8:30 on saturday morning, the city is waking up slowly on this cold febuary morning. The coppers are busy waking up a homeless person in the square kiosque, he probably didn’t get to sleep so long ago.. weekend shoppers will soon be arriving and business must go as usual. No rest for the wicked…
The headlines of the news i watched in bed while sipping my coffee are still resonating : Trump declaring terrible things on Gaza, Killings in Congo, Amateur terrorist attacks in Germany as the far right / anti-migrants politics are rising. Imperialist capitalism is marching forward and marching fast, march with it or get trampled by it.
“Yeah… Ok… No problem…”
Hang up the phone. I was waiting for the restaurant I’m delivering to open, I can leave it in the neighboring restaurant. Done. I’m off, pedalling to the next job, my front wheel gets stuck in the tram tracks, I slide and fall. People come towards me asking if i’m ok, its always a nice feeling to have strangers worry for you when you crash. I’m good, thanks people, and I’m off again, before capitalism tramples me. I enjoy it though, all though I hate all of this, going at this pace on a bike delivering products, making the economy turn is something I enjoy, a way I feel I can cope with it. My leg is in pain, it seems bizarre but physical enjury is a sensation that makes me feel alive. Pedal! Go! but hey keep all senses alert, there’s danger everywhere.
I cross the eyes of a young guy, a can of a extra strong beer in his hand, I try to say something to him with my eye contact. He’s obviously a young migrant, who fled something to find nothing, no welcome, no help, nothing you could call home, regection, neglect and fear. That extra strong beer must give him comfort, a sense of inner warmth and happiness.
Up and down hills, from bakerys to restaurants, preparing for the days business. Bosses and employees are keeping the pace, tonight some will count the earnings, others will take some rest or bury their sorrows in alcohol, drugs and socialising. I’ve finished delivering the restaurants, now on to shopping deliveries, from supermarket to your front door, you can have it all delivered with out even getting out of your pyjamas, some have champagne and delicious looking precooked meals, others have bags full of budget products in the least glamourous packaging. Consumerism is for for everyone, what ever your income and whatever your needs the service is open to all. Customers are happy and greet me with smiles always, sometimes a tip, thats nice thank you. Although the smiles and thank you’s are all ready alot.
Waiting for the next order in front of the supermarket, another young guy completly drunk clinging to his can of strong beer comes up to me :
“I’m from from Guinea”
“Ah! I’m from New Zealand”
He’d like to go there, appararntly his cousin is there, he also has one in New Caladonia, or maybe he’s just mixing things up. I don’t really know what to say, apart that its lovely but very far, I tell him to hold tight and build his happiness here.
Working as a courrier puts you at the forefront of society, you see everyhing and everyone, inside peoples homes, inside peoples lives, inside peoples hearts. Capitalism goes fast, not everyone can keep up, alot get left behind, trampled, actually whole countries get left behind and trampled, the borders are closed sorry you werent born in the right place. But did anyone choose to live in this system, what if we had a choice, who would want it.
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