For the past 3 years, I’ve had a “man about the house”. Decades of putting up with cleaners, most of whom (but not all) were women of a certain ilk, given to back problems, migraine, and vague “lady issues” which prevented them from moving the furniture to vacuum underneath, cleaning windows and/or showing up on time, I’d almost given up on finding a cleaner. One last advertisement then. Michiel responded.
I liked the sound of his voice even before he came over to check out the lay of the land and discuss terms. When he walked through the door, I knew I was going to hire him: Michiel is very easy on the eyes. After a trial period of 2 months, my windows had never been so clean and we decided that it is a perfect match.
Yesterday Michiel came to work and after leaving him with a list of what needed to be done, I crawled back to bed to nurse my hellacious migraine.
One of the things on the list was scrubbing down the kitchen floor. It was nice weather, so Michiel left the kitchen door open to speed the drying while he moved along to the livingroom. Suddenly he heard the dogs going ballistic in the kitchen.
Now I’m not anti-religious although I’m in no way a conventional believer. I don’t think all people who subscribe to an organized religion are morons. Indeed many of my friends are people who have a deep and abiding faith in a higher power. I do, however take umbrage at being evangelized by strangers on my front doorstep. I could not for the life of me, imagine a situation where a person would walk uninvited into a someone’s kitchen, clutching sheaves of “The Watchtower” and think anyone living in that particular house would be interested in hearing what they have to say. Not even if the back door was wide open. That’s what doorbells are for. Well readers, it happened right here in Hengelo.
You call it a squeegie, I call it a modified Jo stick
All I can say is that Mighty Mack made quite an impression, but it was Michiel , or rather St. Michiel, Defender of the Faithless who was the hero of the day. He managed to call Mack to order, then proceded to chase the Jehovah’s Witnesses out the kitchen door and down the driveway while wielding a floor squeegie. It must have been a sight to see.
Unfortunately there is no video of this. I missed all the fun, being conked out on Advil, but Vince sure enjoyed telling me about it later.