Day Two: Wherein I Become A Tycoon

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Monday

Tuesday:

Woke up a wee bit late today – but luckily it’s slow enough that I can continue to drink my coffee and read the news online. The first job of the day happens to be a strange one, a round-trip cowboy hat delivery. As absurd as it sounds this is typical enough: I’ve delivered a wedding dress from an angry bride back to her fiancé, subpoenaed an unknowing mother of two for divorce, delivered sheet metal for construction sites, sifted through microfiche for divorce records from someone who doesn’t remember the year they were married. The pickup is at JPMorgan, so the first image I have in my head is this rich-as-Oprah, shotgun-holdin’ cowboy type that got the wrong size for his free promotional hat and is demanding a new one. The hat is fairly small, but it fits my head well – I can’t help myself, I have to try it on, get a picture – envision this sort of ’20s style tycoon lifestyle. In my head I’m singing “Bill Morgan and his Gal (My Name is Morgan but it ain’t J.P.).” I feel, for a moment like I’m drifting at the top of the world, some rich mama’s boy with everything cradled in my lap so deeply I can’t see my genitalia. The world is my oyster, and I can buy it all. A lady steps into the elevator with me, gives me a sidelong glance and a chuckle. Her well-composed Macy’s suit is nothing to my rolled up Wranglers and cowboy hat. I can see that she’s playing with the idea of giving me some snide remark, but she doesn’t want to come off as rude.

In her eyes she’s thinking, “What does this boy think he’s doing? Trying on cowboy hats in the elevator, I’m surprised I didn’t see him stripped down putting on that shirt as well.”

I’m looking her up and down as well, “I wonder if those heels are uncomfortable? How does she get her toes in that triangle shape to fit right there? Or is that just blank space?”

She puts a finger to her polished lips, a glare in her eyes, she’s got to be thinking, “The kid is fairly cute even with his flood pants on.”

The elevator door opens, we both step out.
-- Thorin Klosowski

Thorin Klosowski is a bike messenger here in our great city. This week he provides us with a few brief snapshots of a week as a courier.

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