I once was an errand boy and had a big bike that had no gears and
our town was hilly. In front of the bike, there was a steel mesh box
to put stuff in…sometimes when a doctor needed three chairs for
his waiting room it was all loaded up and I could hardly see where
I was going. But most of the time delivered things like typewriters
or ash trays; or delivering letters to clients, the last part made me
feel rather important as I was debt collector and taking the money
to the bank. Banks back then had a churchly interior and I had to
take my cap off before entering; a somber place never saw anyone
smile. When not on call, I worked in the office putting papers in
folders in alphabetical orders, fetch cakes and coffee for the staff.
I was offered a position as a junior clerk, but the thought of working
in an office for the rest of my life was too much, mother said I had
lost a golden opportunity, but she was thinking of what she could
tell her sister, "my son works in an office”. As my aunt’s son was
a welder and wore overall. It was a long time ago, back in the days
I was free to make a choice. Right or wrong, I shall not know. Perhaps
I could have ended up as a company director that would have made
mother very proud.
