Why would a tradesman be driving around Leeds with a chicken on the passenger seat?


Come on, let’s go for a little drive

When the kids are at school I like to relax by going to work. The weekends are a little different, I manage to find a small air pocket of peace by taking all the things the kids have broken to the tip.

At some point during my luxury spa break at the local rubbish dump my wife will demand that I bring more sausages to the cafe that we own, but today was different; today she demanded a big chicken.

This annoyed me. I had just filled up the car with old lamps and bits of timber for a trip to the tip, so I was forced to put the chicken on the passenger seat.

The arrival of the chicken & I at the tip created a bit of a stir. As I opened the boot, two men: one large, one small, analysed my load. They quickly determined that my bent Art Deco lamps and wooden off-cuts were classed as commercial waste, and that they could not be dumped at a domestic site. In desperation, I pointed at the chicken.

“Why would a tradesman be driving around with a chicken on the passenger seat?” I reasoned.

The big one tried to clarify the situation: “Owning a chicken doesn’t mean that you’re not a tradesman.”

“So, it’s easier to believe that I drive a big chicken around Leeds and bend fancy lamps for a living,” I replied. “And to reduce my exorbitant ‘lamp bending overheads’, I secretly discard the lamps in a domestic tip so that I can dodge the commercial tip fees.”

I looked at the small one for reassurance. I assumed that because he was small he’d be more reasonable. The small one told me to leave. As I did so, I re-iterated that they were making a big mistake, and that I was clearly not a tradesman, unless of course, they had any lamps that needed bending, then I could offer them a discount.

I vowed to find another council tip with staff who believed that owning a chicken was a clear sign of innocence. The phone rang; it was my wife and she wanted to know how long I was going to be. “That all depends on the council,” I answered.

My wife finished the call by presenting me with a conundrum: I could either chauffeur the chicken around town looking for a tip, or I could drive the chicken to the cafe where she could cook it, serve it and earn some money.

At some point in the future, one of my many job applications will blossom into an interview. To assess my abilities, they will no doubt ask me to give them an example of a situation that required me to prioritise my workload and work to a tight deadline. I shall lie, and tell them that I drove the chicken to the cafe.


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