Balls of the Feet
by Marc Innis
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: Lots of strong ones.
Description: Delivery driving in rural Moray District – the inside story.
Swearwords: Lots of strong ones.
Description: Delivery driving in rural Moray District – the inside story.
People think I got this scar in a fight but, that’s not true. People believe any aul shite. The worse it is the mair they believe it. Fit happened wis an accident at work –
I wis o’er at the industrial estate, hauling parcels aff the back the van. Huge heavy fuckers, full ae machine parts – nuts, bolts, components. The parcels were made fae reinforced cardboard. Great thick staples hauding them thegither. Otherwise the erse wid’ve fell out thim. Chaos wid’ve ensued.
I dropped the first wan – BANG, on the foot ae the trolley. The trolley sprang back – gien me wan hoorna skelp in the napper. I wis awa wi the faeries fur a second ir twa. Then I saw raed splashes appear on the grunn. Spat, spat, spat. A splatir patrin. Markin far I’d been.
I kept the heid forrit so I didna mak too much mess ma jeckit, went roun tae the driver’s side wing-mirrur, the raed stuff streamin down.
I pult the door open. Glanced aboot the cab fur blue roll, a pack ae tissues. Onythin tae stanch the bleedin.
Fuck sake boi! Ye a’rite?
The storeman wis stood there. Ye’ll need tae clean yersel up in the bathroom.
There was no bath in the so-called bathroom. Wan cubicle, a sink. No soap ir towel that I could see. I shrugged the jeckit aff ma shoodirs. Let it fa tae the fleer.
I ran baith taps. Splashed ma face and neck wi warm wattir. I pult the door open, asked the storeman far the first aid kit wis hidin.
Ye could fire up tae A & E. Get a couple stitches.
Wid I get a discount in here seenis we delivir yer parcels.
Tt. The boss is a grumpy cunt. Fit ye needin like.
I wis needin a pairae steel toe cap shoes. The firm issued abdy wi boots but, fin I tried mine on and taen a daunder roun the toun they chafed the backs ae ma ankles that bad I ended up limpin hame. They got thrown in a corner ae the room and I went tae work in ma usual claes.
*
Fin the boys back at the depot saw the dressin above my eye thir wir a few chuckles. Scalpy telt me tae get up tae the hospital in case I hud concussion. He himself wis supposed tae be on light duties efter he fell fin he wis pished and broke 3 ribs.
The Cunningham cries us baith intae the office.
RITE, he sais, DEEDEE’S AFF THIS WEEK SO YOUSE PAIR CAN COVER HIS RUN. SCALPY! YOU’RE JIST THE CO-DRIVER – TAKE DEEDEE’S VAN AND MAKE SURE YIS LOOK EFTER IT. YE KAIN FIT LIKE HE IS.
I kain he’s a fud, that’s fit I kain.
GET OOT THERE. DEE YER JOAB!
*
At least half the boys were ex-forces. They were all highly disciplined but Deedee taen it tae extremes. Fin we got his van that mornin it looked like it jist rolled oot the showroom – the bodywork wis polished tae a deep shine ye could see yer reflection in. The windscreen wis invisible. There wis not wan mote ae dust on the dashboard.
Scalpy hud a bad case ae the shakes. Ivry weekend wis a bender and maist mundays he turned up an hour or 2 late if he turned up at all. He wis climbin intae the cab when he tripped so the cuppa tea he’d been haudin went skitin across the foot well.
Fuck sake, ye got a clout.
Nivir mind that, we need ti get a shifty on.
Straight tae the baker’s and Scalpy’s back in the van wie a couple king size sausage rolls. Flaky pastry across the seat, on the fleer, o’er the dashboard. Then he’s oot wi the pouch, rollin himsel a tickler, shakin so much there’s bits ae baccy o’er athing as well. By the time we cried it quits that night the cab looked like sumbdy’d emptied a skip intae it.
It’s a fuckin work van, kain fit I mean. We’ll clean it aa up on Friday.
Scalpy nivir appeared that Friday.
I wis on ma ain. Oot in the wilderness.
The run covered Broch Heid, Howp Min, Cumming’s Tong, plus, ivry farm, croft and new build in the surroundin cuntricide.
That wis a fair bit ae cuntricide.
Scalpy didna kain the run that weel but compared tae me he kaint it backwards. Fin it came tae the back ae beyond drops I jist drove up and doon the road, lookin left and right, hopin for the best.
I wis reversin oot a ferm driveway too fast, too busy thinkin aboot the next drop. BANG! I hudna noticed this great muckle fencepost. A dent in the driver’s door the size ae a fitba.
I thought Deedee wid go aff his heid, threaten me wie a court martial. But then I started thinkin mibbe Deedee’s real problim wis wi him bein so uptight aboot athing.
I worked oot fit I wis gona say – Lissin Deedee, it’s nay even yer van, it’s cumpinae propirtae, kain fit I mean.
I saw Deedee first thing Munday mornin and he said fuck all. Mind you, I’d swept the cab oot, filled it fula fuel, taen it tae the car wash – the problim wis that only made the dent mair noticeable. So, I wis really expectin him ti say summin – even jist a sly wee dig – You cannot get the staff these days.
It wis only later I found out the Cunningham hud texted him o’er the weekend so he’d hud time tae come tae terms wie it.
*
The Cunningham wis there at half 6 ivry mornin and wis the last wan tae leave at night. He wis far in wi Scalpy’s aul boy which wis the only reason Scalpy got off wie as much as he did.
Still and all he wis on a final warnin. The Cunningham could only protect him so far fae Sneckie heid office.
