I thought you might like to know what it's like having Andrew wash ones car. It's quite amusing and I think, secretly, Andrew doesn't mind the process all that much either.
Thus to last Sunday. I told you about his driving lesson but what I didn't mention (that post was getting quite long enough as it was) was that we'd, in addition to dragging him away from World of Warcraft for the lesson itself, also insisted he wash our cars.
Mine was washed first and, to be fair to him, he did a pretty good job. Of course, this is probably because he knows I'm going to inspect afterwards.
He didn't do nearly so thorough a job on Moms car. Woe, therefore, to him that I did a post-wash inspection. 'Missed a bit' I said, pointing at some large patches of dust many days from a wetting. 'Oh' he replied, crestfallen.
I disappeared back into the house and he set to with the washcloth a second time. A few minutes pass and he announces it's done. So out I go. 'Missed a bit' I crowed with delight, pointing at some patches of something adorning the paintwork just below the drivers door.
Back into the house while he tries a third time. Two minutes later he announces it's done and out I go again.
You guessed it; 'Missed a bit!'. Interestingly, this time around, they were the same bits he'd missed the previous time. 'I can't get those off' he protested. So I grabbed the washcloth to show him how. And of course, a single pass was sufficient.
Now I'll give him points for ingenuity; he's seen the old pickle jar opening trick. You know the one, someone can't get a lid to budge so they ask someone for help. The second person, seemingly without effort, twists the lid off and the first person lamely protests that 'they'd loosened it!'. Of course, how silly of me, Andrew had loosened the dirt; that was why I was able to move it so easily. I left him to complete the job.
Five minutes later he announces, for the fourth time, that it's done. And out I go. And yes, of course, 'missed a bit'. This time it was the same kind of dirt in much the same place but on the passenger side this time.
The next inspection was, mercifully for you the reader, me the inspector and Andrew the poor bastard, the last one. This time he'd managed to get all but the tiniest specks of dirt off.
I keep telling him that one day he'll be glad I'm so picky; I suspect the average boss won't tolerate half done jobs for very long. And if he learns nothing else, he's learning that a thorough job requires an eye for detail.