Bob a Job
It’s been a working weekend.
I turned up early at Dartanian’s warehouse, ready for my assignment. I was kitted out with a boiler-suit-type-overall, which was bright red and had a photo printed on the back of Graham, the manager, dressed up as the laughing cavalier. I put it on and felt immediately dumbed down; they would even make Jean Paul Sartre feel like a Hill-Billy hick.
I was assigned to Mr Pigeon, who wanted his fence repaired and painted. It didn’t help that he was almost completely deaf. He was so bad, he made Joan off my team, seem like Jamie Summers: “I’ve come to paint your fence.”
“No I haven’t taken offence, what do you want?”
And so on.
I got more on my face than on the fence (there's some in between my toes – how did it get there?), but spending that thinking-time on my own, without interruption, made me realise that THIS is what life is all about.
Giving something back.
Helping the elderly. Enriching the lives of others in a meaningful way.
Sod the Call Centre – this is me – I am a giver. The voice of Mr Pigeon broke my reverie.
“Oi. Yer stupid bugger. You’ve got paint all over my carnations.”
Suffer, elderly blokes and come unto me.