The Paperboy Knocks Twice

The Paperboy Knocks Twice

Somewhere in the sixties.

'KNOCK' 'KNOCK'...."Collecting for The Sun!"
"Yap Yap Arff Arff Yap Yap"
"Who is it?"
"Yap Yap Arff Arff Yap Yap"
Whapp Whapp Whapp "Yelp Yelp Oww Oww Yelp."
"Whose there?"
"Collecting for The Sun! The Vancouver Sun. You know your newspaper you get delivered to your door six days a week, rain or snow. The very same paper I'm sure you just beat your dog with. The Vancouver Sun........that paper.......Hello. ........Hello? " 'KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK'
'Yap Yap Yap Yap' Whapp Whapp Whapp ' Oww Oww Oww!'
"Who is it?"
(Oh my gosh) "I'm collecting for The Vancouver Sun! I'm the kid you give heck to for leaning my bike up against your fence. I'm the little red headed kid that brings your paper every day. I'm the one your dog chases out of the driveway, (the dog hates me because I bring to the door the very thing she beats him with) six days a week."
"Why didn't you say it was you Petey." ( That's not my name, she apparently has called the last three paperboys Petey) How much do I owe you?"
"Two dollars and fifty cents please."
" TWO DOLLARS! AND FIFTY CENTS! IS THAT FOR THE WHOLE YEAR?"
"No Mrs. Miller, just for he month of November. Plus you didn't pay me last month so it's another $2:50 besides. If that's okay......?"
"Well its not okay. I'll have to go to the bank. Could you come back tomorrow night!?"
(Ya sure! I hadn't planned on passing Grade 7 anyway. Homework! Who needs homework.) "O k a y.... you'll be home tomorrow night? Thursday?....Thursday night? Around seven?
"Thursday! Thursday night! I'm not home on Thursday. That's Bingo down at St. Paul's! Comeback next Wednesday. I'm home that night, I like to watch Manix on channel 8 on Wednesday. Now if you'll excuse me Petey, I'm on the phone with my sister in Saskatoon, ...... Be careful of the stairs down Petey! The lights not working." (That lights never worked. Her dog Precious likes to wait for me in the dark.)
Mrs Miller and I had never talked face to face. It was always between her two front doors. When I did manage to collect the two fifty from her, she paid through the mail slot. I don't think she trusted Petey. I know her dog hated him!
Mrs. Miller wasn't my worst customer. The worst were the ones that passed away before I could ever collect from them. I wouldn't be lying by saying I had asked a dead lady for $2:50 once (I didn't know she was dead). I had many of my customers show up in the obituary section. I had a seniors palliative care home on my route. I saw things that retuning Vietnam Veterans hadn't seen. Stuff like that stays with a 12 yr. old paperboy!
I was just one of about 20 paperboys my age at the paper shack. The paper shack was where all the papers would be dropped off for our area from the printer. It was managed by a kid a few years older than us. His job was to make sure we got our papers, and made a timely exit to deliver them. The manager was usually the oldest one of us that got the position because of the previous managers untimely death. We didn't like authority in the 'shack'. We were like all the kids on that 'Lord of the Flies' Movie. That paper shack was the roughest place on earth. Biker gangs wouldn't dare ride down that alley. Nobody could take on 20 kids all going through puberty at the same time. We were an angry, hyper, thorny (didn't mean to type the 'T') lot . We all had a Mrs Miller or three on our routes. Dogs that were as big as us that would chase us out of the yard over to the next Cujo. Weather that was constantly blowing or lissing ( aw gee I meant to hit the 'P' not the 'L') rain on our papers. Newspapers that if were not perfect, I would have to endure a phone call from one or more Mrs. Millers. We were a gang of low paid, always wet, non-homework doing, bike riding, non- filter smoking 12 yr. olds that had the answer to everything. We knew all the swear words and what some of them meant. We were always trying to see who could fit the most filth into a single sentence.
We delivered the daily paper to the doorstep of everyone who owned a dog it seemed. A blood thirsty, newspaper beaten dog that could do no wrong to a paperboy in the eye of the owner. An owner who was never home when we delivered the paper. And a dog, that lived outside on a chain just long enough to keep people away from the door. That same door I was expected to deliver the perfect copy of the daily news to. Every day I came home with wet pants. And some days it didn't rain! Somedays it blew! I remember more than once both the dog and the paper chasing me down the driveway.
Now, gone are the 12 yr. old paperboy gangs of the late 60s. All the paper shacks were gone through by bomb squads then destroyed. Papers today are delivered by a large assortment of walks of life. Nice people, that do it for exercise or an extra income, not for smokes and firecrackers. I hope home delivery of the printed newspaper stays with us for many more years. Its miserable work at times, so please remember that, especially, with Fall and Winter almost here. They do pretty much the work of a postman, but for a lot less money or benefits. So appreciate them please. Oh, and that Mrs. Miller, she's still around. I'm her now, complete with dog. But, I am trying to do better.The dog, he's to fat and lazy to chase anyone, but he belts out a bark loud enough when the paper arrives to make it rain.

Bob Niles



bobby did this