaaa... I'm freeeee!
It was kind of sad though, as this is a very big change in my life. I've been at Shitty-post for just about 2 years, and as shitty as it is, I have a strange kind of loyalty to it. I kept debating whether I should tell the people at my regular pickup places - Tara at McGraw-Hill, who's a total sweetheart, and Richard and the Chinese Guy at Lawyers Weekly, who gave me an entire cake for Christmas, that it was my last day. But I decided not to make a big deal out of it. I'm not real big on sentimental goodbyes anyway. There's a chance I might visit them again on assignment from my new job, so who knows?
Kyle told me some messenger he knows got pulled over by a cop, who randomly searched her bag for absolutely no reason. They better not start pulling that shit now. If they do, though, I know my rights, and I know they just can't search me without a warrant and without reasonable suspicion that I might be carrying something illegal (why would I? I don't need weapons and drugs while I'm working). If a cop wanted to search me, I would let him do it, just to prove him wrong, then I'd file a complaint against him. I contemplated this today whilst burning my tongue on a cup of hot berry tea.
All in all it was a pretty normal day. I'm mostly happy to be leaving, because, as my mom put it when she was taking Booze to be put to sleep, I will be "going to a better place." teehee... It was really strange tonight when I had to leave, packing up all my things that I've been storing in Kyle's office and in my desk drawer for months/years. My rain clothes, my smaller helmet, my unused Finagle a Bagel coffee mug. I even took the rubber chicken keychain that I found on the street a long time ago, which has been hanging on the corkboard next to my desk ever since. I put a rubber band between its legs and hung it on the back of Shutu's saddle. I don't know why I took all my stuff home. It's not like I'm never going back to Shitty-post. I'm still going to be working there at night as a favor to Kyle. I even still have the company pager. I guess I felt the need to take everything to cement the closure, the proverbial "out with the old, in with the new" thing."
Sunday, January 31, 1999
Tomorrow I start the new job, and I'm nervous about a lot of things, probably unneccessarily. I wonder if it's too much hard work for a rookie like me. I wonder if I'll be too tired, too slow, too confused to keep up. Sunday night for some reason is my insomnia night - I usually can't get to sleep until about 4 am... I'm gonna have to take some serious drugs or something and somehow get to sleep by midnight. I took a test ride to the office of my new employer today, to see how long it'd take. Only 17 minutes door-to-door, and that was with a minor delay when some idiot came flying into the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot just as I was riding by. Shutu's wheel came about a half an inch from being crushed under the wheel of this green minivan. Then, get this: after we both screeched to a halt, the woman in the passenger's side gets of out the car, not even acknowledging my existence, and goes into Dunkin' Donuts, and the guy who was driving JUST SIT THERE, half in the street and half in the parking lot, not even attempting to move. Um, HELLOOOO? Anybody home in that tin trap? For one thing, you're blocking half the street, and for another thing, YOU'RE IN MY FUCKIN' WAY, SO MOVE! I had to look at the guy and wave him into the parking lot, saying, "GO!" I can't believe they give people like this licenses. Anyway, it's kind of a hard, hilly ride, and I wonder how it's gonna be to have to ride there so early in the morning. I should just stop worrying. Everything's gonna be fine. I got a really cool job, and everything's gonna be great. :::singing the theme to the Jeffersons:::
Monday, February 1st, 1999
This has been the absolute hardest day of my life. My first day at the new job, and the amount of work they put me through is unbelievable. By noon I was actually considering giving up and going back to Shitty-post. I woke up at 6 am, rode my bike to Brighton at 7:40, filled out some paperwork, and got an orientation from the dispatcher, Morris. I was given a radio and some manifests and sent on my way to Gadsby & Hannah at 225 Franklin st, which is our downtown home base, where we pick up and drop off our radios and paperwork each day. The ride in to Boston was long and cold. I got there and did my first job with no problems. The work was steadily coming in, no time to rest. Then I got sent to Central Square in Cambridge with this package from G&H. Begrudgingly I went, knowing the 20 minute trip would exhaust me. Morris wisely put me on break as soon as I got across the Mass ave bridge. I was so tired I didn't even bother trying to find a good place to eat. I just went to the closest place I could find, the Bodhi Cafe on Newbury st. I wasn't hungry, but I knew I had to get some food in me to get some energy. I had a strawberry smoothie and a muffin. My