Confessions of a Metro Newspaper Distributor

'The trouble with unemployment is that the minute you wake up in the morning you’re on the job' - Slappy White

You know that poor soul stood outside the station no matter the weather? The one who’s eyes light up like a fruit machine when you appear? They stare at you longingly as you approach and then BANG! there’s a free paper in your hand. Whether you want it or not. Well, do me a favour and show that person some respect next time. It's tough out there on the streets.

Once upon a time, unemployed and almost unemployable in Vancouver, I spent countless hours testing how much complimentary WiFi a single cup of green tea entitled you to in the local coffee shops.

Instead of using this precious time to apply for jobs, embellish the lies on my CV or produce yet more cover letter gibberish, I’d find myself reading the A-Team Wikipedia entry or Googling what Lyndy Ann Barras was up to. And don’t get me started on Minesweeper. Basically, I’d do almost anything rather than dredge up my long-forgotten GCSE results to input on a poorly-constructed application form.

Besides, at this point, with eight different 'resumes' on the go - each poorly tailor-made to a specific job sector and each a web of lies that would dissolve under light interrogation, I was no longer sure what I had or hadn’t actually done anyway.

Looking up from a YouTube montage of ice hockey goalie fights to watch a tramp wheel his trolley past the window, in the reflection, I saw a coffee shop employee approaching with intent. Just before she reached me, the green screen (yes, I had a green screen) of my phone lit up and I quickly took the call: It was one of the world’s leading newspapers offering me a job.

The Metro newspaper, though not affiliated to its UK namesake, is also a free paper offering light news coverage and relies on a large circulation to justify its advertising rates. And, because nobody actually buys papers anymore, has to be forcefully distributed. Which is why, when some desperate HR staffer stumbled across a bizarre CV proudly boasting extensive paper boy experience from the mid 90s, they must've known they'd hit the jackpot.

So the next morning I arrived at the corner of Granville and Dunsmuir (the heart of downtown Vancouver) at 0855 as instructed. Fascinatingly, most Metro distribution shifts start at 6am so bagging a 9am gig was a stroke of good fortune although, with it being January, it was still necessary to wear long johns, three t-shirts, a jumper, a coat, a scarf, a hat, gloves, triple socks and a snood (yes... I owned a snood) in order to make conditions almost bearable.

Waiting there was my new supervisor Kuntjora. After some painful small talk he presented me with my uniform, a vivid green apron, pointed to a tower of papers and explained the ropes. “Give out all of these”.

“No problem chief” I replied confidently, my brain already assessing potential scams and corners to cut.

Kuntjora, probably thinking 'not another one' and/or mildly offended at having been called ‘chief’, grabbed my arm firmly, fixed me with a steely glare and said, in no uncertain terms, 'You must give out a minimum of 300 papers each day."

THREE HUNDRED. Bombs delivered, he nodded and quickly disappeared into the warmth of the adjacent Sears Department store.

Seeing as though I was working for just three hours, 300 units seemed ambitious. But I had to assume this wasn’t an arbitrary number and was some sort of attainable average. So, as with any job that involves dealing with the general public, I took a deep breath, said a few prayers to a God unknown, knocked back a nip of Wild Turkey and stepped out into the sidewalk, a gladiator relishing combat.

Fifteen minutes later, although the initial excruciating embarrassment of the task had about disappeared, the despair had set in. I’d only managed to give out FOUR papers.

There were at least three immediate issues:

1) This wasn’t a major commuter route - it was the middle of town so few people were needing to casually kill time on, for example, an imminent journey.

2) Most punters had already consumed the day’s news by now.

3) Thanks to the bright green apron, people could see me from miles away and alter their course accordingly. Some people even crossed to the other side of the road.

A wild-looking guy came up to me.

“What happened to Twenty Four?”

“I don’t know. What’s Twenty Four?”

“What you stupid? It’s your rival! You two are always fighting for position…”

“Sorry I don’t know, I’ve only just started”

“Huh? You a Limey?”

Without taking a paper he started walking off before turning to shout

‘Welcome to Canada son’.

Focusing on the task at hand I began experimenting with different distribution methods such as targeting busy corners, holding papers out directly in front of people and even emitting some classic "Getcha Metro... Getcha Metro 'ere" cries, which seemed to make things worse.

At some point in the second hour I hit a pure hat-trick - three consecutive people taking papers. But, like life itself, the majority of time was spent dealing with rejection. And giving out vague/incorrect directions to tourists who assumed I was a knowledgeable, local authority figure.

The only support I received was from the good people of the local vagrant community, which, as per most North American cities, is vast. For some reason they saw me as one of their own and every downtrodden hobo who passed by on their daily quest for food/cans/plastic bottles/survival would greet me with a nod and take a handful of papers. It was like the Freemasons from another dimension.

Time passed slooooowwwwly and with an hour to go I still had two thirds of the papers to get through. Would I be forced to work on until I got rid of them all? With my spirits sinking fast there was just one thing on my mind - where could I dump 200 newspapers in downtown Vancouver?

Seconds crawled by like minutes. My weather-beaten face was the same texture as a Charity shop leather jacket. My legs were stumps of ice. Mentally, the isolation and mass indifference grew and grew until each time a punter sauntered past as if I was invisible was like being hit with a water cannon. BUT three hours finally passed. I got the call:

“How many did you get rid of Troy?”

“I only managed 120 err… boss”

“You serious?”

“Yeah…”

(horrified) “You need to do better tomorrow otherwise they’ll close the pitch!”

Aware now, I held in my hands, a vital job for future generations of Vancouver’s unskilled labour market, I swore from that day on to be a better man. My mood was also raised by the knowledge that there was now another $27 dollars less tax in my virtual pocket.

Postscript: Over the 13 shifts I lasted in the job, my personal best was 250 papers on a magical Tuesday morning. Less glorious was a shift that took place during continuous driving rain and howling gales where I managed to shift just 80 papers. To this day, as a show of respect to my fellow street kings, whenever I pass someone giving something out, be it a newspaper, fast-food flyer, Mormon recruitment phamplet etc.,I always take one to help them out. And you should too.