A fortnight efter I started I hud tae drive through there fir an induction. This involved me fillin oot a few forms sayin I wis the perfect physical specimen and hud nay history ae GBH. Then I hud tae watch the Health & Safety video.
The lassie in the office shouted in my lug the hale time I wis tryin tae watch the video – STAY ON THE BALLS AE THE FEET. IF YER ON THE BALLS AE THE FEET YER USIN YER LEGS TAE LIFT. YE DINNA WINT YER BACK FUCKT DO YE?
NO.
STAY ON THE BALLS AE THE FEET THEN!
*
The bane ae the hale team’s life wis unloadin the 18-tonne lorry. Even wie a dozen boys on the case it wis a blood and guts epic ae Biblical proportions – wir talkin 50 thousan ae these bastirt parcels in thir various shapes, sizes, deviant disguises. Plus, thir wir ay a puckle insanely heavy efforts jist tae test how shot one’s spinal column hud become.
Mine hud pretty much bin fuckt since I wis a young pup through in the Deen and yon monster paper round wis thrust upon me by some Mid Glamorgan stunner jist up for the summer. Well, an extended vacation to be fair.
Anyway, that wis me at 14 years of age. Up at 5 in the freezin AMs – the Hardgate, the Howburn, the Hollybank, the Holburn, the various offshoots, laneys and closes – the white dog shite, empty plastic bottles, flattened crisp packets, sweetie wrappers trapped in uloe raed berried hedgerows – sinister stairwells ae darkent tenement buildins, musty lino curlin away fae the skirtin, the smell ae fry ups, sum samovar singin, perhaps masel whisslin – fur a good 90 minutes, ma guts ay rumblin.
*
Ye could spot the dried dog food straight away. It ay came in these long boxes wie a couple strips ae tape roun them. Ye were tempted tae grab them by the tape and fling them ontae yer van. They weighed a ton though. Ye hud to be careful the tape didna snap.
Ivry time I saw wan ae they boxes I hoped it wisna fir the woman wi the half dozen hounds fae hell.
Ye drove up tae a 5-bar gate. Ahin the gate was this great long driveway wie lumps ae shite dotted about. Ye heard barking then the half dozen hounds came charging doon the driveway, spit flying fae their muzzles, fangs all bright and shiny.
Oot came the woman bawling at them to get back in the huis. It would take her at least 5 minutes to round them all up. Which was 5 minutes I didna huv. It was amazing how many customers seemed to think their own personal delivery was the only thing ye had to do that day.
I mind ae time the hounds were all locked in the huis, barking their heads off. The woman was nowhere to be seen. I drove up, dumped the boxes outside the garage door, got back in the van, drove off without shutting the gate. A half hour later my mobile started buzzing.
A Mrs Grogan has been on the phone. She sais you left her gate wide open. One of her dogs escaped, ran onto the A96 and was killed instantly. If you’re there again, mind and shut the gate.
I was there a fortnight later and this time the woman was also there. Were you here 2 weeks ago.
No. I wis aff sick. Musta bin wan ae the ither boys.
Is your name Andrew. She was looking at the scanner. Every scanner had a sticker showing the driver’s name in block capitals.
Aye but, there’s anither boy that works wie us called Andrew, mibbe it wis him that wis here.
*
I drove off cursing Super Grass that worked in the office. She shouldn’t be dishing out our names to customers. Before you knew it, she’d be telling them far we bed so they could come roun at the weekend and deliver their complaints in person.
There were 2 of them in the office. Super Grass was there ‘til half one, then Blade of Grass took over. Usually what happened was a customer phoned them, then they phoned you. For example, you’d be driving along, your mobile would start buzzing –
You delivered a parcel to a Mrs Morrison on the 19th of April, 9:47 AM, signed for by Shed.
I felt like saying – It wisna the shed that wrote that.
Aye, I said.
Well, Mrs Morrison has just been on the phone and she disna hae a shed.
Oh.
Why are you writing Shed anyway?
Coz eh –
For fuck sake Andrew. It disna look very professional.
I was a bit miffed at that. I had a whinge about it later when the office staff were gone and us drivers were stood about waiting for the lorry to arrive. Aul Deedee gave me a tip from the top and told me to write LAI.
LAI?
Left as instructed. Doesn’t have to be written instruction. Could be verbal. Say the customer told you to just pop it in her shed. How they gona prove you’ve never even seen her?
Oh right, cheers Deedee.
No problem, mate.
*
I wis at the kettle, fixin a brew fin Jonny Hay Bales appeared. He fairly kaint how tae sneak up on folk. Didna even drink tea or coffee. Refused tae stick any dough in the kitty, though I’m sure he helped himsel tae a puckle biscuits fin naybdy wis lookin.
So, San Andreas, any cut-price action at the weekend.
Got a bit carried awa ti be honest – shaggin this big blone up against the wardrobe, ma first ride in 48 hours so I was giein it the ful montel – takin her fae ahin and I’m whappin it intae her that hard her heid fell aff.
Fuck sake.
Tellin ye, it wisna easy gittin her dressed, doon the stair and intae the motor fin she’s got nay heid. Coz she’s got nay eyes either, so it wis like leadin the blind. And I’m needin tae get her up tae the hospital quick fast on the double.
So, I panic. Jump in the motor, start the engine. Halfway tae Ailgin afore I realised I’ve left her heid in the huis. Hud tae dee a big U turn, fire back doon the road, collect the heid, jump back in the motor – Hit the road once again. She wisna best pleased.
Expect me tae believe that shite.
Nay really.
Ye need tae try harder. Make it a bittie mair realistic.