half hour break seemed so short, like 2 minutes. Then I had to go back to G&H and get a package going to the Back Bay. When I got down into the lobby, Morris called me to go back up to G&H and get a big heavy package going to HARVARD SQUARE!! Even further than the last Cambridge package I had... The very thought of making another, even further trip there brought tears to my eyes. But I went, having to stop and rest a few times on the way. I was huffing and puffing and sniffling, and yes, I almost started crying a few times, because it was still so early in the day, and who knows where he'd send me next... I got to Harvard Square 30 minutes later, much more than my usual Boston-Harvard time, ready to drop, and Morris gave me instructions to get to some place on the Boston-Brookline line, another 20 or 25 minutes away. It was chilly out, but I was sweating in full force as I strained to get to the next pickup. I got there, then made the delivery to the Back Bay, then did a few things downtown, then had to go back to the same place in Boston/Brooline and get ANOTHER package from them going to the same place I had brought it to before. It continued like this all day, until 5:30. Then I had to go back to Shitty-post and work for 2 hours. I was so miserable by the end of the day. I'm having second thoughts now, but not wanting to give up. The thought of going back to that torture tomorrow makes me want to just implode.
Tuesday, February 2, 1999
I got up this morning in disbelief that I had to go to work and suffer again today. On top of that, it was pouring out, and it continued throughout the day. But I was pleasantly surprised, because it turned out to be an easy day. I did jobs mostly in the Back Bay and downtown. No Cambridge, no crazy places way out of the way. I even got to rest today, a few times I was on standby for long periods of time with nothing to do. I sat in the 225 Franklin lounge chatting with Chris, a nice biker fellow. I've met a lot of the drivers and walkers that I'll be working with. A lot of times we have to trade packages with each other, or I'll have to pick something up and bring it to somebody wherever they are. Anyway, I was still exhausted today, but nowhere near like yesterday. I haven't been able to eat much, though, because I'm never hungry until late in the afternoon, and Morris always puts me on break at like 11 am. I always try to eat a little something so I won't pass out. At some point my gloves were completely soaked through, even though they're water resistant, and my fingers were so cold and stiff and wrinkled, bordering on frostbite. The farthest I had to go today was South Boston, which isn't that far. It's a shitty area though, and I didn't really like the whole aura of the place. I got lost trying to get back to civilization, and it was starting to get dark and the rain was coming down harder. I just hated being there at that time, it just felt so bleak and miserable. I couldn't wait to get back downtown, to the people and the lights and the cars, as much as I hate all of those things. I felt kind of disappointed in myself and worrying that I wasn't good enough, worried that they would think I'm too slow, which they probably do. But I'm just a beginner. I'll get better.
Wednesday, February 3, 1999
It keeps getting better, and I keep getting better. Today was even slower than yesterday, and I had a total of about 2-3 hours of sitting around doing absolutely nothing. I would have preferred to have a little more work, as I don't really like dawdling with nothing to occupy my mind. I'll remind myself to bring something to read for tomorrow. My first job of the day was more like a personal favor. I came in at 9, didn't get a call til about 10, so I was sort of hanging around 225 Franklin, watching people go to work. Morris called me to go up to the G&H mailroom, so I went, and they had nothing for me. 'Twas a misunderstanding, I guess. So I was standing there, and this chick comes in talking about how she needs a lemon. I wasn't sure I heard her right, so I was like, "You need a LEMON?" And she explained that some fucking spoiled rich windbag (my words, not hers) needs to have a lemon for his water at every meeting, and she had to set up the meeting in 15 minutes, and somebody stole her lemon out of the fridge. Her and a few others in the mailroom were frantically trying to figure out how to get a lemon, and I found it all very amusing. I was going to ask if they wanted me to get it, but I hesitated. Then I just said, fuck it, I have nothing better to do. So I rode down to the fruit stand in front of Filene's and got a single lemon for 35 cents. I brought it back there and surprised everybody with it. They were so happy that I got them a lemon, and so quickly too. They reimbursed me for the 35 cents, then gave me another 35 cents as a tip. Then one of them called Morris on the phone to thank him for what I did, even though he had nothing to do with it. That would be nice if I got a bonus out of this good deed...
