Confessions of a Metro Newspaper Distributor

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

All you have to do is give out these in 3 hours

You know that poor soul stood outside the train station no matter how bad the weather is? Their eyes lighting up like a fruit machine when you appear? Then, as you pass by, BANG, there’s a free paper in your hand whether you wanted it or not. Well, show them some respect next time. It's tough out there on the streets.

Once upon a time in Vancouver, I was living the life of riley... Mavis Riley. Staying in a downmarket backpackers hostel, unemployed and almost unemployable. I spent countless hours in the local coffee shops testing how much free WiFi one cup of green tea entitles you to.

Instead of using this precious time to apply for jobs, embellish the lies on my CV or produce the usual 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 input my long-forgotten GCSE results on a poorly-constructed application form for a job I'd never get. Besides, at this point, with eight different 'resumes' on the go, each a web of lies tailor-made to a specific job sector, I was no longer sure what I had or hadn’t actually done.

Looking up from trying to decide if one shift of pot washing 15 years ago qualified as kitchen experience as my 'Culinary CV' claimed, I saw a coffee shop employee approaching with officious intent no doubt sick of me hogging a prime spot for minimal outlay. Just before she arrived, by chance, my phone lit up. With a wink in her direction, I took the call: It was one of the world’s leading newspapers offering me a job.

It was cold

The Metro newspaper, though not affiliated to its UK namesake, is almost identical. A free paper offering light news coverage and relying on a large circulation to justify its advertising rates. As nobody buys papers anymore it has to be forcefully distributed outside of stations and on street corners. Which is why, when some presumably desperate HR Assistant stumbled across a bizarre CV proudly boasting extensive paper boy experience from the mid 90s, they knew they'd hit the jackpot.

The next morning, at 0855 as instructed, I arrived at the corner of Granville and Dunsmuir (the heart of downtown Vancouver). Most Metro distribution shifts start at 6am so bagging a 9am gig was a stroke of 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 survive.

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

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

Kuntjora, probably thinking 'not another joker' and/or mildly offended at having been called ‘chief’, grabbed my arm, 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 disappeared into the welcoming warmth of the adjacent department store. Seeing as though I was working for just three hours, 300 seemed ambitious. Not far from two papers distributed every minute. But I had to assume this was some sort of attainable figure, not an arbitrary number.

Take one you bastards

So, as with any job that involves dealing with the general public, I took a deep breath, said a few prayers to nobody, knocked back a nip of Wild Turkey and stepped into the sidewalk, a gladiator ready for combat.

Fifteen minutes later, the initial excruciating embarrassment of the task had about disappeared but 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, for example, on 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 - people crossed to the other side of the road to avoid me.

A wild-looking guy came up to me:

“What happened to Twenty Four?”

“I'm not sure. What’s Twenty Four?”

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

“Sorry, 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".

King of the streets

Focusing on the task at hand I began experimenting with different distribution methods such as moving to short-term busy spots, holding papers out directly in people's path 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 occasionally 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 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? Would I still get paid? When do you get frostbite? With my spirits sinking fast a new thought came to mind - where could I dump 200 newspapers in downtown Vancouver?

Seconds crawled by like minutes. My weather-beaten face was the texture of an unwanted Charity shop leather jacket. I couldn't feel my feet and my bones were made of ice. Mentally, the isolation grew and grew until each time a punter sauntered past it was if I was invisible. BUT three hours did finally pass.

I got a call from Kuntjaro:

“Err, I only managed 120 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 become a better man. And, more importantly, a better newspaper distributor. My mood was also raised by the knowledge that there was now another $27 dollars less tax in my skyrocket.

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 pamphlet etc, I always take one to help them out. And you should too.