I don’t know why I agreed to this, honestly. Francine’s enthusiasm can be catching, and I guess that’s the main reason I signed up, but now I’m questioning the wisdom of that decision. Here I am in a recliner on the Essence of Tasmania, taking a break from filing invoices by contemplating my life choices. I’m thinking about getting a coffee instead of trying to sleep in this recliner, and wondering how my car’s doing below deck.
Truly, this has got to be Francine’s most hair-brained idea yet. A ground delivery service running between Melbourne and Hobart? Sounds reasonable enough in theory, but in practice it’s a bit more complicated, especially when you only have one driver (me) and they have zero experience in trucking. Plus, they don’t have a truck – just an ageing sedan that’s due for a car service. Near Hobart, I’m told, Francine has a friend of a friend can do it for mates’ rates.
I don’t put a whole lot of stock in Francine’s friends of friends since the incident with the wedding marquee, and I’d rather just get it done in Launceston. It’s not them that’s the problem so much as Francine’s failure to make contact with them and check that they’re actually available and willing. She has a track record of making assumptions, which all to often leads to her ending up in people’s bad books. She says it’s because she’s a boss who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it, but it’s actually because she’s presumptuous and a bad communicator.
So, why am I working for her in this batty business venture that’s destined to flop? She’s not even going to chip in for the cost of replacing my tyres. Hobart to Melbourne isn’t exactly a short round trip (even with the Essence of Tasmania ride making up a good 24 hours of it) and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be lumped with the car expenses. Why do I always let Francine’s enthusiasm come between me and my better judgement?