I wore the wrong underwear today. They were all the way up my ass all day long, and it hurt like a motherfucker. My thighs are all chafed, and my ass has been rubbed raw by having flannel shoved up there repeatedly. I wasted a lot of time trying in vain to pick it out, only to have it go right back up there again as soon as I got in the saddle. I tried to go shopping for new underwear, but didn't find anything that I could guarantee wouldn't go up my ass. So I just toughed it out for the whole 8 and a half hours with underwear up my ass.
Again I didn't have to go very far today. I did go to East Cambridge twice, but that's not as far as Central and Harvard Squares. It was beautiful and sunny and warm, about 55 degrees for most of the day. I sat in the Boston Common for a long time, lamenting over all the rusted parts on my bike, the sand encrusted all over it from yesterday, and the fact that the back brake pads need to be replaced again, after only 5 months. I had nothing to read, nothing to do, but just sit there with the sun making me sweat, waiting and waiting to get something important to do. Things got a little hectic around 5:00 and I got to put in a half hour of easy overtime, directed by the other dispatcher, Tracy, who's a lot cooler than Morris. He said to me as I got an important job done, "You're alright, I don't care what they say about you." What DO they say about me, I'd like to know... I guess that I'm slow, but that's about all. I learn quickly, I'm responsible, I think quickly, I'm smart, I don't complain, I'll work in any weather, and I know just about every fucking street and building and company in Boston and Cambridge. So there. I'm already starting to get a little faster, and more graceful weaving through traffic and dodging pedestrians. I felt so smooth today, it must've been the warm weather.
Thursday, February 18, 1999
No work for me today, another one of my mysterious medical problems have forced me to take it easy. On the way to work on the crowded train, I fainted for absolutely no discernable reason. It happened this summer, just as I was coming off the train with my bike on my way to my previous job, and today I suddenly started feeling very strange, and I said to myself, "Oh no... I remember this feeling." And I started to realize that I was inevitably going to pass out, which caused me to panic, which, of course, only made things worse. The train was just coming into Downtown Crossing, and I was thinking, if only I can just push past all these people, get off the train, and go sit down on the platform, I'll be okay... But I never made it. Now, these 2 times that I've passed out, the only instances of any such thing in my life, I didn't actually go unconscious or anything. It's just this crazy head rush, combined with a sudden and total weakness throughout my entire body, which causes me to collapse. The last time this happened, during the summer, it was far worse than today. That time I completely blacked out so I couldn't see, and I was overcome with unbelievable nausea that just felt like someone was tickling the inside of my stomach with a feather. I didn't throw up, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling. I wasn't able to see or get up for a good 10 minutes (A cop was nearby when that happened, and he called an ambulance for me. I was fine, and went to work anyway)Today it wasn't quite so severe. No nausea, and I didn't completely black out, though I did lose vision a bit, and become weak and dizzy enough to collapse on top of all the people that were packed into the train. The train had just pulled into the station, and I managed to put the whole thing on standby for a few minutes while a T official and 2 subway cops checked me out and asked if I needed an ambulance, which, I assured them, I didn't. I managed not only to stop an entire train of bundled-up commuters, but the passengers in the train car I was in parted like the Red Sea when I went down. When I looked up I discovered that everyone was packed into either end of the train, with me sitting in a wide space in the middle. As the cops were talking to me I realized I was coated in a thin film of sweat, though my body, on the inside, not the outside, felt cold, as if my blood suddenly dropped its temperature 30 degrees. I felt a little better by the time the train was moving again, and I got off at South Station as usual, waded my way nervously through the herds of slow-moving commuters upstairs to the phones, where I called Morris and shakily told him I had just passed out on the train, and didn't think it would be a good idea to work. He agreed, and I bought myself some water and waded my way back to the train, back home, and into my bed, where I stayed all day.
