Some of Her Best Work

by Ellis A Finnie

Having her employment terminated is one of my cousin Daisy’s many talents. I try not to judge her too harshly, since she’s only twenty and belongs to my dad’s side of the family, so she wasn’t blessed with many of the functioning brain cells that I take for granted. But she’s held five jobs in her life and has so far been unceremoniously fired from all of them.

Some firings were warranted – we all shudder to remember her time at McDonalds, when she attempted to juggle frozen hash browns and ended up dropping them on a toddler’s head – and others were just unfortunate. But it led to the two of us lying on her bed, scrolling through Gumtree listings in search of quick cash. 

“Nanny?”

“No.”

“How about gardening?”

“Would you trust me with secateurs?” 

Finally, Daisy landed on one that she thought might suit her. 

“Look here,” she said. “Small business owner seeks cleaner for shop front. Female applicants only. See? That’s so feminist.” 

“You would be remarkably easy to lure into an unmarked white van” I said.

She rolled her eyes at me. “It’s probably not a sex thing.” 

“Daisy, you don’t even clean your own house.”

She shrugged. “No one here pays me to do it.” 

I couldn’t deny that the money was good. Since she seemed determined to go for it, I told her I’d only let her do it if I could drive her there and wait in the car. When I pulled up to collect her on the agreed afternoon, I was startled to find her dressed in a frilly maid’s outfit, complete with feather duster. 

“What the hell are you wearing?” 

Daisy looked down at herself. “It’s my cleaning outfit, duh. Those job search sites are always telling you to dress appropriately for work.” 

“I’m sure they didn’t mean ‘dress like Magenta from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.’”

The address she was given led us to a juice bar, with the bizarre name of The Vitamin C Section. The shutters were rolled down, and there was a ‘closed’ sign on the front door. Daisy strolled up and knocked sharply.

The man who answered the door looked extraordinarily like David Bowie if he’d stapled a couple of ferrets to his chest. He was slender and gangly, with hair exploding from every pore that wasn’t covered by his vest. When he saw Daisy, he got a look on his face like all his birthdays had come at once. 

“G’day” he said, “you must be Daisy. I’m Peter.” 

He flashed a toothy smile and led us inside, and pointed to an assortment of cleaning supplies that were sitting by the counter. “It’s very straightforward,” he said. “I just need someone to give the shop a quick once over. Mop the floor, wipe down the juice bar, you know.”

Daisy nodded. “I can do that.” 

He beamed at her. “It’s great that you’ve come so prepared for the job. Love the apron.” 

Daisy shot me a triumphant ‘I told you so’ look. I bit the inside of my cheek.  

“Just text me if you need me, alright?” I said, then turned to Peter. “If she’s not out in an hour I’m coming in to get her.” 

I went back to the car, and took my little brother’s cricket bat out of the boot. I’d borrowed it that morning, as a ‘just in case.’ But as the afternoon dragged on, nothing alarming happened. After a while I began to get bored and spent a good chunk of time scrolling on my phone. 

That was until, shortly before the hour was up, Daisy suddenly burst out the door of the shop, looking frantic. I sat up straighter, and grabbed the bat. The door swung open again and Peter emerged, his face a vicious shade of red.

Sizing up the situation immediately, I leapt from the car brandishing the bat. Faintly, from somewhere behind me, I heard Daisy shriek ‘no don’t–!’

But it was too late. With a magnificent thwack I’d knocked Peter for six and sent him sprawling to the pavement. He lay there, groaning and rubbing his head, and Daisy grabbed my arm. 

“Are you alright?” I asked. 

“No!” she wailed, “why did you hit him?!”

I stared at her, bewildered. “Because he was chasing you!”

“No he wasn’t!” Daisy’s voice had risen to a shriek, and a sizeable crowd of passers-by had gathered around to gawp at us. 

It was then that I heard the sirens, and saw the flashing lights up the road. “Daisy,” I said slowly, “what did you do?”

Daisy sank down on the curb and wrapped her arms around knees. “I just wanted to make sure it was extra clean,” she sobbed, as the first fire truck pulled up in front of the shop. 

We managed to get the whole story out of her later, once the firefighters had given the all clear and I finished giving my statement to a very bemused police officer. When Peter recovered his senses (and his right incisor, which I’d managed to knock clean loose), he groggily explained that he’d left her alone for five minutes to wipe down the kitchen, and came back to find her cheerfully tipping bleach and drain cleaner into a bucket. Despite her lack of experience in cleaning, Daisy was so determined to do a good job that she thought she’d cut her working time in half and leave the place shining.

Which is how, in one afternoon of work, my cousin Daisy managed to violate the Geneva Convention by accidently creating noxious gas in the kitchen sink. She’s now looking for her sixth job, though I’ve recently received an offer of my own. When word got out about our misadventure, I was asked if I’d be interested in coaching the Under 10s cricket team. 

Bio:
Ellis Austin Finnie is a writer and theatre-maker based in Naarm / Melbourne, Australia. She frequently produces plays for fringe and comedy festivals, and you can find a portfolio of her work over at http://www.ellisaustinfinnie.com.