CLUTTERBUCKS — EPISODE 3

Daphne backs out the front door, a wedge of her new velocity-promising purple dress glowing in the early morning light.
“Bye Harriet,” she hollers. “See you tonight. Call if you need me. Oh there you are. Look at you! You look lovely. It’s Saturday today though, mom, so church is tomorrow, but you got a great head start. I’ll bring us something nice for dinner. How ’bout fish and chips?”
“Oh! Yes, please. I’ll set the table. Don’t forget the stinky vinegar.”
“I won’t. But it’ll be later. Breakfast is on the table for you now. Love you!”
In the car, Daphne takes a moment to arrange herself, heaves a sigh, finds her phone, queues the podcast, and careens down the street toward day two with Jane Swift.

Welcome to Funny Business, your guide to making a living in the world of comedy – and remember, folks, I didn’t say a good living. I’m your host Cowboy Jim Dinner and thanks for listening. Very excited about today’s show. I am thrilled to announce the first annual Funny Business Postcard Joke Competition! Just write your best joke on a postcard and mail it to the address which I’ll give at the end of the show. Don’t forget to include your name, email and phone number. In a couple of days, I’ll read the short listed entries on the podcast and then it’s up to you listeners to vote for the winner. Hurry! You’ve only got a few days left. So enter today! The winner gets all my books, you’re welcome, PLUS a guest appearance on this podcast blah blah blah ...

Daphne sees signs for a garage sale on Halliday Hills and steps on the gas. She knows what garage sales on streets like this can offer, and it’s so early she’ll likely be the first one there. She’s got two hundred bucks in her wallet – wherever it is – but when she searches and eventually dumps her purse on the passengers’ seat it’s not there, instead she must have grabbed the package of Kraft singles, one of which she peels from the others, holds it up to the light, and seeing through it she continues the drive.
“Let’s hope Harriet doesn’t feel like shopping online today,” she mutters to herself.
Flashback to the last time Daphne left her wallet on the counter they got three dozen laying hens delivered, a pair of flippers, three hazmat suits, and a bowling ball with the name Honest Clutterbuck in a gold circle around the holes.
She thinks about turning around, but decides against it. Harriet gets a little mixed up sometimes and might think she’s home for the night, you never know, so she keeps going. She’ll have the things she wants put aside until tomorrow.
The sign just before the turn-off to Halliday Hills gives the street number. 84. Perfect. Nice and close to Jane’s. 
But she comes to a screeching halt in front of number 93.
Jane has pulled a second beautiful old bench from the porch to the end of the driveway, and covered it with trinkets. And she spread the huge orange towel on the lawn and it’s covered with the contents of the buffet, which Daphne had planned to pilfer through today. Also she was planning on making off with the bench.
She pops out of the car.
Jane shields her eyes.
“Wow, Daphne. That dress!”
But Daphne does’t react. She’s checking out the loot. 
“I was hoping you’d come early. Decided I’d give it a go and maybe make a buck or two,” Jane says cheerfully. “Why not? Old Clive and Hilda did all the work! They even advertised in the newspaper. Hopefully I can make enough to pay you for an extra day because holy shit you should see it in there now!”
“Okay!” Daphne says, noticing that a new FOR SALE sign is riveted to a stainless steel post and it’s not going anywhere.
A few things catch her eye – there’s a set of three Le Creuset oval baking dishes, a very large Royal Dalton flower arrangement which looks like the one she saw on Antiques Roadshow only last week – appraised at twelve hundred bucks! – a miniature Virginia Woolf bust that looks like it might be made out of ivory, a cast iron Siamese cat candlestick. Daphne nods from one treasure to the other adding up the value in her head. If she can get her hands on these pieces, or even just a few of them, she won’t have to worry about rent this month, for once, and if she can get half of what that Royal Dalton’s worth, she won’t have to worry about next month’s rent either. 