Monday, February 22, 1999
Today was the first of several days to come of sub-freezing temperatures. After several months of enjoying mild temperatures between 35 and 60 degrees, the next week is supposed to be in the 20's, teens, and even single digits, with the possibility of snow. I am NOT looking forward to this week. Today was pretty miserable for me, especially in the morning. It was only in the teens, and although I was wearing the thickest socks I have and 2 pairs of gloves, my hands and feet were frozen solid for at least 2 hours. I made the mistake of wearing my usual thin cloth Chuck Taylor All-Stars over those thick socks, a mistake which I do not intend to duplicate for the rest of the week. I've resolved to wear boots, even though they're heavy and cumbersome, they're better than frostbite. I was actually wimpering and crying during my frozen treks to Cambridge and the Back Bay, sobbing like an infant wishing I was in my warm bed with my blankie. My nose was dripping, my extremities were numb, and Morris didn't give me a break until noon.. I think he forgot, because things were so busy. Morris was going to send me to East Cambridge, but a minute later decided not to because he said he didn't want to send me too far in this cold. (It was only about 20 at this point. The high temp for the day was 25). Then a few minutes later he tells me to go pick up in Brookline! That's even further than the East Cambridge I would've gone to. Don't wanna send me too far.. yeah, sure... I was less frozen as the day went on, but still miserable.
Tuesday, February 23, 1999
Another freezing day, but I was a little better prepared than yesterday, with 2 pairs of socks and boots (which I was barely able to fit on over the socks). I've grudgingly accepted these seasonable but unexpected low temperatures, and I'm prepared for whatever the rest of the week has to throw at me. I just have to keep thinking that spring will be here soon, and with any luck, global warming will go to work for me and bring me some nice warm weather.
So I've been worrying a lot lately about my performance at work. I spend most of the day wondering if I've done a job fast enough, calculating the time it takes me to get from place to place, worrying when I don't do it fast enough. It's a constant obsession with me, because I feel like Morris is monitoring me closely and judging my performance and deciding that I'm too slow. Maybe I'm just paranoid, maybe he doesn't really care so much about that, maybe he has more important things to think about. But I can't help obsessing, since it's in my nature... I keep telling myself that I do the best I can possibly do, and that's all I can do, so I should just chill out and do my job to the best of my ability.
Another worry of mine is that I'm getting special treatment, or that I'm percieved as less strong or less fast because I'm female. I notice that Morris tends to take it easy on me, and some days he never sends me farther than the Back Bay if he can help it. My first day, that hellish, exhausting day, was obviously a test of my endurance, and apparently it was determined that I can't be relied upon to go long distances in a reasonable amount of time. And yesterday, when Morris said he didn't want to send me too far because it was cold, I felt relieved, but I also felt like I didn't want to be treated specially just because I'm a girl. I mean, obviously he gave the job to another biker (they're all male), so what makes any of those guys more capable of withstanding the cold than me? Was he doing it out of compassion or pity? Hmmm. At any rate, I've been noticing a lot lately that they've been taking it easy on me, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm female or because they know I'm not that fast/strong. Although, the reason why I'm not AS fast/strong as the guys in the business is BECAUSE I'm female, as chauvenistic and old-fashioned as that sounds, it's true. Yes, I consider myself a feminist, and as such, I think a lot about what it's like to be a woman, and because of this I understand that it's not just sexist hogwash to say that women are not as physically strong as men, because, as much as I would like to say otherwise, it's the truth. Of course, it doesn't apply to ALL women, but our biology (as well as traditional gender roles within society that we were all raised by) dictates that generally women are not as a strong as men. Physically. Anyway, I've accepted this fact, but I'm not at all happy about it, because I wish I could be perform at an equal level with my male colleagues, and therefore be treated equally to them. I do take solace, however, in the fact that I try hard, I work hard, I do the best I can, and I do a job that most women in the world could (or would) never do. Today I mentioned to Chris, a co-worker, that Morris is taking it easy on me, and on 2 occasions today Chris taunted me about this, jokingly implying that Morris was some sort of sap who didn't want his precious girlie employee traveling too far in the freezing cold and whatnot. I was rather irritated by this mockery, because I'd like to think that Morris is not taking pity on me, but rather that he just knows my limitations. I wish that my gender didn't impose these limitations on me, but I believe that the longer I do this, the further I will stretch my limitations, so that maybe someday I will be as good, if not better, than any guy in the business.
