Terry

ding! - the elevator arrives at level 2. I push my old-school, clunky, newspaper-filled trolley on, Terry follows with his white, streamlined, filing trolley. I am envious and apprehensive- Terry is always up for some banter. He looks at me...Here it comes...

"Another one gone aye?"
'rhetorical question?', I ponder and say nothing.
"they're getting just as busy as the weeks, these days..."
"yeah", with forced chuckle...
"Yeah, the weekends are almost as busy as the bloody weeks.."
[silence]-it's a 12 floor journey.

He looks at my paper tray and something catches his attention...
"That's an interesting one...there must have been something dodgy goin on with them...for the juror to do that..."
I'm lost, I don't know what he's talking about..."I haven't heard about that".

Terry doesn't care to explain...We've reached the 12th floor and he heads to the south entrance- I go north. He continues talking about the jury case to himself as he turns his back on me.

I like Terry, he combs his hair nice... He looks like he could have been in the war in his younger days- though I heard he was a fireman.

Jimmy!

Beep.Then short delay, then the mechanical slide of a door...All signs of excitement in the document deliver area…

This time it's Jimmy, "JIMMY!!", we shout, as the NZ courier's courier arrives. He has grey hair and wears the black & white insignia of his company. He walks at great speed, intently focused on the in-tray on John's desk. He acknowledges our greeting with an indecipherable reply- couriers do everything fast- and then makes some remark on how it's nearly Friday... or was it about the weather?
Jimmy could be Irish. I often ponder this possibility after he's gone, or before he's come, or while he's here...