My Window Cleaning Job

Isn’t it good to see your reflection in the window as you pass by on a nice Summer’s day. Of course that all depends if the window is clean and transparent and who washed it. Hopefully you can find someone like me to wash your windows for you…not.

Now I had been a jack-of-all-trades (but no my name is not Jack) when it came to work, but suddenly I hit a dry patch (well it wasn’t wet). My mind was working over time, what on earth can I do. I could not believe it, it was like rocket science. I even lost brain cells (yeah like I had any to begin with) in the process. But you know what, it was almost like it was meant to happen, because Window Cleaning, at first glance, seems to be a no-brainer. Funny though, I kept fighting the brain cells coming back and turning the job into a window cleaning blaster-disaster.

What was appealing about Window Cleaning one might say. Well, well, well… just waiting for my brain cells to kick in. Firstly (here we go), windows don’t talk back, like in a customer service-type set-up (because it felt like being set-up). My mum loved that comment, and would constantly plague me with teasing about the blabber. Of course I used to speak to the windows, which were like my counsellors and me there’s – ‘oh that looks great. How does that feel? That feels great I bet (me smooth-talking the windows; yes it does get a bit lonely). Secondly, I was working for and by myself, now speaking of a jack-of-all-trades I wasn’t a jack-in-the-corner. Yes there was freedom, but there was just me-myself-and-I; I had to come up with the lot – ‘What do you think mate (me speaking to myself)?’ ‘It sounds unbelievable, incredible, amazing (coff coff, well I had to convince myself now)’. Thirdly, and I know some people like to whinge on this point, is keeping fit, yes exercise. Remember that hit tune, ‘go up…and down…and up….and down’ (mmm maybe not); anyway, that was what Window Cleaning basically was, up…and down. I whinged to, my arms and legs and neck were aching, and my brain cells came back to life, so it was tough-stuff mate. Fourthly, there is an art to Window Cleaning which you get or don’t get; the strokes, the bending of the knees, beating the stopwatch, yours eyes becoming like a magnified-glass looking for dirt and streaks (no not streakers; only female ones thank you).

I thought I was going to see my reflection in the window, as a sign I’ve done a good job, but when you come back looking like a mutant, you know something went wrong along the way (don’t play that X-Files tune now). The problem with me is that I kiss them before I kick them (sounds technical boss). In other words, I look like I’m working hard and doing a good job, when in actual fact…the result is in a galaxy far, far away. I play the part, I have my equipment, my horse-and-cart (yes my set of wheels), I’m well groomed and smelling (yes I caked it on) a million dollars (but I don’t have a million dollars now don’t I; bmm bmm). Then walah….What the. Am I satisfied with the finished product, no. I keep going over it and over it, but nope, it still looks the same. So much for being too fussy – ‘better luck next time mate’. What do I do next, I ask the customer what they think of it when really I should just get in my horse-and-cart and nick-off as quickly as possible undetected by the radar (ha ha, is he kidding).

Then there’s developing a window fetish (that’s it I’ve heard enough of this), where you detect anything that remotely resembles a cleanable window – ‘that one, and that one, and definitely that one’ (why don’t you just clean the whole neighbourhood while your at it). Of course I don’t do (maybe think yes) of doing something sexy with the window, because I did say fetish didn’t I.

One day I felt like the witch in snow white and the seven dwarves and said, ‘(dirty) window window on the wall, who is the fairest of them all’. The window spoke back (c’mon, just play along) and splurted out, ‘keep on looking champ because you look like a mutant remember’.


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