Tuesday, March 2, 1999
The past week and a half has been really stressful, both mentally and physically. In addition to the cold and the snow all last week, I didn't have a moment's peace. Oh yeah, it snowed. A lot. And it was hell to work in, but Morris not only let me off early, but he told me he'd be giving me a bonus for working in that weather. I don't know what kind of bonus, but I'm more happy about the idea of it rather than the actual money. Anyway, these last 2 days have been especially difficult. Morris has been breathing down my neck constantly, even from his little dispatch cave a few miles away. Yesterday, and especially today, I heard the annoying chirp of my radio every 5 minutes, with Morris asking me, "Where are you now?" "How are you doing?" "When are you gonna get there?" "Where are you?" "How's it going?" "Where are you?" "How long do you think it'll take?" I just cannot STAND when he does that. I was screaming and swearing like a lunatic riding down the street, tears in my eyes, sometimes sobbing (not unusual behavior for me in the last week, because of the stress), wondering why he can't just leave me alone and let me do my work. I mean, jesus, I'll get there when I get there, just stop stressing me out by checking my progress every 5 minutes. It makes me feel even more self conscious when he's constantly checking up on me, because I KNOW I'm slow, and I hate it, and there's nothing I can do about it, and he's just reminding me of it every time he demands to know how far I've gotten. I've felt this kind of stress at Shitty-post (however unneccesarily), maybe not this extreme, but I always knew that it would pass eventually when the work ws all done. Now every day I go into work I have no idea what's awaiting me, but I usually figure that it's going to be enough to bring me to tears. I'm just starting to become really self-conscious about my performance, and even though I should be getting stronger and faster, my paranoia about being too slow keeps getting worse and worse. When I rush around trying to get a job done, it's not out of concern for the client's satisfaction, it's more for the approval of Morris and whoever else may be secretly monitoring my progress. From day one, I've been worried about impressing them. I time myself from stop to stop, the stress and worry and frustration and upset growing in me every time I decide I didn't make it fast enough. Very rarely do I perform to my own satisfaction. I'm definitely not a person who has low self-esteem, but I'm starting to develop it as a result of the stress from this job. It's only been a month, but I already dread going to work, I count down the hours til I'm done, I live for the weekend, and I already feel like I need a vacation. It's not that I don't like my job... Because I do, in a weird sort of way. It's just the stress that makes me hate going. I long for the days of my first few weeks, with long silences in between jobs... I've had some of those, but they were few and brief.
I fell over today, on my first job, a super rush delivery, and I was so keen on impressing all who were counting on me that I rushed past a pack of slow-moving cars at a crosswalk, miscalculating the amount of room I had between the curb (which would soon turn into a concrete barricade placed by the Big Dig) and a van, which was about to move as the light turned green. Feeling that the van would squeeze me to the side, I flew up on the curb, forgot about the barricade, almost ran into it, braked just in time, lost my balance, and fell into the street, where I could've been road pizza, had there been any cars coming. By some miracle, there weren't. I got back on my bike immediately, shaking and swearing at the wind like the high-strung clumsy bitch goddess that I am.
