Meghan

Hometown: Long Island, NY

Lived in SF: Since October 2011

Workhorse: My favorite is my 1994 Basso Lotto. Sleek, fast and way prettier than literally any other object I own.

Past experience: Boston messenger from winter 2010 to summer 2011

Favorite part of the city to work in: I suppose the Mission.

Favorite TCB restaurant  meal: The Rooster salad with grilled chicken at Roostertail is the holy grail of shift meals if you ask me.

Favorite aspect of working at TCB: No dispatcher sitting comfortable and out of the elements in a rolling chair in some office playing fast and loose with my life every day while making way more money than me.

What would you do if you weren’t working on the road: When I’m not on the road I draw, paint and make stencils.

Hobbies or interests: Riding bikes and making art. I like to keep it simple. Plus I read like a motherfucker, tearing through at least a novel a week usually.

How did you end up working with TCB: I moved to Boulder, CO from Boston in an attempt to get out of messenger work by working in the semi-above-ground weed industry, where I was supposed to be making money hand over fist. After only a few months and a series of disasters, the sordid details of which I won’t go into here, I bailed out of there broke, friendless, houseless, disillusioned and desperate for work. Fortunately, I knew several Boston couriers who had moved to the Bay to ride for TCB and I knew there was plenty of work to be had. I scraped together the dough for a plane ticket and was working a shadow shift some four hours after I got off at SFO. The rest is history.

Weirdest delivery made: There were these three 20-somethings who lived in a really fancy apartment in a SoMa high-rise and, once or twice a week, usually Tuesdays, would order 14 milkshakes from this burger joint. Let me reiterate, fourteen milkshakes at a time. This in and of itself was bewildering, because there were only ever three of them in there and furthermore whether you freeze or refrigerate them, milkshakes cease to be milkshakes pretty quickly, reverting either to ice cream or, you know, liquid. It would be a big old box of fourteen milkshakes (half vanilla, half chocolate) and like one burger and fries. For the three of them. The place always reeked of pot smoke and the dark curtains were always drawn. These kids also were constantly engaged in half-baked construction projects, as evidenced by the crumbs of sheetrock scattered in a trail leading up to their door, the heaps of debris visible inside the apartment, power tools they would occasionally be clutching when answering the door (despite often being partially naked or in pajamas), and the time they duct taped the door frame completely shut. That time, I could hear them peeling it off to open the door and receive the milkshake delivery. There the duct tape remained for every subsequent delivery, unstuck and partially attached, just flapping around crazily when they opened the door.

After several months of this they stopped ordering so I don’t know what became of them. They did always tip well though. And to this day I regret not asking what the hell they were doing with all those milkshakes every week.