This could be my next big gig

Every employer you talk to will tell you how difficult it is to find staff. In fact, it isn’t just employers; everyone has the same story; ‘it is impossible to get anyone to do anything!’.

Now you would imagine that certain jobs would be easy to fill – especially one loaded with prestige and a good salary to boot. What would you say if I told you that a job paying half a million a year, with a starting date next November, isn’t attracting any interest – at least at the time of writing? If I tell you that the position comes with a house – a big house – a gardener, servants and a car thrown in for good measure; wouldn’t you think that applicants would be falling over each other to apply for the job? No applicants yet, my friends.

I was often told, ‘you may do it yourself, Bernie’, but the thing is that I am more or less retired these days. The fact that I am the perfect age for this sort of employment did cause the thought to cross my mind about applying. I was only toying with the idea until I got the phone call last night. Elon rang me…

The call showed me once again how great minds think alike. ‘You have to go for this job, Bernie,’ was the first thing that Elon, or ‘Muskey’, as he prefers to be called by his close friends. ‘With your experience of being a candidate in the Westmeath County Council elections of 2009, and with me behind you, you cannot lose this time. If you had me on board in 2009, I would have bought you those swing states of Raharney and Castlepollard; but this is the big one and you must go for it, Bernie.’

I was naturally totally gobsmacked. ‘But why this interest in promoting me, Muskey?’

‘To tell you the truth, Bernie, it isn’t so much about you, but when you get a taste for this management trip – just like Davy Fitz and Mickey Harte, you cannot stop yourself from going after the next gig within a week of stepping down from the last one. We will be in this together – greatest friends of all time.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Muskey. Mrs Youcantbeserious said she would leave if I ever were to put myself forward in another election.’

‘Tell her she would never have to cook again, Bernie; and with free trips and luxury accommodation all over the world… and she would be known as The First Lady’.

‘Mmm… that might do it… but I’m still not convinced, Muskey.’

‘First thing I’ll do is present you with a red Tesla, Bernie. Only driven once around the block and only one assh… I mean only one person ever sat in it.’

‘That is kind of you, Muskey; but I’m not going to drive a Tessa around Mullingar; I couldn’t do that to Jim Bourke.’

‘But surely the job is not yours to give, Muskey. Ireland is a democracy and I would have to be elected by the people.’

‘Exactly, Bernie; you run on the populist policies that will ensure you will be a winner. I’ll be your slash and crash aide. We will promise to abolish the Revenue Commissioners…’

‘Sorry to interrupt, Muskey, but where will the revenue to run the country come from?’

‘I’m coming to that, Sir (he was now calling me, his best friend, Sir!). We will put a toll on bicycle lanes!’

’That can’t work, Muskey’, I stammered.

‘It doesn’t have to work, Sir… it only needs to work to get you elected. Motorists hate cyclists and they will vote for you – in their hundreds of thousands.’

I began to picture my portrait hanging on the Áras wall: Douglas Hyde, Mary Robinson, Eamon D, Michael D, Bernie C…

‘I am still having grave doubts that I am your man, Muskey. It costs €750k to run a presidential campaign in Ireland. My new best friend at the other end of the zoom call pressed a button.

‘Look at your phone, Sir.’

‘Holy Cow!’ I exclaimed. There were half a dozen king-sized plastic chests, all with the lids open. Inside were neatly piled bundles of new dollar bills each containing a million dollars wrapped in cling film.

‘That is all yours, Mr President-Elect,’ my aide informed me. Understandably I found myself caught for words while trying to take in the vastness of this pile of money. I didn’t know what to think or say, but suddenly I was overwhelmed by this surge of patriotism swelling up in my chest. ‘You have me, Muskey… I am willing to serve my country!’

Whether it was the excitement or the alarm clock… It was then I woke up!

Don’t Forget

Under the Irish Constitution every man has the right to make a fool of himself.