Friday Part IV, that's Eye Vee

Friday Perspective
Courier Chronicles

Somehow I have been able to drag the events of last Friday out all the way to this Thursday in four continuous posts. The story of a day finally closes with a happy ending.....
While rolling north my phone vibrates, it's the Rookie dispatching me on his day off because he trained one of our clients to skip SOP by calling him in the afternoon. In my response to filling in for him the night before I actually verbalized my concerns about that one client calling him while he was on the road and then him having to get me. That is all based on him actually having his work phone on while he is off and traveling. What do I know? Nothing other than what is right in front of me to see with my own eyes without making judgement except for within my own self. Change. Okay fine, that job works out with the other three at three so on with it. I deliver the single first to 301 S Tryon where I do not have a proxy card, however by proxy of another proxy card that I do have connected to this building I am in with a paper slip. This process slows me down anywhere from a few minutes to maybe five, depending on the security mood transfer. I flash the yellow card to the guard and think about giving it to him to recycle but stick it in the cargo pocket of my shorts giving consideration that I may have to come back in the building before the end of the day. It is getting late, how could that ever happen I said to my reflection in the mirrored elevator with the paper chit in my pocket on the way up to deliver on the 7th floor. Back down and onto the street, my phone vibrates again. The Rookie says I have another one going from 'his' client to 301, again. How did that just happen? Pick it up a bit you still have to get done with the court before 1600hrs.
At that point I had to go back to the same place that I had just came from to bag the 'again' job and then move on to the Courthouse. Fast paced brisk walk through the Hearst Lobby, I can see Ansel Adams' work big at like 30 x 40. Tower Three elevator, the doors open as this short wide lady wearing blue jeans and a huge silky blue Pro Level Carolina Panthers Jersey walks off hurriedly almost right into me. We miss colliding by inches. As we meet and pass so close she looks up into my eyes and says in a deep human frog croak, "HELLO". The shock and awe was written all over my face but I managed a civil reply as I moved into the elevator. Her voice mouth box sounded ravaged by years of the grit, her only escape from the styro institutional setting of the bank floor above. The doors close and I see her disappear into the light. Up and package is on board, back down for the Court again. This time as I ride by fast the audible siren test is silent but the memory is still there.

Into the court for a quickie and back down and out for the hill one more time but not the last of the day. I drop the job using my yellow pass first then return the three O'clock schedule just before commencing the next scheduled pick up at two firms at 1600hrs. Time is on my side now, all of this will be over in an hour as long as the flow keeps going. I have one more court run on the last regular pick up of the day. Just as I go to leave with it I hear someone asking if the courier has left yet. There is one more job, this one is an ASAP going to One Wacky. I write it up quickly while I wait for it to be put in an envelope and labeled. All of the formalities are covered and I am out the door for the court one more time on this Friday. Up and down, I feel like I had just left because I actually had less than 25 minutes ago. I drop the ASAP first then return the file stamped pleading right before 1620hrs. I am still moving watching the clock because in ten minutes I will have to get the mail from three firms and have the Certified Servicing stamped and in the USPO by 1700hrs.

Back around One Wacky, Two Wacky and the Hearst Tower taking away what amounts to just over one tub of outgoing mail. There are 10 certified as well which take individual care and cannot be just thrown in the blue box. With the mail on the top of my cockpit I make the light at College and fly down the hill on 5th Street all the way to the bike rack by the front door that John Cock was able to get the Post Master General of Charlotte to install almost a decade ago. It feels strange to be working the late shift pulling the all day like back in my rookie years. I walk in with the stack that needs to be stamped with the round brown and look down the hall to the window that I picked up my first two deliveries 8 hours prior. Billy Dee gives me the nod from behind the counter and I approach taking the round brown from his hand. As soon as he let go without warning, I dropped it. The stamp hit the counter on the edge and then fell to the floor with a click. "Don't brake my round brown" he said with a grin that made him look even more like Lando Calrissian. When I picked it up off of the floor I looked at the device and wondered if this tool of his trade had been his since the eighties when I was in High School. It looked old and used. I tore off and stamped the 8 receipts as fast as I could. Outside the Post Office I unlocked and started the 35 minute commute home considering the day in the job that I just had.