I dunno where in my contract it said I was obliged to provide Jonny Hay Bales wie a constant stream ae erotic fiction but, that seemed tae be an unspoken rule atween us. And it went beyond the workplace. Ye got the impression no matter how our paths had crossed, whether we’d met at the school, in the pub or the retirement home, the situation would be much the same. Like it had been written in the stars, centuries before either of us were born – Andrew will tell the dirty stories, Jonny will listen to these stories. Jonny will then voice any criticisms he may have.
It would be better if ye hung onto the heid. That way ye could get a blow job onytime ye fancied it.
I’m nay into necrophilia Jonny.
I’m nay on aboot the neck, I’m talkin aboot the heid.
I could hardly turn up tae the hospital wi a heidless woman and nay heid. I’d be on a murder charge for fuck sake.
Yer takin this too seriously. It’s s’posed tae be a bit ae fun. Anyway, ye need tae be a bittie mair realistic. I need summin tae think aboot fin I’m in my bed at night.
Watch a movie. Read a book.
I like the personal touch. I like to think aboot folk I know doing things ti each other.
If I hung onto the heid, it would’ve started ti decompose.
Stick it in yer fridge.
There’s nay room in the fridge.
Fit aboot the freezer.
I dinna hae a freezer.
Nay freezer.
Nay freezer.
How comes.
It’s a long story.
*
The Chèith run should really huv bin cried the Mull Ben, New Mull, Chèith, Ross Testie run. Fair inuff, that was a bit ae a moothfae. But at least it wid’ve bin mair accurate. If ye winted ti be fussy ye’d need tae add Forgie, Drummuir, Boharim, plus aa the odds and sods roun aboot.
It wisna like shoppin, where ye came back wi the messages. It wis exactly the opposite – if ye came back wi ony messages ye got telt – USELESS CUNT. FIT YE BIN DEEN A’DAY, WANKIN?
Efter I’d been there 3 months and kaint the run fairly weel they started hittin me wi eichty tae a hunner and twinty parcels per shift. I started tae lose aa the weight I’d gained. There wis nay time fir giant caramel bumpers oot the Spar shop.
Ivry parcel hud a barcode and ye scanned them afore loadin thim ontae yer wagon. Ye tried tae load thim in such a way they wir roughly in the order ye’d be dropping thim aff.
If the first few parcels wir sma inuff I chucked thim on the passenger seat so they wir near tae hand. Then ye jist kept gan fir 90 odd minutes, arrangin the various shapes, sizes, deviant disguises in the back ae yer wagon ‘til it wis ful tae the gunnels – looked like ye wir deen a flit by the licht ae the silvery moon – ‘cept it wis barely 8 in the mornin and ye wir gan nay far ‘cept roun in the usual circle.
*
Fin ye got tae that first huis ye scanned the barcode, tapped the delivry option. Ye chapped the door or rang the bell. Half the time the bell wisna workin, so then ye’d tae chap like a polis.
If ye were lucky sumbdy came tae the door. Ye handed thim the scanner – they hummed and heyed ‘til they worked up the necessary heid ae steam then signed yer screen.
90% of the time they said – I hate writin on these things. It nivir looks like my signature.
Another favourite wis – Fit’s she been ordrin noo. Or, Fit’s he been ordrin noo.
I felt like sayin – It’s in a box, how am I supposed ti know.
I nivir gave a second thought tae fit might be inside but, I kain sum ae the ithir boys wir prone tae speculation.
Jonny Hay Bales wis prob’ly the worst fir it.
We’d be unloadin the lorry at night. He’d haun ye a parcel and say – That’s a new dildo fir Mrs Paterson, she’ll be pleased ti see you the morn.
*
If naybdy wis hame ye hud a choice ti make. Ye kid pit a caird through the letterbox, take the parcel back tae the depot, or ye kid look fir sumfar tae hide it.
I stopped hiding parcels in wheely bins efter a neighbour pit sumbdy’s oot and their parcel got emptied into a scaffie wagon along wi the rubbish.
Usually I went roun the back ae the huis, looked for a shed. If they didna hae a shed, or the shed wis locked, I looked fir anither hiding place. I stuck parcels in green huises, garages, wendy huises, coal bunkers, kennels, under decking, under kids’ trampolines, in Bar-Bee-Queues, under caravans, in clapped out motor cars – then I filled oot a caird, stuck it through the letterbox. Parcel round the back on bench covered by tarpaulin near big window. Ye hud tae write in the auld Anglais. If ye didna ye got telt – SPEAK IN THE AULD ANGLAIS CUNTOE. SPEAK IN THE AULD ANGLAIS.
*
I was lucky wi my run. There were plenty sheds and maist ae them werna locked. Ye wrote Shed, pressed OK, then punched it in using capital letters. Ye did the same finivir a customer signed the screen, handed back the scanner.
If their surname wis summin like Pratt or Elcock I got thim tae spell it out while I punched it in, practised my straight face.
Sometimes ye noticed the name on the label but couldnae read fit the customer hud written so ye said – Is your name Such-n-such n aa.
The reaction ye got could be quite amusin. It wis like ye were accusin them ae livin in sin. I felt like sayin – Lissin, I’m nay here tae judge. I’m jist the delivry boy, kain fit I mean.
If it was an STP parcel ye hud tae enter the postcode as well as the person’s name. Chèith wis aywis AB55 5. Ross Testie wis aywis AB38 7. The only thing that changed were the last 2 letters. I hud a system fur mindin thim fin the customer turned roun and shut the door. AH – Arse Hole, BJ – Blow Job, BS – Bull Shit – and so on.
We wir gittin mair and mair STP parcels. Apparently, it wis cheaper fir them tae get us tae dee thir oot the back ae beyond delivries than it was tae get thir ain drivers tae dee thim. Also, ye noticed the heavier STP parcels seemed tae mysteriously turn up in oor depot.
