6 November 2012
It’s 11am on a Friday morning and I am still curled up in bed. I might have gotten up earlier if the usual rays of sunlight had permeated through the half open window, but today it was cloudy outside and since I am self-employed, I think to myself what the heck, I can do with a few more hours of relaxation. It was not to be, both of my phones ring at once. I pick up the business phone and ignore the other. I check to see who it was before answering and notice I’ve had six missed calls already. Friday was always the busiest work day for me.
“hello?” I croaked into the phone as I roll off the bed and trudge groggily towards the kitchen for a cup of coffee. “Yeah? Alright, meet me at St. James’ in twenty-five minutes” I tell the caller.
I abandon the coffee and rush to have a quick shower instead, business came first, great customer service experience, that was my motto. I shower and dress in fifteen minutes and was out the door in another five, backpack hanging on one shoulder. I make my way towards St. James square, just one of the many students. I weave my way through the busy street and admire the beautiful architecture and great landscape of the city. I smile and wave to a few familiar faces as I hurry along, making it obvious I was in too much of a hurry to stand and chat.
I turn towards the square, not surprised by the number of people scattered around, some lounging on the manicured grass, others sipping beverages by the only food and drinks stand. Others were simply passing through to get to the street at the other end of the square. Then I notice a young man by the tall monument in the centre of the square. He stood out like the proverbial sore thumb, tall, skinny and dressed a little too shabbily to fit into the beautiful scenery and I find myself reminded of Oliver Twist in Charles Dickens’ famous novel. The lanky young man looks around nervously and it’s obvious he’s waiting for someone and miserably failing in his attempt at inconspicuousness. He proffers something as I approach and I am conscious of eyes cast in our direction. I walk past him and hiss angrily, “keep your hands to yourself and follow me.”
Yes, it was I he was waiting for, but unlike him I was skilled at being inconspicuous. He follows me, rather timidly. I lead him out of the park, and join the small crowd waiting for the green light to cross the street. Only then did I reach out in greeting and take the folded twenty pound note in his hand at the same time.
“How are you, Mark? Long time no see.” I say conversationally. Of course his name wasn’t Mark, and I’d seen him just last night, but who would know?
“I’m fine” he says.
“Are you going to the pub?”
“No, just talking a stroll.” He says.
“Well, I’m getting the bus, so see ya” I say, shaking his hand again, this time in farewell. Few people if any, would have noticed that I’d slipped a tiny bag of cannabis in his hand.
Yes, I deal drugs if you hadn’t suspected sooner. This is my business and I am skilled at it. I’ve learned to skip and dodge around law enforcement officers, undercover cops and unscrupulous entrepreneurs who would rid me of my merchandise if they get the chance or desperate clients who might “blow my cover” so to speak. It’s funny when people call the money I make easy money, but there is nothing easy about my job. The risks are numerous, the task delicate and the clientele unpredictable and unscrupulous. Despite it all though, it was lucrative. Whoever says money doesn’t grow on trees is obviously not in the weed selling business. I have money in the bank, attired in designer wear and date so many girls Hugh Hefner could call me his son.
My business transaction over, I hop on the bus as my phone rings again. I am touched by a small feeling of guilt for selling something that would harm peoples’ health, but the feeling quickly recedes, after all, I was no worse than the cigarette companies, or the alcohol makers, only difference is, I don’t pay tax.
The day rolls on and I make many more similar transactions throughout the day, business taking me to all parts of the city, the university, train station, shops, restaurants even the hospital. I meet office personnel, lawyers, homeless people, students and housewives. It’s amazing just how many people in the city smoke weed, “respectable people.” It is a good day so I decide to finish work early. I pass by the HMV store and buy Denzel Washington’s training day, then I call and order Chinese fried rice from my favourite restaurant. I am home ten minutes later, watching Denzel on my sixty inch TV and waiting for my fried rice to be delivered. The phone rings, and I see “Lisa” on the caller ID. I pick up, Lisa was one of my most valued customers and I might as well sell away the last three bags I had left. She wants exactly three bags but I can’t be bothered to go back to town but she offers to come and pick them up.
A Half hour later, I see off Lisa at the door and go back to lounging on my couch. Then the arrival of my food is announced by the doorbell. I get up and lazily go to the door again. I turn the latch and… BANG!! The door caves in, the wood splinters and breaks from it’s hinges. POLICE!! POLICE!!!
Before I could recover from the shock, six police officers rush in, two grabbing me and slap handcuffs on me. The rest of them rushed into my rooms and turning everything inside out, while I am escorted to the sofa and told not to budge.
“You are under arrest for suspicion of drug trafficking” one of them says with all the smugness of someone who had caught his target with his pants down. I look at him and smile,
“Suspicion you say? Good luck to that. You won’t find a thing here.” I say with equal smugness, after all I had sold the last bags of drugs I had. There was the matter of the money on my person but that could easily be explained.
“oh, we do have very strong evidence.” The other officer announced with a smile. I look at him and realise it wasn’t a bluff or joke. And as if on cue, Lisa saunters into the room brandishing a police badge with a half-smile and arched eyebrows. “Sorry pal, wrong customer.”
I sigh in resignation, this was it… I’d actually been caught with my pants around my ankles. I smile ironically; it was true what they say, never bring your work home. I look up at her,
“I guess I had it coming, eh? The shit doesn’t last… hazard of the trade.”
HAZARDS OF THE JOB • Opuss № I