Barnaby Buttercup, a man whose resume read like a bizarre choose-your-own-adventure novel, needed money. Badly. His last odd job, professional pigeon wrangler, had ended abruptly when his flock decided to stage a protest on the mayor’s prized convertible. He scanned the local classifieds. “Odd Jobs? Tea!” one ad proclaimed in bold, wobbly letters. Intrigued, and desperately needing a biscuit, Barnaby called.
A gruff voice answered, “Yes? This is Bartholomew’s Peculiar Peculiarities. State your business.”
“Uh, I’m calling about the odd job ad?” Barnaby replied, nervously adjusting his tie (a gift from the aforementioned pigeons).
“Excellent! Can you… uh… pretend to be a garden gnome?”
Barnaby paused. “Excuse me?”
“It’s for Mrs. Higgins next door. She thinks her garden gnomes are lonely. She wants you to stand very still, wear a red hat (provided), and occasionally nod sagely. Compensation includes tea, biscuits, and five pounds an hour. Interested?”
Barnaby, picturing his empty fridge, sighed. “I… I suppose so.”
The next morning, Barnaby, resplendent in a ridiculously large red hat, stood amongst Mrs. Higgins’ actual gnomes. He felt utterly ridiculous. Mrs. Higgins, beaming, popped her head over the fence. “Oh, Bartholomew, he’s perfect! Simply brimming with gnome-ness! Make sure he gets a nice cup of Earl Grey at elevenses!”
All went surprisingly well until a squirrel, mistaking Barnaby’s nose for a particularly delicious nut, launched itself at his face. Barnaby, breaking character with a yell, flailed wildly, knocking over a ceramic frog and a gnome fishing pond.
Mrs. Higgins rushed over, horrified. “Bartholomew! What’s all this commotion?”
Barnaby, dusting himself off, looked at her sheepishly. “Sorry, Mrs. Higgins. Turns out, I’m allergic to gnomes.” He pointed at a small, ceramic gnome, lying face down in the pond. “Specifically, that gnome. The one clearly drowning in tea!”
