Stairway to heaven or great divide?

Twenty one stairs. The distance between Victoria Street and the entrance way to Auteur House, my place of business, is essentially 21 stairs. It doesn’t sound like much, does it? The difference, perhaps, between an award winning shop and a niche market backwater? Mark One Comics, our immediate neighbours, were deserved recipients recently of a Hamilton Central Business Association gong for best retail operation. A tribute, primarily, to hard work, long hours and catering to the needs of a very specific clientele. Bravo Chris, Rachel and their team. Quite an achievement for a store at the north end of town.

I am only joking about the stairs. After all, they are a source of exercise, if valued slightly more by management than customers in that regard. Whatever psychological hang-ups folk harbour about ascending a stairwell into the unknown, we enjoy the space that the shop itself affords.

Occasions on which the inebriated and amorously inclined mistake the promise of a red carpet for something a tad more carnal than we offer are an additional source of amusement.

This week, two distinct parties have had issues with our stairs.

You could not really blame the shifters. While it is true that my wife gave ample notice of the challenge, the information had evidently not been relayed. A 1957 refrigerator, brand name ‘Leonard’, weighing 150kg, had to be lifted up those 21 stairs and the chap charged with the task was not happy.

My own assistance was sought, something I had feared the moment Janine fell in love with this vintage apparatus on Trade Me. Visions of middle age hernias flashed before my eyes. However, when the driver, who was a woman, was also press-ganged into service, I had no choice. Male pride was at stake.

The hand trolley was not designed for such a job. Leonard barely fit on the thing. When, at the second stair, he threatened to fall off entirely, the male shifter, who was bearing approximately 125kg of the total weight, toyed with the idea of walking away. There were mutterings about hiring a machine. In the meantime Leonard would remain at the foot of the stairs, my problem, not his.

The truck driver would have none of this. Gently, she cajoled her colleague. Repositioned on the trolley, Leonard held firm. We proceeded one stair at a time. ‘‘One, two, three, lift’’, then repeat, twenty more times. Once at top, Leonard proved a pussycat. No trolley necessary: just rock him from side to side until bedded down in his new home.

I thanked the shifters for their heroic efforts. They complained a little more. I again stated my belief that Janine had been very clear about the stairs. They didn’t believe me.

A couple of days before all this happened, another professional presented herself, weighed down by the burdens of her office.

A New Zealand Post worker, the colloquial ‘postie’, bearer of good news and ill. This was a case of the latter. She had come to talk about the Auteur House stairs.

Apparently, there has been a policy shift at New Zealand Post. Or least there has in Hamilton, or the part of the Hamilton operation pertaining to the central business district. Henceforth, posties will not be required to climb stairs to deliver mail. If you live on a first floor or beyond it is your responsibility to have a mail box at street level. This is non-negotiable.

I was gobsmacked. What of the romantic ideals of this noble calling, of their undaunted commitment to getting the job done? Herodotus put it thus: ‘‘Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds’’.

It’s doubtful if my postie had heard of the ‘father of history’ or his maxim, long appropriated by the American postal service, but the word ‘‘courier’’ did mean something to her. When I questioned the logic of changing something that has worked perfectly well for the past 12 years, she replied, ‘‘we are not couriers’’.

Pedantically, I beg to differ. Whilst sympathies can be extended in the matter of increased mail weight, given there are less than ten businesses like ours, requiring second storey delivery, might I suggest that the answer lies not in getting the customer to change his ways but in requiring the worker to better appreciate his or her duty? If three people can lift a 150kg fridge up 21 stairs, a letter or two will break no backs.