“You have some good pieces here, Jane,” Daphne says, poking around, “but some of it’s garbage and ought to be be removed. These items devalue others and you want to choose your pieces carefully. Here’s what I suggest – and listen, if you want, we can concentrate on this today, I’ll help no charge – and we’ll get back to the rest tomorrow. Such a lovely day to be outside.”
Daphne is the best thing that’s happened to Jane in a long time.
“That flower arrangement? Dollar store stuff. That little head there –”
“ – all Hugh Grant ever really wanted!” Jane interrupts. 
Daphne laughs and Jane is delighted. “Do you have any idea,” Jane gasps, “how long I’ve waited for the chance to say that?”
Yes. Daphne is the best thing that’s happened to Jane in a long time. Something happens when people laugh together – it’s the same thing that happens when people share a meal or a story or a sunset – and Jane considers the possibility that she may have found a much-needed friend.
And Daphne? She just can’t wait to write that joke down. And pay the rent.
“Let me take that bakeware away. Nobody wants your old bakeware. Not in this neighbourhood anyway. And it’s too heavy! Let’s just put it in my trunk for now. Avo can get it when he comes.”
Daphne places the three casserole dishes in her trunk. Jane wraps the oversized Royal Dalton in a Hudson’s Bay striped wool blanket, Daphne knows the blanket alone is worth about five hundred bucks, before she carefully places it beside the bakeware.
“Even if it is a piece of junk,” she says, “it’s a nice piece of junk, and I don’t want it ruined. Can’t remember where I got it but all these years I’ve had it on top of the buffet! How embarrassing!”
A UPS delivery truck turns onto Halliday Hills and Daphne looks accusingly at Jane, but the truck glides by. The driver waves and hollers a greeting at Jane who pretends not to notice.
“Well that’s a surprise,” Daphne says. “Reformed already?”
“That might be true. At least for the most part. For the first time in my life I have more in the out pile than the in pile. But yesterday wasn’t easy. I was on the bus and could have happily hopped off and gone shopping in one of those little stores along Kingston Road, you know, I could have spent hours and a fortune. I love those joints. Think I got that Royal Dalton that’s not a Royal Dalton in one of those places. But I didn’t cave. I did it. Or I didn’t do it, I guess.”
“You could have called,” Daphne says. “I am your sponsor after all. Here to help. Gotta stay away from those stores, Jane. They’re the worst!”
“I know. But they’re the best, too.”
“I know.”
It’s a fine early spring day, and Jane goes inside to put some coffee on, while Daphne wanders across the street to the real garage sale, which is unmanned at the moment. She sees a few things she wants – a stack of old postcards, a Snoopy mug, a little brooch – and moves them to one side of the table, and wanders back to Jane’s where she’ll keep an eye out for Jane’s neighbours to return to the table, the brooch she feels might be something special already in her pocket.
A coffee pot, two cups, and a pitcher of cream are on a tray upon the lawn but Jane’s nowhere to be seen. Daphne hears some clattering behind the house, a roar, and goes to investigate. 
Red-faced Jane has extracted two old lawn chairs from the jungle, and is closing the big garage door like a mouth.
“Grab one,” she nods to the chairs.
Daphne looks doubtfully at the tangled metal frames, the frayed strips of plastic, and reaches gingerly for one but the chair snaps shut on her arm.
“Jesus, Jane. Fucking thing bit me.”
A growl comes from inside the garage.
“Let’s get outta here!” Jane says.
She grabs both chairs by the neck, drags them to the lawn, and wrestles each one into relative submission.
“I’ll stand,” Daphne says. “We gotta get at that garage, too, I suppose. Is there anything in there worth saving or should we just get Greybird? Looks like it’s all caveman in there. Am I right?”
“You are indeed,” Jane says, sitting down. The chair protests, but Jane gives it a shove and it calms down. 
“Hey. I didn’t tell you,” she says proudly. “I had a job interview yesterday –” 
The chair she set up for Daphne suddenly snaps violently shut and topples over.