Ye’d be tryin tae load yer wagon at silly a’clock in the AMs and the boys wid be ragin – IVRY TIME I SEE THAT STP CUNT HE’S SITTIN IN A LAYBY EATIN FANCY PIECES. YE NEED TAE BE AT LEAST 15 STONE TAE GIT A JOB WIE THEM, YE GO FUR AN INTERVIEW AND THE BOY AHIN THE DESK SAIS – STEP ON THE SCALES PLEASE. IF YER UNNER 15 STONE THEY SHOW YE THE DOOR – AWA AND PIT SOME BEEF ON YA SKINNY MALINK!
Compared tae the STP boys oor lot looked like they’d been transferred fae a PoW camp. The only exception was Little Britain who could’ve passed fir an STP driver if he’d swapped uniforms. I wis surprised he hudna applied for a job wie thim. Mibbe he hud and jist wisna sayin.
I couldna blame him for keepin his mooth shut. We wir aa dyin tae git oota there. Ye let slip there wis a joab gan wie anuthir firm and ye’d hae half a dozen boys gan fir the same position. Imagine turnin up fir the interview and yer mate’s comin oot the door, Hullo LB.
Except ye widna cry him that. He didna kain we cried him Little Britain. And we only cried him that coz he looked like the boy aff the TV show.
It wis a similar thing wi Jonny Hay Bales. He got that name wan winter fin he wis still oot delivering at 8 a’clock in the PMs.
The van wis parked and he wis giein the customer her parcel when a tractor pulin a trailer came tearin roun the corner – a hay bale flew aff, caved in Jonny’s windscreen.
Fin I got back fae Ross Testie I saw the shattered windscreen, the bonnet aa dented, nay Jon boy tae be seen.
Fuck sake, is he okay.
Same as ivir.
Thought that might’ve knocked some sense intae im.
Did ye?
Nay really.
*
Jonny wis quite a strange individual. All he ever talked aboot wis sex. He seemed tae think I wis some sort ae super stud. Which wis true but, how did he know that.
I’m jokin. It wisna true at all. But that didna stop Jonny’s imagination runnin away wie him. We’d be unloadin the lorry Munday mornin and he’d be next to me – I heard ye were shaggin the hale weekend – a brunette on the Friday night, a blone on the Setirday, a raed heid on the Sunday efterneen.
Yer wrong, I sais. It wis a brunette on the Sunday. I could hear the church bells in the distance while I was firin it intae her in the missionary position.
I thought ye’d be giein it tae her doggy.
Nay on a Sunday Jon. Hae a bittie respect min.
He’d go and put a parcel in the appropriate cage, then he’d be back quizzin me – Ye get a blowjob aff her.
Fitch ane.
The brunette.
I got the full breakfast min. Off all 3 of them.
He wid be smilin. Sumbdy wid throw me a parcel. I’d go and put it in the appropriate cage, then I’d be back next tae Jonny.
How many times ye shoot yer load.
Nay idea. I lost count efter 5 PM.
Heh heh heh. Sum kiddie.
*
Accordin tae Scalpy, I wis the only boy ivir tae join the crew and gain weight. Mind you, efter I got sacked fae the last joab I wis livin on porridge and 3-bean-chilli. That’s all I could afford fir 6 months – so I wis skinny as a rake fin I started. Then they put me on the Chèith run.
The Chèith run wis the best fin it came tae food. There wir twa chippers, 3 bakers, a Spar shop that did hot pies and giant caramel bumpers wie a cream filling.
I started pilin on the beef. I couldna tie the top button ae ma jeans. I hud tae wear a belt wi the buckle fastened at the last notch.
Little Britain started the week efter me and he was anither ane thit wisna gittin ony thinner. Mind you, it wis harder tae tell wie him coz he wis a fair size boy tae begin wi.
I’m thinkin aboot ma Sunday lunch, he sais. Beef olives, a helpin ae mash, peas, carrots, roast parsnips, sticky toffee puddin and ice cream.
He wis anuthir ex-air-force boy.
I mind one time there was a big crash on the A9 so the lorry wis late. We were stood aroun the office getting the craic on Iraq. I said I couldna be ersed wie aa that salutin.
Little Britain gave me a look – It’s not the person you’re saluting, it’s the Queen.
Oh well, I sais, I suppose I hae tae salute the aul dear ivry time I go see her.
I wis only joking. I didna really salute the aul dear.
She did think she wis the Queen tho.
Ivry Tuesday she phoned tae tell me fit wis gan on wie aa the aul mannies and wifies that lived roun aboot. The fact she wis aul hersel nivir seemed tae enter her heid.
She’d ay been intae politics and lately she’d been helpin tae organize meetins. Ane ae the higher ups wis sayin they needed tae book a bigger hall due tae the numbers they were gittin.
Fit aboot the Satanist.
This wis a new boy who’d started gan tae thir meetings in a wheelchair.
I wis speakin awa tae im, I look doon and he’s got a pentagram on a chain roun his neck.
Fin she found oot they wir movin tae a bigger hall she winted ti kain if thir wis disabled access so the Satanist could wheel himsel in.
I suppose that showed a bit ae compassion. Fin it came tae the aul boy though she hud nane fit-so-ivir – the poor cunt hud been deid 5-year and she wis still slaggin him aff.
But Ma, if ye hudna met Da ye widna huv hud me.
Mibbe I’d huv hud sumbdy daecent.
I thought aboot pittin the phone doon. Then I sais – I wis delivrin tae a chemist’s in Chèith the ithir day and the lassie ahin the counter hud such impeccable manners.
