While I endeavour to hang up my Marigolds and take up a more meaningful profession I must stil earn a living. So, for now, I must remain a cleaner. Cleaning is a hazardous business at times. In fact, just lately, I have been thinking that I should have a bodyguard the size of a mountain with me - y'know, like Beyonce.
I have come to this conclusion due to recent events.
Last week, we were cleaning carpets in a lady's house. Our van was parked - legally. Our equipment not in anyone's way. But oh dear. Along came an old man in his 'fleece' (see previous posts for my hatred of them) waving his walking stick in the air. Ranting. Raving. His face turning purple with rage. He did not like where our van was. He did not like the noise. And despite my calm assurances that we were working as fast as possible he continued yelling at me.
'Please do not shout at me,' I said calmly.
'Shout at you,' he replied. 'I'm not going to shout at you. I'm going to hit you.'
And with that, he raised his stick and was about to strike me.
Well. Can you imagine? I was livid.
I gave him a molten lava look and said 'if you lay one finger on me, I will call the police.'
To which, he spun on his heels and scurried away as fast as his walking stick would take him.
And, if that wasn't enough.
Just this week we had to clean carpets at a house where seagulls were nesting on the roof - it was a bungalow and three, adorable, fluffy chicks were in a nest by the chimney.
'Aaaah,' we said until mum and dad seagulls and aunties, uncles and grandparents seagulls decided to attack us. Everytime we went out to the van they dive bombed us like World War II aircraft.
So, you see. Cleaning is a harzardous profession. Now if you'll excuse me I have to be fitted with an Interceptor body armour system!
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