When I came home to London at the end of my first term at university in December 1968, I was flat broke, and more broke because it was Christmas, so I went to an employment agency for a job. "Would you like to work for the Beatles? " they asked.  "Don't you have anything better?" I asked.  Fifteen minutes later I got the job. When I asked why they accepted me when millions would have done the job for free, the answer was "That's just the problem." Yes. I owed the job to the fact that I was not a crazy fan. But of course I was a fan. It was difficult not to be. I worked over the winter holiday in 1968 and also during Easter 1969. I had to take a taxi in the days to deliver papers sealed in envelopes to the Beatles' house. I took the envelopes to the address, handed them over to whoever answered the door and lift. Who would entrust such papers to an unknown student today - the envelopes would be opened and the contents of the papers copied and sold to the Press. It never occurred to me to do that. Much has been lost in 40 years! I am always asked how many autographs  I collected, and the answer is none. How uncool would it have been to ask for an autograph? Far better just to hear the Beatles' s greets--"Hi, boy." How's it going?" More than 40 years later, this remains the best job I have ever had. It met my immediate material need and provides a memory that can be my life treasure. For a child of the 60s, this was its peak. If some details of the memory are not so fresh, it's because they weren't important then. At 19, you take the things that happen for granted. At 61, they become gold dust. If I had known that then, I would have kept a diary. The author was offered the job as a mail boy because_.
the agency was in urgent need of helping hands the Beatles wanted to help poor young men the boy seemed not to be a fan of the Beatles the poor boy couldn't do heavy physical work