A brief silence.
How’s the job gan, she sais.
I wis o’er at the industrial estate, hauling parcels aff the back the van. Huge heavy fuckers, full ae machine parts – nuts, bolts, components. The parcels were made fae reinforced cardboard. Great thick staples hauding them thegither. Otherwise the erse wid’ve fell out thim. Chaos wid’ve ensued.
I dropped the first wan – BANG, on the foot ae the trolley. The trolley sprang back – gien me wan hoorna skelp in the napper. I wis awa wi the faeries fur a second ir twa. Then I saw raed splashes appear on the grunn. Spat, spat, spat. A splatir patrin. Markin far I’d been.
I kept the heid forrit so I didna mak too much mess ma jeckit, went roun tae the driver’s side wing-mirrur, the raed stuff streamin down.
I pult the door open. Glanced aboot the cab fur blue roll, a pack ae tissues. Onythin tae stanch the bleedin.
Fuck sake boi! Ye a’rite?
The storeman wis stood there. Ye’ll need tae clean yersel up in the bathroom.
There was no bath in the so-called bathroom. Wan cubicle, a sink. No soap ir towel that I could see. I shrugged the jeckit aff ma shoodirs. Let it fa tae the fleer.
I ran baith taps. Splashed ma face and neck wi warm wattir. I pult the door open, asked the storeman far the first aid kit wis hidin.
Ye could fire up tae A & E. Get a couple stitches.
Wid I get a discount in here seenis we delivir yer parcels.
Tt. The boss is a grumpy cunt. Fit ye needin like.
I wis needin a pairae steel toe cap shoes. The firm issued abdy wi boots but, fin I tried mine on and taen a daunder roun the toun they chafed the backs ae ma ankles that bad I ended up limpin hame. They got thrown in a corner ae the room and I went tae work in ma usual claes.
*
Fin the boys back at the depot saw the dressin above my eye thir wir a few chuckles. Scalpy telt me tae get up tae the hospital in case I hud concussion. He himself wis supposed tae be on light duties efter he fell fin he wis pished and broke 3 ribs.
The Cunningham cries us baith intae the office.
RITE, he sais, DEEDEE’S AFF THIS WEEK SO YOUSE PAIR CAN COVER HIS RUN. SCALPY! YOU’RE JIST THE CO-DRIVER – TAKE DEEDEE’S VAN AND MAKE SURE YIS LOOK EFTER IT. YE KAIN FIT LIKE HE IS.
I kain he’s a fud, that’s fit I kain.
GET OOT THERE. DEE YER JOAB!
*
At least half the boys were ex-forces. They were all highly disciplined but Deedee taen it tae extremes. Fin we got his van that mornin it looked like it jist rolled oot the showroom – the bodywork wis polished tae a deep shine ye could see yer reflection in. The windscreen wis invisible. There wis not wan mote ae dust on the dashboard.
Scalpy hud a bad case ae the shakes. Ivry weekend wis a bender and maist mundays he turned up an hour or 2 late if he turned up at all. He wis climbin intae the cab when he tripped so the cuppa tea he’d been haudin went skitin across the foot well.
Fuck sake, ye got a clout.
Nivir mind that, we need ti get a shifty on.
Straight tae the baker’s and Scalpy’s back in the van wie a couple king size sausage rolls. Flaky pastry across the seat, on the fleer, o’er the dashboard. Then he’s oot wi the pouch, rollin himsel a tickler, shakin so much there’s bits ae baccy o’er athing as well. By the time we cried it quits that night the cab looked like sumbdy’d emptied a skip intae it.
It’s a fuckin work van, kain fit I mean. We’ll clean it aa up on Friday.
Scalpy nivir appeared that Friday.
I wis on ma ain. Oot in the wilderness.
The run covered Broch Heid, Howp Min, Cumming’s Tong, plus, ivry farm, croft and new build in the surroundin cuntricide.
That wis a fair bit ae cuntricide.
Scalpy didna kain the run that weel but compared tae me he kaint it backwards. Fin it came tae the back ae beyond drops I jist drove up and doon the road, lookin left and right, hopin for the best.
I wis reversin oot a ferm driveway too fast, too busy thinkin aboot the next drop. BANG! I hudna noticed this great muckle fencepost. A dent in the driver’s door the size ae a fitba.
I thought Deedee wid go aff his heid, threaten me wie a court martial. But then I started thinkin mibbe Deedee’s real problim wis wi him bein so uptight aboot athing.
I worked oot fit I wis gona say – Lissin Deedee, it’s nay even yer van, it’s cumpinae propirtae, kain fit I mean.
I saw Deedee first thing Munday mornin and he said fuck all. Mind you, I’d swept the cab oot, filled it fula fuel, taen it tae the car wash – the problim wis that only made the dent mair noticeable. So, I wis really expectin him ti say summin – even jist a sly wee dig – You cannot get the staff these days.
It wis only later I found out the Cunningham hud texted him o’er the weekend so he’d hud time tae come tae terms wie it.
*
The Cunningham wis there at half 6 ivry mornin and wis the last wan tae leave at night. He wis far in wi Scalpy’s aul boy which wis the only reason Scalpy got off wie as much as he did.
Still and all he wis on a final warnin. The Cunningham could only protect him so far fae Sneckie heid office.
A fortnight efter I started I hud tae drive through there fir an induction. This involved me fillin oot a few forms sayin I wis the perfect physical specimen and hud nay history ae GBH. Then I hud tae watch the Health & Safety video.
The lassie in the office shouted in my lug the hale time I wis tryin tae watch the video – STAY ON THE BALLS AE THE FEET. IF YER ON THE BALLS AE THE FEET YER USIN YER LEGS TAE LIFT. YE DINNA WINT YER BACK FUCKT DO YE?