Friday, June 4, 1999
Whew! I just read all of my previous entries, and it made me realize how incredibly far I've come since then. It made me miserable just reading that stuff and having flashbacks of what those first few weeks were like for me. I don't know how I ever endured such misery. I haven't written simply because I've been too lazy to do so. But I thought that you, my devoted readers, deserved an update on my progress. So, it's practically summertime now, and in addition to the warm weather, work for me has gotten easier (although not less challenging) and more enjoyable. I can actually say now with complete sincerity that I LOVE my job. I've been thinking a lot about what exactly it is that I love about my job. Besides the excitement and the freedom of being outside riding around, and making deliveries, which is something I've always enjoyed for some strange reason, I realized that what makes me enjoy my job so much is all of the mental and physical stress that it causes me. Strange, huh? Well, I'll try to make some sense of that for you. It's like, when I was working at Shitty-post, I was in a constant state of repitition, mediocrity, and purposeless, unneccesary stress. I've figured out that what I was missing at Shitty-post that I have now found, is variety, unexpectedness, and a sense of purpose in what I'm doing. I needed to feel like I was doing something important. Also, I just could not stand going to work every day knowing exactly what I would do that day. The endless repitition of it all just ate away at my will to live. Now, not only do I have a sense that the work I'm doing is necessary and important (even if it isn't, they sure make it seem that way), but when I go to work each morning, I have no idea what awaits me for the next 8 hours. And I love that. I love watching it unfold all day long. Even though every time my radio chirps, I groan, even though every time I get a job to South Boston or some other place I hate going to, I start swearing and screaming like a wacko, as angry and as stressed out the dispatcher gets me, I love every minute of it. I've gotten a lot faster and a lot stronger, and I actually like going on long rides now. I still hate having to go to Southie, but once I start on my way there, it's not so bad. The trip to Multiprint that used to take me 25 minutes (!!) now only takes me 10. I ride my bike home on Friday nights, a 7 mile trip that used to take 45 minutes, which now takes only half an hour. Anyway, as I was saying, it's the stress and the tough jobs which really make my job enjoyable, because without those, I would be bored and dissatisfied and contemplating property destruction and/or mass murder. I no longer feel paranoid about doing a job in a certain amount of time, because I know I'm good enough. In fact, I'm awesome. Still room for improvement, of course, but at this point I'm completely satisfied with my job and my accomplishments. I honestly can't picture myself doing anything else. It hurts my heart to even think about giving this up and sitting in an office all day. (Of course, maybe when winter comes again I'll feel differently) I still have a hair-trigger temper and a mouth like a sailor while I'm riding, but those are just some of the joys of being an urban dweller. I've developed a sort of cameraderie with my co-workers, both bikers and walkers. They're an amusing group, although when they're all together, it's most definitely a Boys' Club which I am always unwittingly excluded from. For some unknown reason, I've been given the responsibility of handing out paychecks every Friday. It's rather fun watching how everybody is so happy to see me on Fridays, sometimes even chasing me down just to get paid. Some of the boys refer to me as their "pimp," and they are my "bitches." You gotta love that...
It just recently started getting really hot outside. Like, REALLY hot. It's kind of difficult to perform in that kind of weather, but I'm learning different ways to adapt to it just like I adapted to the cold. Last month I bought this helmet that I had been coveting for a long time, the Specialized King Cobra. It's really sexy looking, and incredibly light and comfortable. It's a relief to be able to wear that instead of that big-ass clunky black thing. It was ridiculously overpriced for a piece of headwear, but it was worth it to me (Plus, I have a lot of extra cash lying around lately). Kyle (my boss at Shitty-post - yes, I still work nights there) pressured me into buying these slick sport sunglasses that retail for $115, but which I paid $65 for. Also ridiculously overpriced, but they're pretty damn cool. So I've got all this slick gear now, it's warm outside and I'm wearing shorts & T-shirts, and I'm feeling pretty sexy. I got mocked a lot for the fact that I never took off my earbands, even in relatively warm weather, and a few weeks ago I had to take off my helmet, earbands and glasses so my co-workers could see for the first time what I really look like. I was finally able to take the earbands off this week, and everybody was shocked and pleased. Oh, and I've learned some stuff about bike mechanics, and I can diagnose and fix my brakes completely on my own, which I'm very proud of.
So, there you have it. My rambling and often disjointed diary update. Look for another one in about, oh... 3 months. Sooner if you're lucky. Rock on.
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