The Gig Economy Mum Style
Mum: I’ve got a job for you.
Me: Oh yeah, what’s broken now?
Mum: Not that. This is a better job.
Me: Hit me.
Mum: Are you doing anything Friday?
Me: That’s a trap question because if I say no, then you can pin me into whatever it is you want me to do.
Mum: That’s right. Are you?
Me: Not telling.
Mum: It’s Jan’s funeral on Friday.
Me: Yes, that’s very sad.
Mum: You should come.
Me: Er, I um, no. When I was twelve Jan cut my hair. It’s years and years, since I saw her.
Mum: That doesn’t matter.
Me: It’s like you think you’re inviting me to a party.
Mum: A dead people’s party. They’ll be a morning tea.
Mum: That’s not the thing.
Me: What’s the thing?
Mum: I can get you a speaking gig.
Me: Look at you all fancy using the word gig. What kind of gig could you get me?
Mum: Well you do gigs.
Me: Very broadly speaking.
Mum: That’s exactly what I’ve got for you—a speaking gig.
Me: What? Really, where?
Mum: At the funeral.
Me: Hang on. You want me to speak at the funeral of someone who cut my hair when I was twelve.
Mum: You’d say nice things.
Me: I hated that haircut. I’m sure there are other far more qualified people.
Mum: Your hair was too thick. It needed to be thinned out. They asked me.
Me: That’s more fitting.
Mum: I don’t want to do it. I want you to do it.
Mum: But you’ve done it before at funerals.
Me: It’s not like it was my favourite thing to do.
Mum: You have to suck it up.
Me: I’m not speaking at Jan’s funeral.
Mum: Yes, you’re doing it for me.
Me: No, I’m not.
Mum: She won’t know it’s you.
Me: No kidding. That’s not the point.
Mum: Don’t you want someone to speak at yours?
Me: Not something I’ve put a lot of thought into.
Mum: You should.
Me: You are not guilting me into speaking at the funeral of someone who once used scissors on my hair.
Mum: I’m trying to.
Me: I know.
Mum: You can be very disappointing.
Me: When I’m not co-operating with you.
Mum: Yes. When I go to the trouble of getting you a gig.
Me: Wait on, this is a hand me down gig that you don’t want.
Mum: Beggars can’t be choosers.
Me: We’re done here.
Mum: I just hope when you die—
Me: Someone I haven’t seen for a decade or more speaks at my funeral.
Mum: At the rate you’re going no one will.
Me: I’ll live with it.
Mum: You won’t know about it, but other people will say she should’ve spoken at Jan’s funeral.
Me: You are out of control.
Mum: Don’t say I never think about getting you work.
Me: Last time I checked eulogies didn’t pay rent money.
Mum: You don’t know it could lead to something.
Me: Like what, hire a eulogy?
Mum: Eulogies are us.
Me: My current gig is speechless.
Mum: Have I got a gig for you.