NO.
STAY ON THE BALLS AE THE FEET THEN!
*
The bane ae the hale team’s life wis unloadin the 18-tonne lorry. Even wie a dozen boys on the case it wis a blood and guts epic ae Biblical proportions – wir talkin 50 thousan ae these bastirt parcels in thir various shapes, sizes, deviant disguises. Plus, thir wir ay a puckle insanely heavy efforts jist tae test how shot one’s spinal column hud become.
Mine hud pretty much bin fuckt since I wis a young pup through in the Deen and yon monster paper round wis thrust upon me by some Mid Glamorgan stunner jist up for the summer. Well, an extended vacation to be fair.
Anyway, that wis me at 14 years of age. Up at 5 in the freezin AMs – the Hardgate, the Howburn, the Hollybank, the Holburn, the various offshoots, laneys and closes – the white dog shite, empty plastic bottles, flattened crisp packets, sweetie wrappers trapped in uloe raed berried hedgerows – sinister stairwells ae darkent tenement buildins, musty lino curlin away fae the skirtin, the smell ae fry ups, sum samovar singin, perhaps masel whisslin – fur a good 90 minutes, ma guts ay rumblin.
*
Ye could spot the dried dog food straight away. It ay came in these long boxes wie a couple strips ae tape roun them. Ye were tempted tae grab them by the tape and fling them ontae yer van. They weighed a ton though. Ye hud to be careful the tape didna snap.
Ivry time I saw wan ae they boxes I hoped it wisna fir the woman wi the half dozen hounds fae hell.
Ye drove up tae a 5-bar gate. Ahin the gate was this great long driveway wie lumps ae shite dotted about. Ye heard barking then the half dozen hounds came charging doon the driveway, spit flying fae their muzzles, fangs all bright and shiny.
Oot came the woman bawling at them to get back in the huis. It would take her at least 5 minutes to round them all up. Which was 5 minutes I didna huv. It was amazing how many customers seemed to think their own personal delivery was the only thing ye had to do that day.
I mind ae time the hounds were all locked in the huis, barking their heads off. The woman was nowhere to be seen. I drove up, dumped the boxes outside the garage door, got back in the van, drove off without shutting the gate. A half hour later my mobile started buzzing.
A Mrs Grogan has been on the phone. She sais you left her gate wide open. One of her dogs escaped, ran onto the A96 and was killed instantly. If you’re there again, mind and shut the gate.
I was there a fortnight later and this time the woman was also there. Were you here 2 weeks ago.
No. I wis aff sick. Musta bin wan ae the ither boys.
Is your name Andrew. She was looking at the scanner. Every scanner had a sticker showing the driver’s name in block capitals.
Aye but, there’s anither boy that works wie us called Andrew, mibbe it wis him that wis here.
*
I drove off cursing Super Grass that worked in the office. She shouldn’t be dishing out our names to customers. Before you knew it, she’d be telling them far we bed so they could come roun at the weekend and deliver their complaints in person.
There were 2 of them in the office. Super Grass was there ‘til half one, then Blade of Grass took over. Usually what happened was a customer phoned them, then they phoned you. For example, you’d be driving along, your mobile would start buzzing –
You delivered a parcel to a Mrs Morrison on the 19th of April, 9:47 AM, signed for by Shed.
I felt like saying – It wisna the shed that wrote that.
Aye, I said.
Well, Mrs Morrison has just been on the phone and she disna hae a shed.
Oh.
Why are you writing Shed anyway?
Coz eh –
For fuck sake Andrew. It disna look very professional.
I was a bit miffed at that. I had a whinge about it later when the office staff were gone and us drivers were stood about waiting for the lorry to arrive. Aul Deedee gave me a tip from the top and told me to write LAI.
LAI?
Left as instructed. Doesn’t have to be written instruction. Could be verbal. Say the customer told you to just pop it in her shed. How they gona prove you’ve never even seen her?
Oh right, cheers Deedee.
No problem, mate.
*
I wis at the kettle, fixin a brew fin Jonny Hay Bales appeared. He fairly kaint how tae sneak up on folk. Didna even drink tea or coffee. Refused tae stick any dough in the kitty, though I’m sure he helped himsel tae a puckle biscuits fin naybdy wis lookin.
So, San Andreas, any cut-price action at the weekend.
Got a bit carried awa ti be honest – shaggin this big blone up against the wardrobe, ma first ride in 48 hours so I was giein it the ful montel – takin her fae ahin and I’m whappin it intae her that hard her heid fell aff.
Fuck sake.
Tellin ye, it wisna easy gittin her dressed, doon the stair and intae the motor fin she’s got nay heid. Coz she’s got nay eyes either, so it wis like leadin the blind. And I’m needin tae get her up tae the hospital quick fast on the double.
So, I panic. Jump in the motor, start the engine. Halfway tae Ailgin afore I realised I’ve left her heid in the huis. Hud tae dee a big U turn, fire back doon the road, collect the heid, jump back in the motor – Hit the road once again. She wisna best pleased.
Expect me tae believe that shite.
Nay really.
Ye need tae try harder. Make it a bittie mair realistic.
I dunno where in my contract it said I was obliged to provide Jonny Hay Bales wie a constant stream ae erotic fiction but, that seemed tae be an unspoken rule atween us. And it went beyond the workplace. Ye got the impression no matter how our paths had crossed, whether we’d met at the school, in the pub or the retirement home, the situation would be much the same. Like it had been written in the stars, centuries before either of us were born – Andrew will tell the dirty stories, Jonny will listen to these stories. Jonny will then voice any criticisms he may have.
