The Wizard of Oz Called Me Yesterday
Perhaps that funny smell was a sign that I’d be feverish. I slept for the majority of the day, and as much as I love sleep, I usually don’t sleep that much. I woke only for meals, and I’m awake now. Odd. I’m not usually sick.
I got an odd phone call yesterday. Earlier this week, I had interviewed with a man named Tom who was looking for someone to clean his newly remodeled office area. The windows had paint and other construction materials that are not supposed to be on windows. Tom had hired a man who said he would clean them; that man took a scraper tool to the big front window first and, because they’re all vinyl windows, damaged the window. Tom replaced the window, didn’t charge the man for the labor or the damage, and is now looking for someone who already knows how to treat the surfaces. I am not the person for the job, but after deducing that I wouldn’t have enough time to get trained on Quickbooks to be his new secretary, he apparently got the impression that I did independent cleaning jobs on a regular basis. So he called a friend of his and gave her my contact information through a voicemail.
The call I got yesterday was from Tom. I don’t think he told me it was he, but it’s not like I couldn’t tell. You see, the reason I snagged the interview in the first place is because I can’t understand the guy on the phone. He sounds like he’s using speakerphone; his voice echoes and reverberates slightly. He sounds like he’s standing in the middle of a vaulted living room with the phone on the coffee table. He sounds like the Wizard of Oz. Thus, I can understand short phrases and sentences, stuff like yes or no or “Sure, 2:30 works,” but not when he expounds in any sentence longer than three or four words. In the interview, I saw he’s using a wireless Bluetooth headset with his cell phone. That must be the explanation.
Still, when that voice asks, “You do cleaning, right?”, I can answer, “Sure.” And when it asks, “Doesn’t your husband work in the military?” and “Doesn’t he help you do your cleaning?” I can answer, “Um, no.” He eventually deduced confusedly that he must have the wrong number. I felt proud of myself for hearing him as much as I did, but also relieved. I don’t mind cleaning for money. After all, cleaning someone else’s house is really exciting because it’s unfamiliar. But he assumed I had my own cart of stuff and my own maid’s uniform. I don’t particularly want to lug my mop, bucket, broom, and a bunch of cleaning stuff on and off a few buses.