“You did?”
“Yes. And I did pretty good I guess because I’ve got a second interview Monday. Social Media Specialist. Honestly,” she shakes her head, laughing. “Whatever that is.”
“Do you really not know?”
“Haven’t a clue about social media. Zero knowledge. All I do on my phone is text and I’m not even sure I do that right. Nobody ever answers me.”
Daphne grabs the chair and gives it a masterful twist. It surrenders at her touch, opens accordingly, and she sits firmly down, leans over and shows Jane her phone.
“Ok. Look,” she says. “See this button. It’s an App. You’ve heard of facebook, right?”
“Heard of it, yes, but that’s –”
“Okay. Gimme your phone and I’ll set you up. But first, what’s the name of the place where you had your interview?”
“Warrior Waze. W-A-Z-E. Sounds like a kid’s game, maybe?”
“You don’t know? You didn’t google? Jeez, Jane, you gotta be more informed if you want the job.”
Daphne googles it.
“Oh. Okay. So it’s a startup.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s new. Just starting up. Oh. That’s weird. Oh. I see.”
“What?”
“You’re right. Looks like it’s a game. Like as in people go there and pay to play.”
“Go where?”
“That’s just it. Looks like they don’t have a location yet. I mean it’s a startup startup. You know what Laser Quest is?”
“Yes. James – Kreskin – had a birthday party there once. It was a disaster. You gotta go by stupid nicknames and Matthew was Sugar and I was supposed to be Spice but they misunderstood because I was Spike and I guess everybody thought I was a 14-year-old bully because I got shot at so many times it wasn’t funny. Except to Matthew and Kreskin. It was funny to them.”
“Haha. Sounds like the place. Warrier Waze. Let’s see. Well, it looks like it’s the same thing, at least mostly, except it’s 19+. So there’s alcohol. Guns and alcohol. What could go wrong? Hey. This the guy you met?”
Daphne hands Jane the phone. 
“Yeah. That’s the guy. That’s him.”
The picture shows Michool, trying very hard to replicate the iconic Springsteen Born in the USA album cover, including the bandana hanging from the back pocket of his faded blue jeans.
Jane sells only a couple of small things all day and makes just $3.75.
The two of them sit  behind the FOR SALE sign gabbing away, as if it’s a day at the beach, and any potential customers eventually wander away, but at the end of it, Daphne has shown Jane everything she knows about social media, which is a considerable amount.
Later that night – the Le Creuset bakeware, the Royal Dalton flower arrangement, the little head, and the Siamese cat safe and sound and for sale at Clutterbucks – Daphne’s phone goes bing! Jane just posted a selfie to instagram. Then bing! Twitter message, bing! Snapchat, bing! Instagram again, bing!...
Daphne turns her phone off, rolls over, chuckling.

Welcome to Funny Business, your guide to making a living in the world of comedy – and remember, folks, I didn’t say a good living. Thanks for listening. Just want to mention Toastmasters Standup Series. It’s six opportunties for you to perform your standup routine or try one out for the first time or to simply get a routine started. The audience will be other comedians just like you! And, drumroll please, I will show up and perform at the final show. Go to Toastmaster Standup.com and register today. Also folks keep those postcards coming. Remember, the winner gets all my books PLUS a guest appearance on this podcast blah blah blah ...

Daphne slips a postcard into the mailbox in front of Clutterbucks before she unlocks the door and enters the store like she’s done a million times before, but today she hears Pharrel Williams’ Happy in the gaggle and she is.
Things are looking up. 
She knows her joke isn’t perfect but she cackles at its absurdity and is glad she sent it. 
When the mail is picked up an hour later, she waves to mail-deliverer Sandra, who is paying for several things in the store on an instalment plan, and points to a figurine in the front window, mouthing to Daphne, “tomorrow that bitch is mine!”.
Daphne smiles and gives her a thumbs up.