It would be better if ye hung onto the heid. That way ye could get a blow job onytime ye fancied it.
I’m nay into necrophilia Jonny.
I’m nay on aboot the neck, I’m talkin aboot the heid.
I could hardly turn up tae the hospital wi a heidless woman and nay heid. I’d be on a murder charge for fuck sake.
Yer takin this too seriously. It’s s’posed tae be a bit ae fun. Anyway, ye need tae be a bittie mair realistic. I need summin tae think aboot fin I’m in my bed at night.
Watch a movie. Read a book.
I like the personal touch. I like to think aboot folk I know doing things ti each other.
If I hung onto the heid, it would’ve started ti decompose.
Stick it in yer fridge.
There’s nay room in the fridge.
Fit aboot the freezer.
I dinna hae a freezer.
Nay freezer.
Nay freezer.
How comes.
It’s a long story.
*
The Chèith run should really huv bin cried the Mull Ben, New Mull, Chèith, Ross Testie run. Fair inuff, that was a bit ae a moothfae. But at least it wid’ve bin mair accurate. If ye winted ti be fussy ye’d need tae add Forgie, Drummuir, Boharim, plus aa the odds and sods roun aboot.
It wisna like shoppin, where ye came back wi the messages. It wis exactly the opposite – if ye came back wi ony messages ye got telt – USELESS CUNT. FIT YE BIN DEEN A’DAY, WANKIN?
Efter I’d been there 3 months and kaint the run fairly weel they started hittin me wi eichty tae a hunner and twinty parcels per shift. I started tae lose aa the weight I’d gained. There wis nay time fir giant caramel bumpers oot the Spar shop.
Ivry parcel hud a barcode and ye scanned them afore loadin thim ontae yer wagon. Ye tried tae load thim in such a way they wir roughly in the order ye’d be dropping thim aff.
If the first few parcels wir sma inuff I chucked thim on the passenger seat so they wir near tae hand. Then ye jist kept gan fir 90 odd minutes, arrangin the various shapes, sizes, deviant disguises in the back ae yer wagon ‘til it wis ful tae the gunnels – looked like ye wir deen a flit by the licht ae the silvery moon – ‘cept it wis barely 8 in the mornin and ye wir gan nay far ‘cept roun in the usual circle.
*
Fin ye got tae that first huis ye scanned the barcode, tapped the delivry option. Ye chapped the door or rang the bell. Half the time the bell wisna workin, so then ye’d tae chap like a polis.
If ye were lucky sumbdy came tae the door. Ye handed thim the scanner – they hummed and heyed ‘til they worked up the necessary heid ae steam then signed yer screen.
90% of the time they said – I hate writin on these things. It nivir looks like my signature.
Another favourite wis – Fit’s she been ordrin noo. Or, Fit’s he been ordrin noo.
I felt like sayin – It’s in a box, how am I supposed ti know.
I nivir gave a second thought tae fit might be inside but, I kain sum ae the ithir boys wir prone tae speculation.
Jonny Hay Bales wis prob’ly the worst fir it.
We’d be unloadin the lorry at night. He’d haun ye a parcel and say – That’s a new dildo fir Mrs Paterson, she’ll be pleased ti see you the morn.
*
If naybdy wis hame ye hud a choice ti make. Ye kid pit a caird through the letterbox, take the parcel back tae the depot, or ye kid look fir sumfar tae hide it.
I stopped hiding parcels in wheely bins efter a neighbour pit sumbdy’s oot and their parcel got emptied into a scaffie wagon along wi the rubbish.
Usually I went roun the back ae the huis, looked for a shed. If they didna hae a shed, or the shed wis locked, I looked fir anither hiding place. I stuck parcels in green huises, garages, wendy huises, coal bunkers, kennels, under decking, under kids’ trampolines, in Bar-Bee-Queues, under caravans, in clapped out motor cars – then I filled oot a caird, stuck it through the letterbox. Parcel round the back on bench covered by tarpaulin near big window. Ye hud tae write in the auld Anglais. If ye didna ye got telt – SPEAK IN THE AULD ANGLAIS CUNTOE. SPEAK IN THE AULD ANGLAIS.
*
I was lucky wi my run. There were plenty sheds and maist ae them werna locked. Ye wrote Shed, pressed OK, then punched it in using capital letters. Ye did the same finivir a customer signed the screen, handed back the scanner.
If their surname wis summin like Pratt or Elcock I got thim tae spell it out while I punched it in, practised my straight face.
Sometimes ye noticed the name on the label but couldnae read fit the customer hud written so ye said – Is your name Such-n-such n aa.
The reaction ye got could be quite amusin. It wis like ye were accusin them ae livin in sin. I felt like sayin – Lissin, I’m nay here tae judge. I’m jist the delivry boy, kain fit I mean.
If it was an STP parcel ye hud tae enter the postcode as well as the person’s name. Chèith wis aywis AB55 5. Ross Testie wis aywis AB38 7. The only thing that changed were the last 2 letters. I hud a system fur mindin thim fin the customer turned roun and shut the door. AH – Arse Hole, BJ – Blow Job, BS – Bull Shit – and so on.
We wir gittin mair and mair STP parcels. Apparently, it wis cheaper fir them tae get us tae dee thir oot the back ae beyond delivries than it was tae get thir ain drivers tae dee thim. Also, ye noticed the heavier STP parcels seemed tae mysteriously turn up in oor depot.
