The things they carried

 As a bicycle messenger in the nineties I was amongst a group of misfits and outcasts that called Dublin's streets home. The things they carried were mostly determined by their habits. 

We all lugged a waterproof canvas satchel around with the company's name on it in massive letters. CYCLONE or QUICKSTREAM or GO FAR. If the bag was a good design you could swing it from your back to your front as you cycled so as to reach inside for whatever you needed. Attached to the front strap was a two-way radio for receiving jobs or telling the dispatcher you had dropped a delivery. Somewhere in the bottom of everyone's bag was a rain jacket. We all wore helmets as it was stupid not to in Dublin back then. Most of us wore wrap-around sunglasses to keep the diesel fumes from buses and pollution particles out of our eyes. And we all had signature sheets to record and prove deliveries.

Sean carried a u-lock on his handlebar. Ostensibly he could lock the bike to a railing quickly or, as was his thing, swing it at pedestrians or dumbass taxi drivers. Wendy carried a wrap of amphetamine in her sports bra. If she was ever stopped, no cop would search there. She carried it to get through busy days. 

Jonathan always had a multi-tool. The ass could fall out of your bike but he would have the widget to repair it, right there and then. Like a two-wheeled, OCD, perfectionist  MacGyver.

Damian carried a note book. In between drops when it was quiet on St Stephen's Green he would sketch. He was putting a portfolio together for a big cartoon company he hoped to someday work for. Anthony carried hummus or Couscous in tiny Tupperware tubs. He was health-mad. His group of friends were affectionately referred to as the Tofu Krew. Enda carried diesel, small blocks of cannabis that had been soaked in diesel fuel to double their size and add to the profit. He was kind enough to refuse to sell it to his friends but did a good trade otherwise. 

Stephen carried a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes and a zippo lighter with his name engraved upon it. He could balance at traffic lights and fire up a cigarette one handed without putting his foot down.

Wendy carried a small amount of premium Moroccan black in her satchel for select customers. Twenty quid's worth. A 20 spot. She only carried one at a time to avoid being arrested for dealing. She lived nearby in the city centre so getting what you needed was not a problem. 

Eric carried sun cream. Nuclear strength. He had a mole on his forearm the size of a baby's hand. Every day from May to September he would coat the mole in factor 5000 to stop it mutating in the sun.

Newbies [I can't remember their names] carried pocket street maps. They would take them out while the dispatcher was shouting an address over the radio and try to find where they were supposed to go.

Keith always had a bandana and cycled around the city as half bike-messenger, half rock star.

Richie had a cigarette rolling machine. He wouldn't have come to a stop on his bike before the gadget was out and creating a perfect roll-up that everyone was jealous of. A little brass box with a drum could produce magic out of loose Amber Leaf tobacco and a couple of Rizla papers.

Friday Fran always carried a smile. Sounds stupid but he did. He cared for his elderly mother six days a week but on Friday she was in respite care. Fran worked like a whirling dervish all day, loving it. Snow showers. Wind. Rain. Fran just carried a smile all day. The smile of freedom.

Miriam carried a full, waist length head of red dreadlocks. They weighed a tonne and regularly got caught in her satchel strap but she didn't care for she knew she looked like a bad-ass flame-haired medusa trundling down O'Connell street at warp speed.