I am now one of three drivers for a messenger company.
There used to be ten of us.
Just the ten of us.
The messenger industry has slipped on a hilarious banana peel called The Internet.
Gone are the days of delivering scores of documents to important accountants.
Gone are the days of delivering Beta tapes, CDs, DVDs to hunky ad men.
Long gone are the days of delivering phone numbers on slips of paper to douchebags in restaurants.
These days we deliver whatever can't be sent online.
Yesterday I messengered cat shit.
That pretty much sums it up.
One of our drivers quit this week.
He found higher financial security working at Subway.
Subway is a fast food sandwich shop that pays its workers close to minimum wage.
They have a sandwich there called The Feast.
The decent thing about this drought is not having to leave the house until there's work.
This morning Lauren and I watched two episodes of Mad Men before I had to do some low paying mail runs.
I think I made about $57 today.
The upside: Mad Men
After "work," I rode my bike seven miles to band practice. The Bitter Tears have some new songs to play this Saturday at The Hideout. I have to get a new costume. I lost my wig at the last show. Maybe I'll go as January Jones.
A harried, winter ride home between hostile and oblivious kooks-in-kars brought me home to the hearty scent of home-cooked kielbasa, pork tenderloin, sauerkraut and mashed potatoes. Polish excellence courtesy of Lauren. With a bottle of gift wine, we finished Season 2 of Mad Men.