It's 6:30pm in the evening, a job comes down the line, a one-up to Cheltenham and i'm husstlin. It's a train ride about 100 miles out of town. I jump on the train at Paddington and 2 and a half hours later i arrive in rainy Cheltenham. Low and behold the heavens open up and i get soaked, the whole ball and dice. It felt like the wrath of Bingalo. I kept on cycling to the final destination but if i stopped the package would have floated away. I made it back to the station only to find i had missed the last train back to London town. It's just after 10 what should i do? I asked around for a B&B and picked up a smelly, smokey dive for 30 quid, a bargain. It didn't even include breakfast. So i got up at 5:30am and had a dingo's breakfast (a piss and a quick look around) and took the first train back to London. It was 5:56am, i was still wet from the night before but i relaxed into my smelly shammy and started to doze. I was abruptly woken by an arrogant ticket inspector demanding to see my fare. After seeing my saver ticket he cracked an evil smile and demanded 62pounds and 50 p or he would have me removed from the train. I had to get off at Gloucester and wait for a train after 9am. I boarded the 9:50 train and arrived to work 3 hours late smelling of cat's piss and hungry for a feed. You can't make this shit up. Can anyone match this?
One of my regular jobs involves going to Trafford Park, which for those that don't know, is a godamn huge souless evil industrial estate with an A road running through the middle. The only way to get where you are going is to brave the A road, which would be fine were it not for the fact that all of manchesters dumbest people seem to work in Trafford Park, and most of them seem to drive Trucks. My usual route involves going past Old Trafford, which is a nightmare on a match day, or if some meaningless and remote trophy has been won. A few months ago a pissed up kid thought the best way to celebrate european cup success was to try and clothesline me as I was riding past. Bottles and cans being chucked at passing cyclists are a regular occurence. If you survive the football fans, and the truckers you then have to negotiate the Ashburton roundabout which is beyond a rise which takes all the speed from your legs which is a bad thing because the truckers fly round at 60 mph and take no prisoners. Trafford Parks shit location and geography mean that 9 times out of ten there will be a headwind which just adds to your woes. Occasionally I think 'fuck it' and ride on the shit bike lanes and never cleaned pavements but I always get a puncture for my troubles. On top of all that, the packages I deliver all go to the same place, an asbestos removal firm. The Packages all have the same red sticker 'Warning: Package contains Asbestos', so I'm fucked any way you look at it.
I did end up with actual human urine sloshing around inside my bag once. Not mine, either.
Some knob creative at Mellor Reay had a toilet brush break on him, and decided to bike it back to Habitat to get a refund. He had tied it up in a flimsy carrier bag, and I stupidly didn't look too closely at the package. By the time I got up the TCR, the liquid contents had escaped... nice.
there was a guy who worked a cyclone for a while - a few years back - who's idea of a tough job was, well, unusual. Soon after he started he was given a job from W1 to camden and, deciding this was too far to cycle, took the tube. oddly enough he didn't last long and, even more surprisingly, he wasn't offered a managerial role.