The World’s Worst Paperboy

I was possibly the world’s worst paperboy.

My friend Jimmy always had some pocket change for our activities, generated from his local newspaper delivery route. The rest of us popped nickels out of our coin collections, beg our parents for a few dollars, or hoped we received a birthday check from Grandma instead of a savings bond.

Every summer, Jimmy’s family took a two-week family vacation to Pennsylvania. He would look for somebody to fill in for him, delivering newspapers by bicycle.

One year, Jimmy depleted his options and asked if I could distribute papers to approximately 150 houses in a five-block radius, totaling maybe a two-mile morning ride.

Thanks to Google Maps, I revisited the suburban New Jersey of my youth and traced the route. In hindsight, it appears rather straightforward. But time has not diminished my recollections of the hills, dogs, unbalanced shoulder bags, and a three-day rainfall that made the experience a tremendous hassle.

A few days before his departure, Jimmy demonstrated how to fold each paper and snap on rubber bands to keep them snug in the shoulder bags. We did a practice ride where he pointed to each customer’s house, paying extra attention to people who complained about needing to venture down their driveways due to “errant throws.”