I was nearly a bin lady
When I left the farmer (the previous Mr Chickenlady) I also left my job as chief chicken-handler, goat-handler, farm manager and sometime tractor driver – although to be fair the tractor driving I was pretty crap at and once almost tipped a rather large Valtra over as I was doing a spot of rolling one spring…

Anyway, losing my home, job and marriage necessitated me getting a job that would keep me in the comfort to which I had become accustomed, in other words something that paid the minimum wage or less.
Refusing to sign on (I could afford a little bit of pride for a few weeks) I instead signed up with the local Brook Street temp agency.
I have plenty of office skills and I’m quite willing to sit on the boss’s lap in a short skirt and file my nails.

So I was sent along for an interview at the local council in their refuse department – I’m not kidding, this wasn’t to empty the bins but rather to take telephone calls from angry ‘customers’ who hadn’t had their rubbish collected in the last month or were dealing with rats.

A great job.


I turn up at the office – a portacabin next to the bin lorries.

It was July – truly high summer…plenty of flies, sweaty men in florescent nylon uniforms and me.

I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
No, that’s wrong.
I thought I’d died.
Well, someone had, I could smell them.


Laura was to interview me and would be my boss if successful.
She was stunning – nearly six foot tall, fantastic FHM cover figure, long brown hair and a beautiful face. She shook my hand, introduced me to the other applicant also being interviewed and then led us to her office.

The other applicant was called Maureen, she’d clearly smoked sixty a day for the last four decades, carried a few extra pounds and dressed way too young for her 45 years in a low cut blouse that showed the world her wrinkled puppies. Nobody could fail to be drawn into her sagging cleavage as she wore a giant piece of jewellery which can only be described as a dog turd cast into gold and then hung from a lavatory chain around her neck. Maureen told Laura and me she was an Artist and this was a piece of her own work. She wanted the job because it would provide,

“Interesting material for my next piece. You see, I’m planning some art pieces on found objects and the detritus left around us and how life is so transient.”

We both smiled and nodded politely.

“Erm, Maureen you’ll have to wear shoes if you come to work here you know” Laura pointed out.

Maureen was very apologetic and fished a pair of jellies (circa 1985) from her commodious bag which she then struggled to fit over the horniest pair of feet I’ve ever seen…I don’t mean her feet were sexy, I mean she had feet that even goats would be ashamed of – black toe nails, toe rings and cracked horny skin.

“I never normally wear shoes, it’s so I keep grounded and with the people.”

Laura nodded and showed us around the portacabin en route to her office,

“Here’s the kettle. That’s where you’ll make the coffee each morning.”

“Is it Fairtrade? I only drink Fairtrade. It’s part of my religion you see. And part of my raison d’être as an Artist.”

Maureen continued to witter on about her practise as an artist and Laura continued to smile – albeit vacantly after a few moments.


Anyway, I went into the interview first and was asked all the usual questions – what I’d done before and so on. I explained how I used to teach, went to the farm, blah, blah, blah.

Laura went pale, her smile became a little forced and she told me she’d let the agency know.

An hour later the agency phoned me – Laura couldn’t employ me as her assistant as she felt very uncomfortable about me working there.

She thought I’d get bored and leave.

I was too qualified.

She wasn’t sure I’d like the smell of the bins.

She believed I was the wrong type of person to be working there but I was very nice.


Then I remembered where I’d seen her before….



I’d been her teacher seven years before.


Maureen got the job for a few weeks. She ended up sacked when it came to light that she’d been stealing rubbish from the bins and making sculptures out of them.


At night.


On a roundabout along the ring road.


Naked.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 3 Apr 2009, 14:40, 9 replies)

Welcome back Ms Chook
You've been missed :)
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 3 Apr 2009, 14:46, closed)

Excellent!
Good to have you back on here too.

*clicks*

_{will you wear a short skirt and sit on my lap if I ask you very nicely?}
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 3 Apr 2009, 14:48, closed)

This is a thing of beauty
it really is.

You have enriched my life with this post - cheers!
( SpankyHanky, Fri 3 Apr 2009, 14:49, closed)

Hilarious
Have a click!
(Apathyman Prepare to be underwhelmed..., Fri 3 Apr 2009, 14:49, closed)

Truly this is a good QotW...

If it's got your inspirational juices flowing again.

Please accept this click as a 'Welcome back' present.

(btw - did you happen to get Maureen's number? I haven't been so aroused by a description in a long time...)

*fantasises*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 3 Apr 2009, 15:11, closed)

Sorry, I didn't
but I am a Facebook friend of Laura these days....
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 3 Apr 2009, 15:13, closed)

Ho hum, I suppose that'll have to do...

*warms up*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 3 Apr 2009, 15:15, closed)

Unfortunately I met women like this at art school.
There was also a very pretty girl who always wore low cut tops and we called her Cleavage. In fact she often referred to herself with that name.
( girlinthehole, Fri 3 Apr 2009, 16:57, closed)

We had one of those at VCU.
I don't know what her real name was, but she always wore a Stetson hat and skin-tight tops, so she got known as the Stetson Vixen.

Somewhere along the line she got hold of some cotton wool that came in sheets, and dyed it acid green. From that point forth her art projects all seemed to involve wrapping things in acid green fuzz. It got to the point where people joked about it. I speculated that maybe she had dyed her own fuzz that fluorescent shade of green.

After that semester she vanished. I suspect that one of the professors had a few quiet words with her.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 3 Apr 2009, 18:37, closed)