I stood at the gate, afraid to pass the threshold. It wasn’t obvious why I should be afraid. It was a nice house in a nice part of Toronto, but something held me back. Maybe it had to do with the ad I was answering.
“Strong, presentable man required for odd jobs; must be literate, numerate, and simpatico. Salaried position, flexible hours.”
I had just been laid off as a cashier at the pharmacy, replaced by an automated check-out machine. I had a degree in liberal arts back when that meant something, but lately, luck was never with me in the employment arena. I was either too smart and over-thinking my responsibilities, or just brain dead through repetition and not attentive enough.
I continued to hold back; something gave me the shivers. There had been articles in the newspaper recently about a serial killer who worked as a gardener; burying his victims in the various gardens where he worked. This garden looked well laid out, but recently uncared for; that could easily be a sign he had worked here. I don’t mind gardening, but I don’t want to accidentally dig up any dead bodies.
I dithered for the longest time, looking for some reason to go in; or to run away. Then, as I was about to screw up my courage and finally cross the threshold, a young man in his twenties brushed past me, sauntered up to the door and pushed the doorbell.
I stepped back and froze, hiding behind the bushes.
Someone answered the door. I couldn’t see who, and he went inside.
I cursed myself for my indecision. I cursed myself for my cowardice. I felt this opportunity was going to be lost. I needed to do something to redeem my self-worth, I couldn’t give up without a struggle.
I didn’t wait a moment longer and crossed the threshold, feeling my energy and determination build with each step. Feeling hopeful, I pushed the doorbell button.
I had to wait the longest time and was about to push it again when I heard someone finally coming.
I couldn’t see inside as the door opened, the light outside was too bright. All I could see was a well-dressed, old woman in her eighties, a little stooped but with dark piercing eyes. Before I could say anything, she asked, “You’re here for the job?” I nodded. “Come inside and wait,” she responded.
Then the young man came out of the kitchen saying, “Okay Grandma, thanks for the snack, I’m going now.”
As she let him out, she said, “I’ll call you, if there is anything else.”
She then looked me up and down with those piercing eyes: “Why don’t you go in the kitchen and have a snack. You must be cold. You were standing out there a long time.
While you’re there, look around, see if anything needs fixing. Also, read the job description beside the plate of cookies.”
This was the strangest job interview, but I did as the old woman asked. I took a cookie from the plate and then read the note. It said,
“Duties:
Visit daily, eat food prepared for you.
Work on budget and taxes.
Make small talk about daily current affairs.
Fix broken things, replace smoke alarm batteries.
Remuneration according to usefulness.
Job Title:
Loving Nephew.”