It goes a bit like this:
A weekday afternoon, evening almost, the streetlights on for the special effects, just got home from work, the backpack left at the front door.
I go through the local rag; husband is cooking dinner, something nice involving spuds and chicken, kids glued into their tumblers and bbms. The cat is squeaking at the back door, longingly looking at the inviting darkness of the handkerchief garden we carefully maintain.
The bell rings.
Not an overly loud noise, almost drowned by the chatter of the girls and ‘weekday night’s jazz with Suzy’.
Thankfully, I hear it – get to the door – no one in a rush, to bit me to it;
The man standing there is in a business-suit, white shirt and a pastel tie, slightly askew.
Shiny shoes, two mobiles, some wiring coming from his ear, could be a handless-set left there in a hurry; Keys poke out from a trouser pocket.
He whispers feebly:
“I hear you are a BIM expert, a very good one.
We need your help! Can you come now?”
He begs, his face scrunched.
I turn around to grab my backpack, simultaneously kick off the slippers and put on my work shoes.
I jump into the car, within seconds we are whizzing on the highway readying to assist.
Oh, to be needed like this, just once!