Yes. It’s going to be a good day. She’s got more postcards in her purse and she’s going to go on the Toastmaster website and see what that’s all about. And how much it costs. 
It’s rent day, after all.
She walks outside with a broom, and sweeps the sidewalk. There’s definitely been more action out here in the past few days than there’s been in a very long time. Yesterday, both benches were full. She’ll ask Avo and Gracief to get some potted plants and plant some flowers in the window boxes, which could use a coat of paint. Maybe some ivy would look nice on the brick. And a couple of hanging planters. Harriet’s favourite, pinkred geraniums. Why not? 
Daphne still hasn’t spoken to Kreskin, but she’s given him a wide berth and her favourite stool. She knows he’s the main attraction and she thinks his presence might be a big part of the reason the street is experiencing change after all these years.
She’ll ask Avo to give the benches a fresh coat of paint. Around the windows too. She looks up at the faded letters spelling Clutterbucks and wonders about a new sign. Might be time. But she’ll have to see what Harret thinks. It was her father who carved them after all.
Construction on the building across the street is just wrapping up. It’s the big old place that used to be Mertz’ Hardware until Mr. and Mrs. Mertz, both in their eighties, retired and moved to Yellowknife.
Daphne has seen her landlord over there a couple of times lately – greedy bastard owns several of the neighbouring properties – frowning across at Clutterbucks, and it makes her nervous. He better not get any ideas. Of course the place needs a reno. It’s needed one for fifty years.
She’s gotta dig up the lease, maybe talk to her mother. And the lawyer.
But they did a nice job on the Mertz place that’s for sure.
Looks like it might be another restaurant. The old red brick has been painted a dark grey – the doors, window frames and flat concrete at the base are a darker grey – and as Daphne watches, the workers finish attaching strips of dark wood around the periphery of the building, beneath the windows, and it looks classy and beautiful as do a number of the newly renovated buildings in the vicinity of weary old Clutterbucks that Daphne sometimes forgets is also charming. 
A truck boasting the words Sign Me Up! pulls over and parks in front of the building, blocking Daphne’s view for the time being.
But it’s a beautiful day, a new beginning, and she whistles her way down the narrow alley to where Avo’s van is parked, between Our Salad Days and Clutterbucks, and not far from the street. For reasons Daphne doesn’t know, Avo and Gracief sleep on top of the van. She’s offered them the room in the basement but Avo says Gracief, who Daphne hasn’t heard say more than a single word – what? – prefers it that way, and Daphne’s seen how skittish she gets inside, especially when she has to pass the door to the basement.
Gracief is a mystery to everyone, including Avo, who loves her in the way people love rare birds. By now, of course, he’s read the letter from his family in Yemen, and has made it his priority to help Gracief navigate this world in which she appears to newly reside. He intends to ensure she’ll be okay after his impending departure.
Jane’s little joke about Gracief recently escaping from Room is exactly the case, and this is a dual revelation because not only does it give you a glimpse into Gracief’s dark past, it shows where Kreskin gets his amazing powers of observation.
“Truck,” Gracief says when she’s tired and Avo opens the back doors and pulls out the mattress, shoves it up to the roof, tosses pillows and blankets.
Avo has slept in worse places.
Daphne knocks on the side of the van.
“Avo. It’s rent day. Need you to drive over and pay the crook. It’s 9:30 already. Gotta be in his grubby little paws before noon.”
Avo leans over the top of the van, looking down at Daphne. 
“Good morning, my love. Another glorious day. I will be up very soon.”
Gracief’s small head pops out beside Avo’s and she offers Daphne a smile. “Hi,” she says the word quietly, as if she’s trying it out for the first time, and ducks out of sight again.
“Morning, Gracief,” Daphne whispers. 
“That’s right honey,” she hears Avo say. “You did great. That was perfect.”
Daphne hears the gaggle of bells and hurries back to the store.
