speedex

Don’t ask why, but I had to do my best courier impersonation yesterday. I went to this lawyer’s office and asked for an envelope. He was a one-arm guy, but not a midget, like the one starring in David Lynch’s movies [btw, don’t try to read between the lines of the Mullholand Drive’s script – there are no hidden messages whatsoever, it’s all a floating dream]. He asked me the name of the guy to whom I was supposed to get the envelope. Bad luck!
Because the envelope contained two tickets for last night’s football match. And my best man has this friend who knows the one-arm lawyer and he told him to ask for the envelope but I wasn’t told the friend’s name, so I replied using my best man’s name. The lawyer was holding the envelope, ready to give it to me and then get rid of me. But when he heard a name he didn’t recognize, he let it down and said, annoyed: “Who’s this? Don’t know the guy. Cannot give this to you, sorry”. Now, I was in the mood of obtaining two tickets for the game and I was determined to attend my team’s victory, so no bloody lawyer could take that from me. So, after years of dealing with couriers, accepting packages and signing receipts, I retained my calmness and said: “Please give me one minute to call at the office!” He nodded. Damn! I should have been an actor…

Then I used my mobile to ring my best man and without saying hi or something I said loudly: “I am at the address where you sent me and there is nothing here for the name I had written down. I think I may have been given wrong info. Can you please repeat to me all details?” Well, my best man is clever but obviously not THAT clever, so, instead of getting the point and reacting accordingly, he started shouting: “What the fuck are you talking about mate? Did you take the tickets? Don’t be an asshole; please I am not in the mood! There was no need to tell the guy any names. All I asked was to go there and pick up the fucking envelope. Now how difficult can that be, you moron???” Cell phones are as public friendly as speakerphones. Anyone can listen to the guy at the other line. So did the lawyer. I started feeling guilt. There I was, pretending to be an innocent courier, asking for something that typically wasn’t supposed to be given to me, and being surrounded by books about justice, prisons, punishments, crimes etc. But, like I have already said, I should have been an actor. Because I didn’t panic. I just stood there, smiling and replied to my best man’s hysteria: “Okeedokee!!! Now I got it. I mixed names & addresses. My mistake. So the envelope is for another gentleman. I’ll take care of it, don’t’ worry!”

I hung up the phone. I smiled at the lawyer. “How silly of me. It happens you know… It’s the nature of this job…” The lawyer, without saying a single word, looked at me suspiciously and got the envelope back in his hand [and take that literally]. The moment I got it, I said, “Thank you very much” and disappeared, almost certain that he would call the police soon after to chase me down.
Nah, he didn’t bother that much. But when I got back at my office, sat in front of my computer and started submitting budget proposals and big ideas, resting my ass on my executive SATO chair, I couldn’t but smile.
Working as a manager and pretending to be a courier is something like wearing a wig so as to have sex with your wife after thirty years of marriage at the toilet of a restaurant: refreshing! And, as I won’t be trying the latter for some time, I may as well try again to repeat the former. Even without a motorbike…