When I was a 21-year-old law student in Canberra, desperate for casual work, I found an ad pinned to a corkboard outside the library. Bleary-eyed after another all-nighter, I took down the number of the law firm. The title: “Gopher.” As in, go for it. Fetch things? Surely my entire life as an only daughter of immigrants had prepared me for this. It also seemed like a great way to ride my bike during business hours. With my dwindling bank balance, I didn’t have much choice.
First Day on the Job
On my first day, I wore black pants and a crisp ironed shirt – immediately overdressed. The receptionist wore shorts and a jumper that said, “I KISSED A VAMPIRE AND I LIKED IT.” She pointed to a stack of papers marked “gopher’s in-tray.” The job was simple: deliver letters, notices of assessment, and other important legal documents by bicycle. The locations, I realised, were varied and inconvenient.
Some days I balanced packages on my handlebars on the way to the courts. Other days I wove through foot traffic to reach the bank before its unreasonably early closing time. The kind man at the revenue office came to know me by name – probably because I was the only out-of-breath twentysomething in a magpie-proof helmet in the waiting area.
The G.O.D. Revelation
About a week in, I noticed a new inscription on the top sheet of the in-tray: a file addressed to “G.O.D.” I asked the receptionist, “God? What’s that?” She replied, “No, G.O.D. Gopher. On. Duty.”
On my bike, carrying stacks of papers, I felt briefly like the G.O.D. of my email signature. If I didn’t deliver those letters, very serious legal cases could not continue. Vulnerable clients relied on me. Or so I told myself. In truth, errand runners are rarely taken seriously. Lawyers forget your name – or worse, call you “Tuesday Gopher.” I was sometimes asked to cover reception, but my duties never expanded. Once, a paralegal asked me to scratch her back by the fax machine.
After the Gopher Year
A career adviser told me that later-year law students usually want paralegal positions. But that year was my only job in a law firm. After graduating, I did not practise law. Instead, I got a job in media – a more stable and financially lucrative industry.
Still, that year as G.O.D. taught me more than five years with my head in law books. It taught me to appreciate every errand runner, delivery driver, and courier I’ve met since. Delivery isn’t easy, whether for a law firm, a postie, or someone on a motorbike bringing ice-cream at 2am. I can look back and smile, but for many with precarious work or visa conditions, it’s no source of comedy – it’s a daily reality with hidden challenges.
Some places now replace two-legged, two-wheeled workers with robots. But in 2026, physical objects, paper, and the people who deliver them still matter. One person’s gopher is the world’s G.O.D. – someone we all rely on.
