July 23 - Empty Reflections, Full Belly

Luckily the owner of our anemic, starving messenger company took the day off. So I hung out at the office all day with Arturo the dispatcher/driver/biker.

I met Arturo ten years ago, when we both rode for Apex.

He's been messengering on and off since 1997.

I remember one time around 2002 we occupied the same elevator in a Streeterville high rise.

He had quit Apex and was now working for Velocity.

From his clipboard he produced a picture he had just gotten developed.

It was of his own bare ass.

"What's that for?" I inquired.

He said he was going to be quitting Velocity that day, and the photo was part of his resignation letter.

It was another dead day and that was fine by me.

I'd much rather be working on writing in the comforts of an air conditioned office than panting in the armpit of summer doing shit work that pays nothing to "keep me busy".

Thankfully Arturo understands that.

So he gave all the daily mail and bank run crap to the other two drivers.

I worked in the cool office for four consecutive hours.

We reminisced a bit about the old bike messengering days.

The Arrow Messenger two-hour strike, Super Dave, the messenger girls we thought were pretty.

Back then I had a crush on this girl who rode for Velo.

A tomboy named Laura.

She had a front tooth missing.

We would say hi to each other and mildly flirt.

I saw her at one of the few messenger parties I ever attended.

She and a dude were about to drop acid.

I didn't feel like talking about messengering with other messengers on a Saturday night.

Or on weekdays for that matter.

So I rode home.

Last I heard was she was doing puppetry for Red Moon Theater.

Underneath the nostalgia, Arturo's Pandora played Nina Simone and lots of Cat Power.

But all mediocre things must come to an end, and at 3pm I got a van run downtown and a long one out to Naperville. I supposed I should make more than $14 in a day, so I took the work.

The van run took me to a Jame Gumb cave in the Hyatt Regency where they store conference materials for future corporate horrors.

The traffic to Naperville was aggravating and sticky and filled with people who are under the impression that 65mph is fast enough for all lanes.

It makes for a convoy of mobile prisons.

Fun but true generalization: In Europe, people know how to drive on the highway. Everyone stays in the right lane unless they are passing. It makes everything go smoothly. In the US, the Constitution gives us the freedom to drive anyway we want. For some reason we have all chosen to drive like inconsiderate or oblivious idiots.

It's true.

I call people idiots.

People call me an idiot.

At times, I am an idiot.

All other times, they are the idiots.

We're all a bunch of fucking idiots.

The drive home was entertaining at least.

Big fat storm, loud and mean.

Thin wicked lightnings tickled ahead.

I left all the windows down.

And let the gusts goose my ribs.

The seats got washed.

I cooled off.

It made the four hour drive back and forth almost bearable.

Lauren and I walked in the rain to a BYOB Mexican restaurant.

We pigged out on chips, poblano quesadillas and beer.

The entrees came home in styrofoam.

It was great to go out on a date again.

Plus, Lauren has her front teeth.

Verdict: Win