Having failed to turn up for work on the allotted day, which had been discussed ad nauseam on the frequent occasions when he came to borrow money, he darkened my doorway this morning, a Saturday. This is never a good idea, as he was still suffering the effects of Friday night, but He Who Can Fix Anything failed to identify the warning signs - smoking as he leaned against the gate post, idle banter on the latest criminal goings on up the road in Ocean View, calling everyone by their first names (not a problem, but he never does when sober!) and various other pointers.
There wasn't much to do, but I showed him the vegetable patch and asked him to weed it and then scatter the two bags of expensive rooibos mulch around the plants, indicated how thick it must be and told him it was to prevent snails from getting to the plants. Yes, he knew exactly what to do. And so I left home for Saturday brunch with the parents, thinking all would be under control.
I got back to find that the mulch had been thinly scattered, randomly, over the vegetable patch, thickly piled into a number of pot plants that had never been in danger of a snail attack (including under one plant that has been dead for weeks now) and the rest sprinkled over the lawn. He obviously had no idea what the purpose of it was, nor could he remember what I had told him. I suspect he had a stash of something in his holdall.
It really makes you want to tear your hair out, or maybe his, and wonder yet again whether there is any point in giving a job to an under-performer when there are so many more capable people out there. He only worked a half day, because he was going to visit his girlfriend in hospital, he said, but when he left, he told me a long story about doing his laundry and how he had been soaking it for two days and he thought that would be enough. Yes, Daniel. You do that, Daniel. No, not next week, Daniel. Goodbye, Daniel.
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