Gurriers Read Online Free PDF

good, boy!”
    “Go on, the Gizzard!” chirped the courier at the map.
    “Only in…your...wet…est dreams, you fag...got!” Ger was still struggling wildly, but seemed to be tiring. Seeing that they were only messing and not actually attempting to murder each other did calm my nerves and amusement took the place of fear as I gazed on. The Gizzard had decided he had had enough and spun his victim through 180 degrees (now he was facing me) and pushed him hard. I barely managed to side-step out of the way as he careered past me and hit the wall with a crunch just beside the door to the kitchen, narrowly missing the shirt sleeved figure that was by now in the doorway, armed with a steaming hot cup of tea.
    “Easy on there, lads, this is a Ralph Lauren shirt! Wreck the base if yez want, but mind the threads.”
    “You shut up, sales boy an’ ge’ ou’ an’ get some fuckin’ accounts for us so we might have some fuckin’ chance to make a decent fuckin’ wage.” roared the small round individual. This torrent of abuse shocked me, as I had naturally assumed that the man in business attire had been a boss of some sort.
    “Never sell during lunch, Ray. That’s counterproductive.”
    Now I had a name for the little scruff.
    “Counter bleedin’ wha’?” The courier at the map seemed to want to have a go at the salesman.
    “Counterproductive, doin’ more harm than good by bein’ unprofessional...these people don’t do business during lunch and they don’t appreciate it if a salesman tries to.”
    “What’s your excuse for the rest of the day?” This was the first statement from a slim built courier who had been eating a sandwich at the table up to now. The voice didn’t seem to suit the man, being a lot bigger and deeper than one would expect from such a slight individual. His face also had a lot of black on it. I remember wondering how some of them seemed to be a lot blacker in the face than others.
    “That’s not fair, Naoise; I’m a hard working rep’ that’s done loads of good for this company.”
    I made a mental note of this name also.
    “What’s the last account you got for us?”
    “Didn’t BWG drop for me last week!”
    “Never heard of them. Here, lads, anyone do any work for a crowd called BWG yet?”
    Nobody answered the Gizzard’s question.
    “Well, I don’t think they’ve actually used us yet, but they’re a great account: at least ten jobs a day. I’ll be ringing them after lunch.”
    “That’s not worth a shite – ye’d want to get yer arse off your office chair an’ go down an’ see the fuckers in person. Then they might fuckin’ start givin’ us some business.”
    This came from the final courier to speak who had remained at the table throughout the entire commotion. All of the couriers were now united in criticism of their sales rep, who buckled under the pressure. Mumbling something along the lines of “might just do that”, he scurried past me and the hatch and into the safe confines of the office area, followed by several jeering calls along the lines of “useless fuck” and “What do ye get fuckin’ paid for anyway?”
    My resolve not to become a courier, which had weakened considerably upon knowing that Ger and the Gizzard had only been messing with each other, was stronger than ever having witnessed such barbaric pack-like antagonism of somebody who, in my opinion, was only trying to do his job. I decided to slip away quietly and go back to the job that I had trained for and experienced at and never to let the notion of being a courier cross my mind again.
    “I haven’t forgotten abou’ me bleedin’ ruined lunch ya bollix ye – I’ll be gettin’ ye back for that one!” Ger was standing smack bang between me and the door delivering his malice to the Gizzard and when I turned to make my exit (just as he was speaking), I found myself face to face looking down at him with only inches between us. This had the exact opposite effect that I needed at that