“And plants,” she says over her shoulder. “Buy some plants. Nice bright ones for the window boxes. Geraniums and impatiens. Red or pink ones. I’ll give you extra money. And for paint, too. For the benches. Nice bright colours!”
The Sign Me Up truck is gone now and the new sign reads SIMPLE TONES.
Ah. Sounds like it might be a paint store. Perfect! 
Daphne pulls the front door open, the gaggle changes to the Dragnet theme, and she sees it’s not a customer at all. It’s Mr. Sedesky, her landlord, standing in the far corner, pointing to the central cash desk, while the man next to him, oddly familiar, points in another direction and says, “No. I think I’d like it there.”
“Can I help you Mr. Sedesky?” Daphne walks over to where the men are standing and Mr. Sedesky suggests with a loud “Shhhhh!” that his companion shut up.
Daphne still can’t place the gentleman’s face.
“Anything I can help you with?” Daphne repeats, this time to Sedesky’s companion. 
“We are just looking Miss Buck,” Sedesky answers, “for now we are just looking.”
He points to a shard of sunlight coming through the roof, a mason jug placed on the floor beneath it. “This place is falling apart,” he says. “But for now, we are only looking.”
“Unless you are shopping,” Daphne says, “you need my permission to be here. And I don’t remember giving you my permission.”
Sedesky shrugs, sighs, and directs his companion toward the door, but the man suddenly stops in his tracks.
“Holy mascot!” he says. “Look at that thing!”
He runs over and stands in front of a larger-than-life 3D plaque of Wonder Woman, which has been hanging on the brick wall in the luggage department for as long as Daphne can remember.
She is holding a gigantic W in each of her hands.
“Appears we are shopping,” Sedesky sneers at Daphne.
“How much for this?” the man yells. 
Daphne takes a shot, “Twenty seven hundred,” she says.
“I’ll take it! I’ll leave a down payment now. Two hundred and seventy good?”
“That’s fine. We have installment plans that –”
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” he says, wallet in hand, “and pay the rest.”
“I’ll write a receipt,” Daphne reaches into her apron pocket, “and I’ll have it dismounted and ready for pick-up –”
“NO! Leave it there for now. I like it right there.”
“Huh? –”
The man snaps the receipt from her hand as Avo rushes into the store, in a slight panic, looking for Gracief who slinked in moments earlier and now stands in the central cash area, folding up Daphne’s newspaper.
Behind Avo, the usual crew of first-day-of-the-month-welfare-customers file in.
“Thank you, I’ll be back,” the man says.
“I’ll be back, too,” Sedesky adds.
Daphne watches them go. On the back of the man’s jacket, which is at least one size too small, are two huge W’s with the words “Warrior Waze” underneath, and she finally remembers Jane showing her his photo on her phone and she knows it’s Michool.
She counts out the rent money for Avo and Gracief, while the beginnings of a motley lineup form at the cash. These welfare recipients come into Clutterbucks regularly – where there’s always good coffee and conversation – and by the time payday comes, they know what they want and rush in to get it, very likely before they think of food or rent.
“Oh, hi Sally. How’s the ankle? There’s a special on those today,” she says pointing to the crystal champagne flute the woman is holding, “95% off all glassware. Your lucky day!” To another customer she says, “Good choice, Harold – watches are a dollar today!” and to a third, “I don’t even know what that is my friend. Things I can’t figure out are free today. Looks like it’s your lucky day, too, good sir.”
She hands Avo an envelope.
“Get a receipt!” she hollers. “And wait. Here’s another hundred for some flowers! Nice bright ones! And wait. Here’s another hundred for paint! Nice bright colours!”
“Of course, my love,” Avo says, his arm around Gracief’s waist as they head out the door.”
When the rush of customers is over – things tend to go in waves on welfare day – Daphne opens the Globe and Mail and turns to the crossword she got a start on earlier.
It’s completely finished.
“How on earth?” she looks up in time to catch Gracief’s sweet face smiling at her as the van passes by.

