A girl from work asked me an odd question today – “Is your mum delivering pamphlets?”
Apparently she’d seen her marching up the road shoving catalogues into letterboxes while my father drove along at a snail pace behind her.
“I doubt it,” I said, because all the people delivering flyers with carpet cleaning and ironing offers to our place are handicapped young men with their carers in tow. Lovely people, mind you, but not ‘my mum’.
Shows you what I know.
It seems Grandma has decided she needs to earn a little extra money, so she answered an ad in the local rag for people interested in doing mail box drops.
For three hours last night my mum folded and put together half the three hundred and seventy packs which she needs to deliver and this morning, again over three long hours, they set out to bring cheap pizza deals to the masses.
Now perhaps her first hint this may not be a great move should have been the regularity with which the ‘help wanted’ ad appears in the paper. Maybe her second hint should have been when the lady asked if she had anyone to help her.
She says it was all going well until dad decided to change the channel on the radio and fell behind. Then mum lost the sole of her shoe and everything went to the dogs. Literally: a little shiatsu with a shoe fetish.
When I visited mum this afternoon I followed her into the lounge as she limped along. Dad was asleep: all that driving had worn the old fruit out.
On the table were boxes of pamphlets for tomorrow’s run.
“Going well?” I asked.
Let’s just say I think tomorrow will be the last go at this. Turns out the financial benefit of six hours packing, six hours walking, an extra person in car (made the mistake of referring to dad as her ‘helper’ – didn’t I get an earful), petrol used and a pair of shoes is a princely $50, all up. Less tax.
“I’d rather gargle sweat,” said Mum, which I’ve taken to mean she’s back in the job market.
Mum came over this morning after her final run. Dad’s in the bad books because despite mum walking the streets for three hours he had the audacity to complain he was sore from sitting in the car for so long lol
Call him a man…what’s happened to the real man ?
On a good day he can barely walk.
I used to do it on my pushbike. No fuel and no shoe wear. 😀
Good on her for having a go.
We delivered pamphlets to save up for our wedding. We LOVED all of the flats and townhouses: lots of blocks of letter boxes, with few steps in between! We still remember the BBC Hardware booklets that never survived in the rain; they just turned into papier-mache.
Well I was in the market for a job here in Brisbane. Don’t know about the paphlet job but that sweat bit sounded enticing.
This made me giggle!
A few years back, I decided I wanted to earn a few extra dollars as we are on one income.. After the, what felt like, million hours folding the dam things…and then delivering them – it was my first and last time!
My darling husband has never let me live this down!
I can’t believe there are still people out there doing it 🙂
I deliver pamphlets. Crap money but now I chuck the from the car…. and it is a little money each week into our savings account!
And you deserve and earn every cent.
my son and i delivered catalogues to hep raise money for world challenge….(okay any sucker that thought monday night inn our house was relaxing soon learnt the hard way) good on nanna for giving it a go !