Ye’d be tryin tae load yer wagon at silly a’clock in the AMs and the boys wid be ragin – IVRY TIME I SEE THAT STP CUNT HE’S SITTIN IN A LAYBY EATIN FANCY PIECES. YE NEED TAE BE AT LEAST 15 STONE TAE GIT A JOB WIE THEM, YE GO FUR AN INTERVIEW AND THE BOY AHIN THE DESK SAIS – STEP ON THE SCALES PLEASE. IF YER UNNER 15 STONE THEY SHOW YE THE DOOR – AWA AND PIT SOME BEEF ON YA SKINNY MALINK!
Compared tae the STP boys oor lot looked like they’d been transferred fae a PoW camp. The only exception was Little Britain who could’ve passed fir an STP driver if he’d swapped uniforms. I wis surprised he hudna applied for a job wie thim. Mibbe he hud and jist wisna sayin.
I couldna blame him for keepin his mooth shut. We wir aa dyin tae git oota there. Ye let slip there wis a joab gan wie anuthir firm and ye’d hae half a dozen boys gan fir the same position. Imagine turnin up fir the interview and yer mate’s comin oot the door, Hullo LB.
Except ye widna cry him that. He didna kain we cried him Little Britain. And we only cried him that coz he looked like the boy aff the TV show.
It wis a similar thing wi Jonny Hay Bales. He got that name wan winter fin he wis still oot delivering at 8 a’clock in the PMs.
The van wis parked and he wis giein the customer her parcel when a tractor pulin a trailer came tearin roun the corner – a hay bale flew aff, caved in Jonny’s windscreen.
Fin I got back fae Ross Testie I saw the shattered windscreen, the bonnet aa dented, nay Jon boy tae be seen.
Fuck sake, is he okay.
Same as ivir.
Thought that might’ve knocked some sense intae im.
Did ye?
Nay really.
*
Jonny wis quite a strange individual. All he ever talked aboot wis sex. He seemed tae think I wis some sort ae super stud. Which wis true but, how did he know that.
I’m jokin. It wisna true at all. But that didna stop Jonny’s imagination runnin away wie him. We’d be unloadin the lorry Munday mornin and he’d be next to me – I heard ye were shaggin the hale weekend – a brunette on the Friday night, a blone on the Setirday, a raed heid on the Sunday efterneen.
Yer wrong, I sais. It wis a brunette on the Sunday. I could hear the church bells in the distance while I was firin it intae her in the missionary position.
I thought ye’d be giein it tae her doggy.
Nay on a Sunday Jon. Hae a bittie respect min.
He’d go and put a parcel in the appropriate cage, then he’d be back quizzin me – Ye get a blowjob aff her.
Fitch ane.
The brunette.
I got the full breakfast min. Off all 3 of them.
He wid be smilin. Sumbdy wid throw me a parcel. I’d go and put it in the appropriate cage, then I’d be back next tae Jonny.
How many times ye shoot yer load.
Nay idea. I lost count efter 5 PM.
Heh heh heh. Sum kiddie.
*
Accordin tae Scalpy, I wis the only boy ivir tae join the crew and gain weight. Mind you, efter I got sacked fae the last joab I wis livin on porridge and 3-bean-chilli. That’s all I could afford fir 6 months – so I wis skinny as a rake fin I started. Then they put me on the Chèith run.
The Chèith run wis the best fin it came tae food. There wir twa chippers, 3 bakers, a Spar shop that did hot pies and giant caramel bumpers wie a cream filling.
I started pilin on the beef. I couldna tie the top button ae ma jeans. I hud tae wear a belt wi the buckle fastened at the last notch.
Little Britain started the week efter me and he was anither ane thit wisna gittin ony thinner. Mind you, it wis harder tae tell wie him coz he wis a fair size boy tae begin wi.
I’m thinkin aboot ma Sunday lunch, he sais. Beef olives, a helpin ae mash, peas, carrots, roast parsnips, sticky toffee puddin and ice cream.
He wis anuthir ex-air-force boy.
I mind one time there was a big crash on the A9 so the lorry wis late. We were stood aroun the office getting the craic on Iraq. I said I couldna be ersed wie aa that salutin.
Little Britain gave me a look – It’s not the person you’re saluting, it’s the Queen.
Oh well, I sais, I suppose I hae tae salute the aul dear ivry time I go see her.
I wis only joking. I didna really salute the aul dear.
She did think she wis the Queen tho.
Ivry Tuesday she phoned tae tell me fit wis gan on wie aa the aul mannies and wifies that lived roun aboot. The fact she wis aul hersel nivir seemed tae enter her heid.
She’d ay been intae politics and lately she’d been helpin tae organize meetins. Ane ae the higher ups wis sayin they needed tae book a bigger hall due tae the numbers they were gittin.
Fit aboot the Satanist.
This wis a new boy who’d started gan tae thir meetings in a wheelchair.
I wis speakin awa tae im, I look doon and he’s got a pentagram on a chain roun his neck.
Fin she found oot they wir movin tae a bigger hall she winted ti kain if thir wis disabled access so the Satanist could wheel himsel in.
I suppose that showed a bit ae compassion. Fin it came tae the aul boy though she hud nane fit-so-ivir – the poor cunt hud been deid 5-year and she wis still slaggin him aff.
But Ma, if ye hudna met Da ye widna huv hud me.
Mibbe I’d huv hud sumbdy daecent.
I thought aboot pittin the phone doon. Then I sais – I wis delivrin tae a chemist’s in Chèith the ithir day and the lassie ahin the counter hud such impeccable manners.
A brief silence.
How’s the job gan, she sais.
About the Author
Aberdeen-born Marc Innis writes from the local perspective, hoping that what he writes will have resonance with anyone anywhere in the world. Since he lives in Losaidh (Lossiemouth, if you prefer the Anglicization), his concerns are largely to do with the people, history and language of that place.