It’s late by the time Daphne pulls into the driveway. All the lights are on and when she pops from the car, she hears Chorus of the Bells coming from the house. 
“Oh brother,” she sighs and opens the door.
“Daphne!” her mother sings. “How lovely of you to come! Go on down see your father while I finish dinner.”
“Oh, mom, I didn’t know you were cooking. I brought us some take-out. Fish and chips.” 
“With stinky vinegar?” Harriet asks, “and mushy peas? Let’s see if MASH is on!”
Daphne checks the kitchen – there’s no sign of cooking – thank goodness.
Harriet unties her apron and drapes it over the back of the couch, and all is forgotten. If only it was always this easy – but this is a good night – and for now at least, Harriet does not need to re-learn any heart-breaking truths.
Usually when Daphne comes home, her mother has crocheted all day, and the house is calm and quiet. Rather than making anything, Harriet happily produces a single strand, sometimes it must be a mile long, and because she walks while she’s crocheting, the strand winds and piles and wraps and stretches around and through and above and below almost everything in the house.  
Before Daphne leaves in the morning, she places a huge ball of wool in Harriet’s nylon backpack, threads the end through the rubberized earphone port, and leaves it hanging on the back of Harriets breakfast chair, a crochet hook neatly placed beside the spoon, and on a good day, when breakfast is over, Harriet slips the backpack on and the crocheting begins. 
Like needles in a haystack, Daphne scatters crochet hooks throughout the house in case Harriet drops or misplaces hers – which has created chaos in the past – but you live and learn. 
At 12:30 every day, the TV turns on and it’s Jeopardy!, followed by I Love Lucy, and in the gap between the two, the microwave bings and Harriet’s lunch, always her favourite chicken pot pie, is ready for pick-up. After I Love Lucy, the TV shuts off, and Harriet continues on her crocheting journey.
Each night, Daphne enjoys the strangely satisfying task of pulling the wool into a single strand again, winding it into a ball, so it’s ready for the next morning. While doing so, she retraces her mother’s steps and finds answer to the question she long ago stopped getting an answer for: What did you do today, mom?  
The piles indicte where Harriet paused throughout the day – usually in front of the big front window where the action is – but sometimes piles appear elsewhere, like the time the entire pile was heaped in front of the back window, and Daphne later discovered that the birch tree cluster in the yard next door had been cut down that day, due to disease. 
On particularly nice days, Harriet wanders out to the porch. Sometimes she goes into the back yard and circles the roses when they’re in bloom, or the hyacinth in springtime.
Every so often Daphne replaces the wool with a new ball, a different colour, and she shreds the old wool into foot long pieces which she leaves for the birds in a pile out back.
Harriet loves to look out the back window and watch the birds take the strands away and for months afterwards, she watches with a careful eye, for the plentiful, colourful nests which sprout in the black walnut trees in their own yard, and the neighbouring trees and hedges.
Daphne has seen these colourful nests as far away as Pickering, Newmarket, and once she saw three in a single tree in a field off the QEW close to Niagara Falls.

The Sign Me Up truck is back, the guy spills out of the driver’s door, and hauling his pants up, he walks to the other side, out of sight. 
Daphne is ringing in the purchases of her second wave of welfare customers. 
“Oh that, you can just have that. Go ahead. And there’s a matching one there somewhere. You can have it, too. If you can find it that is. And here’s a gift card for No Frills down the road. First ten customers of the day get one and looks like you’re one of ’em!”
It’s been a good week.
When the customers are gone, she wanders outside with the broom again – the bells on the door twinkling Scarborough Fair –  the song Kreskin is playing.
Daphne has no idea how long Kreskin’s been there – she never sees him arrive – he’s just suddenly there.
The Sign Me Up truck pulls away and Daphne squints to read the smaller sign that now swings beneath the SIMPLE TONES sign.
“Intimate Resign Meritspace?” she reads aloud. “What the hell does that mean?”
Kreskin corrects her, “Interior Design Marketplace” he says.
