I was between jobs.I had an interview arranged in a couple of weeks time, so to keep solvent in the meantime I took a part time position with a Landscape Gardening firm.
I was put to to re-shaping part of a large property behind a house. There was no vehicle access so the work had to be done by hand.
That was fine. The weather was good and I toned up my softening muscles and topped up my tan while doing the the sort of work I could get satisfaction from – a lot of earthmoving and rock heaving ending with something that would remain good looking for a long time to come.
On the last day – the day before my interview – I worked extra hard in order to get finished. The weather was hot – very hot – and I developed a raging thirst. But I had nothing with me to drink.
Could I last without?
The house was locked up and empty so there was no chance of getting to a tap. And the nearest shop was several minutes walk away. Besides which, I only had a couple of hours to go and I was well smeared up with clay.
I tried to carry on, but it was no use. I just had to intake some liquid. There was a small stream running though the garden. But with all the pesticides and weed killers floating around these days I knew better than to drink from it. Of course I did.
Yet I was so very parched. And the water looked so inviting.
Was it safe to drink from?
I mentally surveyed the route of the stream. I knew it began high up on the down, where I had never seen cattle or sheep. And I knew it swept its way into a series of large gardens after that, avoiding any crop land.
So, surely it was safe. Carefully I knelt and took a sip. It was sweeter and colder than any fizzy drink, and there was no trace of taint. So I gave in and quenched my thirst with huge gulps. It was glorious.
At last I sat up,wiping my face and noisily sighing my satisfaction. And a dead fish floated past.
Oh dear
Relating my physical state over the next 24 hours is too painful – and too gruesome – to put before human eyes. Sufficient to say I woke up next day – the day of my interview – already running for the lav.
And from then on spent the hours in an agony of quaking, clenching and unclenching, pain-spasmed torment Common sense dictated I should not even have tried going along to the interview. But I did anyway, and spent an eternity sitting opposite my interviewer sweating, bulge-eyed and thin lipped, quite unable to utter a sound beyond a series of animal squeaks and whimpers.
Did I or didn’t I?
At last my interviewer finished with me and offered the dread phrase ‘We’ll let you know’. I didn’t care. I was just relieved I had survived the interview without needing to depart rapidly half way through.
A week later I received the letter congratulating me on my success. I had got the job.
To this day I do not understand how. I swear I had not uttered one word throughout, although I did manage a couple of frantic head nods. I can only suppose my grim, teeth – gritted expression had conveyed an earnest agreement with everything put to me, together with an desire to do my very best for my new employer.
And that the dead fish was my lucky omen.
Image: makelessnoise under CC BY 2.0
