My other job...
Jun. 7th, 2009 09:39 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
the-hunter.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
techrecoveryAs a means of earning money, I'm a landscape Gardener for a housing association, and also tool and vehicle service engineer. So, whilst at weekends I get to see why Goldfish Girl's laptop isn't working (because she's slammed the lid in the photocopier again...) during working hours my tech support involves 4 wheel drive tractor lawnmowers, big chainsaws, three foot long petrol driven hedge trimmers and a machine that reduces tree trunks to toothpick-sized confetti.
I was mowing a back lawn, on Friday. Our property (an old people's home) backs on to land owned by a different housing authority.
Suddenly a shrill voice rang out.
*Oi! You!* I pointed at myself. *Yes, YOU!*
..and out from behind a hedge appeared...imagine if you can Dawn French had mated with brown bear, and then the brown bear had it's sense of style and self respect removed, you may come close...no, actually you won't. It was like Bernard Manning with lipstick. And less charm...
*When you gonna cut this 'edge?* she whispered sedutively. A passing Painted Lady butterfly, having made the journey all the way from Africa, happened to flit in a carefree manner past her face, and the fumes from her mouth instantly reduced it to ash...she waved expansively at the offending hedge with her can of Carling Black Label beer.
"I'm not going to cut it!" I explained.
"Why not?" she burped.
"Well, partly because I'm here to cut the grass, partly because The Protection of Wildlife act won't allow me to until the end of mext month due to nesting bird, but mainly because that belongs to Orbit Housing, and I don't work for them!"
*Fucking Bollocks!* she giggled, coquetishly, *You're all the fucking same. Gimme your number, I'm reporting you to yer boss!*
Now, just at the moment my boss and I are having something of a ragged relationship...any chance to get revenge...
"Sure, it is..."
*Wait! Wait!* she flapped, delicately, looking for something to write on, and indeed with. She solved the dilemma by producing a lipstick and scrawling the number on the beer can, trickling about half the contents down her monstrous cleavage...
*Right...I'm gonna get your boss to kick your arse!* she flirted, and waved her arms to indicate again the state of the hedge. And let go the can, which sailed into the middle of the hedge. And...then she dived after it...and I was left with this vision of two feet waving from the middle of a Hypericum shrub hedge, with muffled cries of *Help!* and *Gotcha you bastard* as she tried to get the beer and herself out of the hedge.
Like the newspaper reporter of legend, I made my excuses and left, trying really hard not to pee myself laughing...
I was mowing a back lawn, on Friday. Our property (an old people's home) backs on to land owned by a different housing authority.
Suddenly a shrill voice rang out.
*Oi! You!* I pointed at myself. *Yes, YOU!*
..and out from behind a hedge appeared...imagine if you can Dawn French had mated with brown bear, and then the brown bear had it's sense of style and self respect removed, you may come close...no, actually you won't. It was like Bernard Manning with lipstick. And less charm...
*When you gonna cut this 'edge?* she whispered sedutively. A passing Painted Lady butterfly, having made the journey all the way from Africa, happened to flit in a carefree manner past her face, and the fumes from her mouth instantly reduced it to ash...she waved expansively at the offending hedge with her can of Carling Black Label beer.
"I'm not going to cut it!" I explained.
"Why not?" she burped.
"Well, partly because I'm here to cut the grass, partly because The Protection of Wildlife act won't allow me to until the end of mext month due to nesting bird, but mainly because that belongs to Orbit Housing, and I don't work for them!"
*Fucking Bollocks!* she giggled, coquetishly, *You're all the fucking same. Gimme your number, I'm reporting you to yer boss!*
Now, just at the moment my boss and I are having something of a ragged relationship...any chance to get revenge...
"Sure, it is..."
*Wait! Wait!* she flapped, delicately, looking for something to write on, and indeed with. She solved the dilemma by producing a lipstick and scrawling the number on the beer can, trickling about half the contents down her monstrous cleavage...
*Right...I'm gonna get your boss to kick your arse!* she flirted, and waved her arms to indicate again the state of the hedge. And let go the can, which sailed into the middle of the hedge. And...then she dived after it...and I was left with this vision of two feet waving from the middle of a Hypericum shrub hedge, with muffled cries of *Help!* and *Gotcha you bastard* as she tried to get the beer and herself out of the hedge.
Like the newspaper reporter of legend, I made my excuses and left, trying really hard not to pee myself laughing...
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no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 08:58 pm (UTC)In the US, this would the stereotypical Trailer Trash lady.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 11:56 pm (UTC)That is not a bad combination.
Date: 2009-06-08 04:16 am (UTC)Re: That is not a bad combination.
Date: 2009-06-08 04:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-08 08:15 am (UTC)Re: That is not a bad combination.
Date: 2009-06-08 01:17 pm (UTC)