“Oh,” Daphne says. “What the hell does that mean?”
A middle-aged stylishly-dressed man emerges from the store, looks both ways, and crosses the street toward them.
“Hello. Thought I’d come over and introduce myself,” he extends his hand first to Daphne, “Simon. Just opened across the street,” and then he greets Kreskin with a wave, “Simon. Nice to meet you.”
Kreskin nods pleasantly, and keeps playing.
“I’m Daphne and this is Kres –” Daphne begins but Simon’s phone rings and he turns back to the road.
“Busy,” he says to them over his shoulder. “So much to do. Lots of deliveries today. Just wanted a quick intro. Wine and cheese party tonight if you’d like to come!”
When Simon is half way across, there’s a terrible crashing sound. The small sign beneath the SIMPLE TONES sign has fallen to the ground, bringing one of the big letters from the main sign toppling with it, and Simon runs across the street in a panic.
“Hmmmm,” Kreskin says, laughing. “SIMPLETONS. That sounds about right.”
Daphne laughs, and watching Simon pick up the twisted, smashed sign, and the one big E, she says, “Simple Simon.”
Later that night Daphne tells her mother the story of Simple Simon and Harriet laughs and says, “Oh Daphne, you make me feel like my old self again!”
Which is the exactly why Daphne took an interest in comedy in the first place. It brings her mother back to her. 
And it’s the reason she’s the newest member of Toastmasters Standup Comedy Team, which starts later in the week, and right off the bat, Daphne will have the stage for three minutes – an eternity – and she might use the Simple Simon story. 
Unless something better comes up.

First thing next morning, when Daphne’s in the washroom, her phone rings on the kitchen table where Harriet eats her cereal. She picks it up.
“Hello?”
“Oh Daphne. I hope you don’t mind me calling but  –”
“Oh hello, darling. I thought you were already at work.”
Daphne’s voice can be heard in the background and she takes the phone.
“Thanks, mom. Might be for me... Hello?”
“Daphne. So sorry to bother you. It’s Jane. Bad time?”
“Hang on a minute. Hang on.”
“I can call back if –”
“No, no it’s fine. Go ahead.”
“I know you gave me your number to call if I needed help not shopping, but I need help about something else. Can you spare a minute?” 
“Sure. Go.”
“So I have my third interview this afternoon and I’m in deep. Deeper than deep. I don’t know what any of the stuff I’m supposed to know even is. Thought maybe you’d know.”
“Try me.”
“Okay. Here’s the list. Stop me when you’ve had enough. Oops. Sound like Matthew again. Here goes.”
• Maintain social media publishing calendar for main content pieces
• Curate appropriate content for the AI feed
• Collaborate across the team to amplify exposure for press releases, content launches, byline publications, media comments and quotes
• Work on social media demand generation campaigns
• Monitor comments on brand
• Manage professionally and appro –
“Stop! How on earth did you manage to get a third interview,” Daphne says. “It’s way over your head. Over mine, too.”
“I don’t know. I was supposed to have a portfolio when I went in yesterday but I don’t have one so I gave him the link to my blog instead and he must have liked it because I just got a google invite for interview number three. This afternoon.”
“Well since you asked, I think you should consider offering him your services as a blog writer and forget the rest. Job description sounds pretty intense. And I don’t think it’s the kind of thing you can fake.”  
“I don’t think he has a blog. I looked on –”
“Even better. Offer to start one up for him. Start now. Write a – I don’t know – maybe a 500-word intro blog about Warrior Waze, let him read it, and tell him your rate.”
“My rate?”
“What you would charge for, say, a 500-word post.”
“What would I charge for, say, a 500-word post?”
“Try $50. No. Try $75. No. A hundred. Try a hundred.”
“Really? That sounds pretty good.”
“Convince him you’re worth it, Jane.”
“Oh my God. Okay. Okay, Daphne. Thank you so much.”
