Folks, occasionally my granddaughter will do something that stops me dead in my tracks, like the time she jumped on me while I was doing some sit-ups.
I’m still not sure if my spleen is working properly yet.
Anyway, one morning I staggered from my bed, made a bucket of coffee and wobbled back to my computer where I found her toiling merrily away.
She was wearing one of Grandma’s work-shirts and my headphones, so I sat down beside her and watched her bash into my ancient keyboard.
“I’m working like you Granddad,” she announced.
“Do you want some breakfast?” I asked.
“Can’t, too much work to do, busy, busy, busy,” she muttered.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
She nodded at the phone, “Can you make some calls for me please?”
I picked up the phone and said, “This is granddad speaking, no, she’s too busy to come to the phone, please leave a message.”
I was rewarded with a brief smile. I’d only been on the job for two minutes and had already made a valuable contribution!
By the time I’d finished my coffee she was bored. It seems being me wasn’t very exciting.
Palming her off onto Grandma, I returned to my computer to finish my column. I don’t want to mention any names, but someone had somehow deleted it.
As I made breakfast it struck me that at work we’re all pretending to be something else.
As a boy I wanted to be a cowboy, a Rockstar, a truckie, a bikie, a builder and for a brief period, Batman. I’ve actually been some of those things and the reality is, once the novelty wears off, they’re just jobs.
I suspect even Batman must occasionally wish he’d been an accountant.
Anyway, I don’t know what sort of job the little tacker will wind up doing when she grows up, but whatever it is, I hope she doesn’t find it a grind because life is far too short to be miserable at work.
Still, if the other morning is any guide, whatever it is, she’ll definitely be the boss.