A story in three parts.
Part of my job involved the organising of independent contractors to cover gaps in our schedule. There are many gaps, and a varying number of contractors. In fact, a big new batch of contractors start in a month or two, and have been busy letting the world know of their existence through the medium of mass mailed CVs.
So a couple of weeks ago I started calling these new folk, and organised a good amount of work with a few of them. And all was well in the world.
Then, the following weekend,I was driving back from a nice wee village up on the coast with my sister, and ended up driving through ArseEnd, Antrim – the Garden Village of Ulster, doncha know – when the darling sister suddenly turned into my mother.
- STOP THE CAR!
– What?!? What, did I hit something? What?
– I know those people! Turn round and I’ll have a wee word with them, haven’t seen them in years, only be a minute, blah blah.
Ten minutes later, we’re back on the road. And I get a short life and career history of the pair she’d been talking to. Involving the career that one of them, Miss X, was involved in. Think nothing of it.
Another week, another random conversation with the sister.
- Here, you’re still looking for contractors, aren’t you?
– Aye, could do with one or two still. Why?
– I’ve just thought, X does that sort of work. You could give her a call.
– Hang on, what was her name again?
Interlude : the sound of much creaking as an underused brain accesses a failing memory
– Er, already have. 400 odd hours worth.
T’is a rather small and inbred place, Norn Iron. 48 hours after first hearing of the existence of someone and speaking to them, you randomly bump into them 30 miles from anywhere you’d expect to be.