“Welcome. Good. Now get to work. I’ll see you tonight at six.”
“Much appreciated Daphne.”
“Hey, what’s your blog? Might take a little look later.”
“Feeling funny dot ca. It’s nonsense mostly but people seem to like it.”
Soon as she gets off the phone Daphne opens the laptop, finds feelingfunny.ca and starts reading the latest post, About This Morning, to a giggling Harriet who stacks Shreddies on her spoon.
Chuckling, Daphne gets an idea and the Simple Simon story fades.

Jane is at home trying to get to 500 words that will promote Warrior Waze. She googles and uses all the right branding words to position it as a hip new destination, but she ends up with a flat piece, not the way she likes to write, so she starts again, and this time she talks about the waiting room, she mentions the pamphlets, makes fun of the yellow ping-pong table, introduces the super-friendly and down-to-earth Michool, touches on the the cluster of diverse and intriguing people who work there, the opportunities for interns, and when she presents it later that afternoon, Michool loves it and she gets the gig. 
“At least for now,” he says, “until I can get somebody who knows what they’re doing.” 
“Very wise of you,” Jane says. “And I don’t mind ending the ruse. I don’t know anything about this business actually, or any business at all.”
“Neither do I,” Michool admits, and they both laugh.
“But you need to learn about us, you know, come talk to me for a while. Not today though,” he checks the time. “I have to go right now and finalize a business transaction. But come later in the week. Get a feel for what Warrior Waze is. So you can at least say something worthwhile. Not that this isn’t worthwhile. It’s good, but now you need to talk about the actual game.”
“Yes. I don’t know anything about the actual game or your plans for opening a location, so yes, I’ll come by Thursday and meet everybody, maybe sit in on a meeting or two.”
“Well then I guess I’ll have to schedule a meeting or two,” he laughs.
He looks at Jane, maybe for longer than is comfortable, and smiles. 
“Oh. And I should tell you that I read a couple of your blog posts to my mother last night. She really enjoyed them. Especially the one About This Morning. That one really got her going. She made me read it to her twice.”
When Jane leaves, she is on cloud nine – always nice to hear good things about her blog – and Michool paid cash for the post. She has a hundred dollars in her pocket that she actually earned. 
She goes into CoffeeMate for a double espresso, and walks along Kingston Road toward the streetcar stop, half-hoping it won’t come.
Clutterbucks across the street is so cheerful-looking, nice and clean and friendly, lots of flowers, brightly painted benches, a banner with the word “sale” snapping in the breeze, a nice little cluster of people, and simply bursting with happy possibilities.
But another glance up the street reveals her oncoming streetcar and she checks her purse, finds $3.35, takes a final longing glance across the street before the streetcar stops in front of her.
The streetcar passes, and she’s still standing there. 
She half-heartedly fumbles in her purse for her phone. She knows this is the moment she should call her sponsor, Daphne, which she does, but the call goes unanswered, and relieved, Jane crosses the street, opens the door to Clutterbucks, and walks inside. 
The bells turn into Stop! In the Name of Love.
She tries calling Daphne again. A phone rings somewhere in the store.
Daphne, in the centre of the store cleaning Jane’s Royal Dalton, glances at her ringing phone, rolls her eyes, and continues to ignore it. 
Jane tries again. A phone rings in the store again.
Jane tries one more time. A phone rings in the store one more time.
She gives up, plops the phone into her bag and starts looking around. 
A grandfather clock exactly like Auntie ’Dread’s. 
The “fake” Bateman owl painting, she can tell it’s hers by the frame. With a price tag of $1,575. 
The “outdated” globe, $225. 
And there, in the middle of it all, glancing up from behind the porcelain bouquet, is Daphne herself.
“Oh dear,” Daphne says.
There’s a sudden knock on the window and Jane turns, the busker waves “hi mom” and then the gaggle of bells plays I Feel Good and it’s Michool, come to pay the remainder of his purchase.
“Hi June,” he says.