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My Arthur Anderson Story

My Arthur Anderson Story
I was a bike messenger in San Francisco for a few years when I was going to college. Bike messengers come from all walks of life but you know the typical bike messenger: punked out, tattos on the face and neck, dreadlocks, dirty clothes, all that.
I bathed, wore clean clothes, normal haircut, no tattos, and was required by my company to be "presentable" since I'd be walking around offices mostly in the financial district. I did drink the occasional 24. oz of Olde English while on duty but that was one of the few benefits associated with the job.

Anyway, most people in the financial district treat bike messengers like shit, and my favorite story is the time I had to deliver a package to my brother - who was VP of Sales at a software company - and the secretary treated me like I had crapped my pants and it was leaking onto her desk. She told me to "just drop the box and go" while she was talking on the phone. I started to walk torwards my brothers office and the secretary just freaked out and screamed that messengers "aren't allowed near the offices", since we'd contaminate the tiny cubicles with our funk.

I told her I was going to see my brother and she changed her tone and told me - lower class service worker to even lowlier class service worker - that my brother was one of the only people there that was nice to the "staff".

The younger dotcom people south or market were cool, and the women were even cooler since the guys were all nerds.

But the absolute worst was Arthur Anderson. The runs paid well since they rushed everything at 15 minutes or less for $35 -$50 per tag, half going to me. But the people were just assholes. Every package would go the same floor, where you'd see this big menacing steel security door. You'd press a buzzer, and this ebonics speaking dude would mumble some shit, and tell you to just leave it outside the door. You'd come back with another package two hours later and the same package would be sitting on the floor, with it's bright orange RUSH sticker and "sensitive information" tag.

The employees would get on the elavator and tell each other how rich they were, and how they got this account and that account, and how they went to some exotic locale over the weekend ("So how was your weekend? Great, visited a girlfriend in London,") They also liked to close elavator doors in your face, since they hated sharing the elavator with the unwashed masses - I would shellac my armpits with spray anti-perspirant AND deoderant, and they still treated me like a leper, as if some infected piece of skin was going to rub on them and ruin their expensive suits.

The men also talked about "fucking the office ho", and I think they were more at Anderson than at any other company I visited, or at least the men talked about them more.

When I see Arthur Anderson employees on the news talking about how they are "innocent victims" and "where is the justice?" I just laugh. Anderson corporate culture is corrupt, pure and simple. They are all the same - money grubbing, arrogant, ivy league, immoral assholes. Glorified money launderers, they are the type of company that would have worked for Hitler, calculating how many pounds of gold teeth were melted down into gold bricks.

Now I have a decent job in San Francisco and I'm always nice to messengers - even when they smell funky, and have tatoos of snakes on their necks.



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