No Job Too Big or Too Small

 


Enterprise knows no bounds

A flyer on the community mailbox brought up the notion that someone had shaken the visions of what they believed could be possible. As if the boundaries that we perceive to ground us by ponderous gravity release themselves like the tentacles of an imagined giant man-eating octopus that has capitulated and surrendered.

It read ‘No Job Too Big Or Too Small’ and listed a phone number. No references or pictures of previous successful projects or even a photo of the person making the proposal.

Many people trust themselves to begin an enterprise that will ease the boredom and drudgery of a, for lack of a better phrase, normal occupation.



There are heaps of attempts that flounder because of financial concerns or concerns of family members who are concerned that the would be entrepreneurs don’t have what they need to undertake a business concern, as far as that is concerned.
The aforementioned flyer on the mailbox refers to a paper flyer or flier that appeared as an advertisement for some young go-getter to make some dough. It had nothing to do with the strange person dressed as an old-timey aviator that was sitting on top of the mailbox.

They were like an impersonator of Charles Lindbergh or the long lost Amelia Earhart, whom I once thought I found in the bed of my truck after a Phish concert, but was a stowaway that fell asleep there. It was a helluva concert.

But that’s another story

After being tempted to call the phone number listed on the paper flyer (flier?) taped with masking to the box, I stopped to ponder what indeed I would consider a too big job along with a too small job. Surely there had to be a too big job that the young enterprising dynamo couldn’t possibly finish, much less attempt.

Raising the Titanic quickly came to mind. There would be no way in no uncertain terms, or even the most certain of terms, that even the most determined of doers could achieve what even an army of overachievers could achieve. It was enough to make the most hardy of doers resign themselves to capitulate and commence to downing quarts of Dewars.

Seeing that I had no access to the wreck of that vessel from 1912, I considered what assignment that I could readily assign for the outgoing would-be worker bee to undertake.

Painting my house would be a suitable big enough job for the industrious, labor minded, sentient adverse being.
The resistance that I mentally encountered by this thought derived from what the result would be if the ambitious painter turned out to be as professional and accomplished as someone would be that had to advertise their wares on the side of a mailbox by flyer, aviator or otherwise.

That chance can’t be taken in a neighborhood governed by a homeowners' association that a Stalinist Siberian gulag administration would applaud and approve their draconian rules and ruthless enforcement.

The only other project I could come up with was some elementary yard landscaping and tree trimming that I could readily accomplish on my own. Not that I wanted to do it, but I was too cheap to pay someone else to do it.



That led me to consider what would be a too small job where I could temporarily employ an ambitious impresario. The first operation that came to mind was moving a grain of sand from a table from one room to another room on the other side of town. I didn’t know where this other room might be.
As my mind was evaluating where it could be, I reminded myself about being reluctant to pay someone to do the landscaping. I could just as easily move a grain of sand across town as I could trim my bushes. As a consideration of physical exertion. I preferred the former.

Convenience!


That’s where the median would be located. There had to be something that I could do myself, but was a personal hindrance to whatever it may be, be it scheduling or fiduciary or just plain old laissez-faire reluctance to expend the effort. Something that I would pay for instead of risking some sort of injury or general bodily harm.

They could wash the cat!

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