she said not believing me for an instant.
Revenue
I rang the Taxation Office on O'Connell Street and asked to be put through to the relevant section dealing with the taxation of couriers. A woman answered the phone.
“How can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.
I explained the situation to her and asked why A rate PRSI was not being deducted. I and no doubt that I was an employee and I told her that I was sure the company was screwing me and by implication the Revenue as well.
“It certainly sounds suspect” she agreed “can I check it out and call you back?”
“That would be great” I said before I gave her my telephone number and finished the call.
She did not ring me back. Two days later I called again. I was put through to a woman. I couldn't tell if it was the same person I and spoken to before but she did have some new information.
“All couriers are classified as self-employed” she explained.
“How can that be?” I asked.
“I'm not sure” she hesitated “can you hold for a second”.
She put me on hold without waiting for a reply. Moments later she returned.
“Yes” she confirmed “all couriers are classified as self-employed”.
“I'm not” I insisted “I'm an employee, your own records show that tax and PRSI are deducted at source and I work exclusively for the same company. I'm paid by cheque every Friday and I receive a pay advice slip. I am not now nor have I ever been self-employed. I had no idea you classified me as self-employed”.
“Hold please” she said again.
This time I could hear muffled voices on the other end of the line. I couldn't hear what was being said but I recognised the woman's voice and a male voice saying something.
“Securicor put forward a good argument that all couriers are self-employed” she told me.
“What?” I could smell a big pile of bullshit straight away “I work for Securicor, and if they're claiming that all the couriers who work for them are self-employed, then they're conning you”.
“The deduction of PRSI” she explained “and the rate at which it is deducted is a Social Welfare matter, I suggest that you contact them”.
“Funny thing” I said before I hung up “the Social Welfare said it was a matter for you”. I didn't wait for a reply.
I was up against it. They had no reasonable explanation and they did not want to know. I went back and forth between Social Welfare and Revenue for the rest of the week. Eventually I gave up. I was fucked and I knew it. My employer was screwing me and officialdom didn't give a shit even though they themselves were being screwed. I'd had no pay check that week. The mortgage was due and every day bills were mounting. I borrowed money from the credit union (thank god for the credit union) and bought a cheap bike. I modified the clutch so that I could use the lever with a broken finger and went back to work.
The rest of that winter was hell. Every bump sent fresh pain scorching through my back and arm. Driving rain and freezing temperatures didn't help.
Fran
“Fran's down on Mount Street” the controller told me “take whatever's there and bring it back here”.
I pulled my lid on as I exited the base. I could see where Fran was as soon as I turned the corner from Hollis Street to Mount Street. Two or three people stood on the pavement leaning over Fran. I put my bike on its stand. Someone had picked up Fran's bike and done likewise. Fran was writhing and groaning in obvious pain.
“You OK?” I asked as I knelt down.
Tears trickled form the corners of Fran's eyes. A few strands of her blonde hair were visible at the side of her helmet visor. Fran was in training to be a beautician. She was one of only a handful of women working as motorcycle couriers and she did it well. She was tall, blonde and attractive. Behind her looks or perhaps because of them, was a tough girl. Not rough, just tough in the determined sense. She gave as good as she got and had a well earned reputation as a person not to be trifled with or demeaned in any way. I admired Fran, it took balls to get up every morning and mix it in a male dominated arena. Fran expected and received respect from her co-workers.
“It's my arm” she said barely above a whisper. “Don't touch it”.
I had no intention of touching her arm.
“Take my lid off” Fran pleaded.
She was breathing rapidly and breathlessly as she tried to undo the clasp under her chin with her undamaged hand. I pushed the red catch back and the black nylon strap popped open.
“Fran's hurt” I called over the radio to the base controller.
“There's an ambulance on the way” he replied nonchalantly.
I could hear the controller answering that Fran was hurt to another courier over the radio. The radios did not operate back to back. I could only hear or speak to the base controller. I could not hear or communicate with the other couriers but I could hear what the controller said to them. I presumed that the controller was talking to 5 Aaron, Fran's boyfriend. 5 Aaron arrived on Mount Street seconds later. An ambulance was close on his tail. Fran had a black storage box on the back of her bike. I emptied it of letters and brought them back to the base. The controller was handing the letters out to other couriers as I got back on my bike.
February 2000
I decided to contact the Health and Safety Authority situated at Hogan Place. Over the winter of 99/2000 I had seen courier after courier hit the ground. Some got back up, some did not, all were injured at work. I went in person to the HSA and spoke briefly to the receptionist. I asked her for available figures on courier accidents in the previous year. The receptionist got on the phone and I took a seat. Several minutes later, a be-speckled, neatly dressed man arrived at the front desk. I guessed he was in his early fifties, a lifetime civil servant with curt cordiality born from thousands of bothersome query replies.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
I wasn't at all shocked when he told me that there were no figures available. I asked did he mean that they hadn't been recorded. He explained to me that it wasn't a matter of recording, it was an issue of reporting.
“There is an obligation on employers to report all accidents at work to the HSA”.
“A legal obligation?” I asked to clarify the position.
He nodded.
“But I was injured at work last November, how come you've no record of it?”
“Are you an employee?”
“Yes” I answered emphatically.
He
