by Tom Holland
Dirt Rag #56, March 1997
Last Thursday I was dropping a package at 3 Mellon Bank Center, whereI used to work, and I stopped off to take a piss. So I'm standing there,just doing my thing, when my ex-coworker John pulls up to the urinal nextdoor. There aren't any partitions between the urinals so it's kind of hard(difficult might be a better word here) not to do the old long dong peeingcontest. But, to divert that train of thought, we start comparing clothing.See, he’s wearing a blue suit with a tie and the de rigeur wing tip shoes.And I'm sporting a stylishly sweaty messenger bag accented with a blaringradio over a chic pair of dirty shorts and black tights. And this is kindof funny, because I was a bank program mer for seven years, and I usedto dress just like John.
Now, it may sound kind of dreamy, getting paid 40 G's just for showingup late, taking a 2-hour lunch and leaving early, but actually, it sucked.All I did was slouch in my little, gray cubicle and play Doom, or attendpointless, inter minable meetings arguing some inane point with other guysin suits and brains the size of peas. Then we'd pull out our planners,square up our stack of hand outs (corresponding to the overhead slide presentation)and trudge to an other meeting. And all the time I'm looking out the window,and even if it's 30 degrees and raining I'm thinking, man, I'd rather beout there, riding.
Here's a situation I'll bet Sarte wishes he'd thought of you get 40grand a year to sit eight hours a day in a prison cell with annoying prisonersdo you do it? Yeah, for a while, maybe but screw that, that's no way tospend your life. So one day I just quit, packed up my bike with everythingI needed (I had a lot of time to make lists in those meetings), and rode3000 miles across the Southwest. I went through Yosemite and Death Valley,past the Grand Can yon and even spent a week in Moab living with a bandof hippies in a blue trailer and swimming naked in the steams. Somewheremeetings were still being conducted in little gray rooms, but I was layingout on a grand expanse of pink slickrock and digging the sun set reflectedoff the mountains.
Then I came back to Pittsburgh and got a job as a messenger. Actually,first I spent two months lying in bed drinking beer and washing myselfwith a rag on a stick, but anyway...
Now I put in 60 miles on a good day, and I don't care if it’s cold andraining, because it beats sitting in some damned meeting. When it's slowI sit outside in Market Square drinking coffee and eating raisin bagelswith honey-walnut cream cheese and talking bikes with other messengers.Life is good. And when I wanted more than a month off this summer to goback to the great Southwest, I just asked at the messenger company andthey said hey, no problem. So when we were zipping up and John asked mehow the big change agreed with me, I just gave him an understated "ohfine." No need to gloat when you win a peeing contest.
If you have comments or suggestions, email me at messvilleto@yahoo.com