What is Gainesville’s most dangerous job?
With all due respect to the airline pilots, police officers and firefighters, one occupation stares death in the face during each shift.
Say hello to your friendly neighborhood Jimmy John’s biker.
Yes, I worked as a Jimmy John’s biker. I’m sure many of you are familiar with the “freaky fast” sandwich delivery that we provide the hungry masses in the two mile radius around the Midtown location. Sorry to burst your bubble, but messenger life isn’t quite as exciting as Joseph Gordon Levitt makes it out to be in “Premium Rush.” But it’s still pretty damn exciting…
My sole responsibility? Deliver sandwiches on my bike, and do it fast. We aren’t pressured by management to go fast (though they wouldn’t be mad if we did), but motivated by one almighty force: cold hard cash. As a messenger, over 60 percent of my compensation comes from tips. The faster I go, the more deliveries I can take per hour, which means more opportunities to get tipped. To a JJ biker, time truly is money. For my relatively limited skillset, I was rewarded well for my time, usually twice minimum wage per hour or more.
But for what?
Getting paid to exercise is a glorious situation, and as a JJ biker, that is exactly what I did. All while listening to music and cruising through the hustle and bustle of busy Gainesville streets. While many people work minimum wage and are stuck inside the same space for the entirety of their shift, my scenery changed by the delivery from the cobble streets of downtown to the brick-laden architecture on University of Florida campus.
Thinking of quitting your boring job and joining the JJ biker gang to ride your bike around town, listen to music and hand over sandwiches? It may sound easy, but there is another side to this life that outsiders don’t see.
Biking for a living is taxing. In a typical shift, I’d bike anywhere from 30 to 40 miles, no matter the weather. You know those days in Gainesville where you sweat even when you’re standing in the shade? Or those days where it’s raining so hard that the fastest wiper setting on your car doesn’t seem to do anything? In both cases, JJ bikers are still out there, delivering your damn sandwiches. If you don’t know what Hell is, let me tell you, it’s riding your bike in 40 degree weather at 1 a.m. and it’s pouring outside.
I almost died about once a week, usually at the hands of some jackass in a car who is texting or zoned out (or both). I’ve crashed on my bike more times than I wish to divulge, and I have the permanent scars and bruises to show it. (One time I even fractured my wrist.) There will be some slow shifts where the orders just aren’t coming in. Since we are primarily compensated on tips, this means on slow nights, our pay is essentially cut in half.
While no job is perfect, the highs and lows of JJ bike life were enough to keep my foot to the pedal for the greater part of nine months. But after one too many major accident close calls and the anguish of getting stiffed on a delivery weighed on my mental, I began to ponder the idea of change. My time and health were too valuable to be peddling sandwiches around town, so I ultimately decided to walk away from the JJ life.
I will always hold my time at JJ dearly. Biking for JJ is probably be the best job I’ll ever have. As I begin my career working in an air-conditioned office behind a computer, sometimes I gaze out the window and see one of my ex-JJ brethren and think to myself “Damn… Why did I ever leave the job where I was paid to ride my bike?”
No job is perfect, and just like anything else, working for Jimmy John’s had its pros and cons. Ultimately my time and physical health was worth more than the erratic tips from frat guys, so I hung up my helmet and quit.
Next time you order one of those freaky fast sandwiches, think twice about the guy that’s on the bike. And for the love of God, please tip them.
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