Risk

The Dinner Idea

George locked up on Front Street in front of the Convention Center. There were always people milling around there, so the bike would be safe. Even so, he took the seat with him just in case. From there, he walked up Front to East Side Mario’s, a bar slash restaurant near the end of University Avenue which catered to tourists and people downtown to see the Leafs, Raptors or Blue Jays. Martin was already seated inside with a beer in front of him, he could see, so he bypassed the hostess stand and joined him at the table.

“Hey, long time no see.”

“Hi, George. How’s it going?”

“It’s going all right. How about your day? Get any better? Oh, hi. Yeah, can I get a Pellegrino with ice? Thanks.”

Martin raised his glass to him. “So, how’s the courier business these days?”

“Tough business lately. Gotten very cutthroat.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Um. A lot of new players. Fierce competition.”

“I guess it’s becoming a pretty big business. I seem to see more of you all the time. And all year round, too.”

“Yep.”

“What’s it like riding the bikes in winter?”

“Winter is just like any other time of the year, except the cars go a little slower and are even more unpredictable. It’s not a problem for a bike, though. My tires are better than a car’s for snow and ice.”

“Wow. Still, I guess it’s pretty scary sometimes.”

“Just about any day of the year can be scary.”

“So, how did you get into that line of work, if you don’t mind my asking. Have I asked you that before?”

“I look like I’m too smart to be riding bike for a living? Thanks, I am. I got my degree in architecture from U of T, but the job market was too tight when I graduated. I started out couriering for architects, but eventually I was just a bicycle courier full time.”

“Nothing wrong with being a courier. I was just curious.”

“I know. I love my job. You couldn’t chain me to a desk for twice my salary.”

“They don’t chain us anymore. It’s a magnetic constriction collar these days.”

“Oh, so that’s what keeps those white shirt collars so stiff. What about you? How did you get into insurance?”

“Family. Nobody ever grows up wanting to go into insurance. You either know someone in the business, or you get in by accident, right out of school or something, and you never get out. It’s not so bad. I actually kind of like my job most of the time.”

“That’s not a bad thing. It’s important to like what you do.”

“Yeah, I get to flex my brain muscles once in awhile. And work with numbers, which I’m good at.”

They talked about university for awhile, relating stories from their undergrad days. George was feeling fidgety, his mind often drifting away from the conversation. There was a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake. Maybe it was because he was so used to being at the bar at this time every day. Maybe it was hunger.

“Did we have menus at some point?” said George. “I’m kind of hungry. You want to get dinner, since we’re here?”

“Um… sure. I could go for that. Where’s the guy?”

“I’ve got to make a phone call. I’ll grab some menus on my way back.”

George got up and went to the front of the bar near the washrooms and phoned home. Nobody home, or nobody answering? The machine was on, so he left a message. Short and to the point. Just where he was and that he’d be late. Then he found a couple of menus at the hostess station and headed back to the table.