There was once a lad named Mr. G., who was an absolute legend. He did work for my mother - any odd jobs really. Painting walls, replacing sinks, fixing pipes or doing tile work. If he had the tools for it, he had the will for it, and he was great at it too. Mr. G. was an honest simple good man, and would have been a happy honest simple good man were he not saddled with an expensive daughter, whose taste for material objects seemed only to grow each time he gave her what she wanted. His savings were stretched thin until they snapped, and things would take a turn for the absolute worst when someone stole all of his tools. Thousands of pounds worth of tools went up in smoke, police didn't do much for him besides take some notes and go home, and he was done for. He couldn't afford to buy new tools without work, and he couldn't work without new tools. Mr. G. was Vietnamese - and the time he was here, the majority of the London marijuana supply was supplied by Vietnamese gangs. Seeing that such a beloved gentleman as he could be falling on such hard times, they decided to give him a business proposition to help him set up his own supply network with which to recoup lost funds. Of course, he wasn't allowed to set up shop in London, as no good samaritan in business would help their own competition grow (literally) in their market. So he flew to Ireland to become a druglord. He takes over a warehouse and he begins to grow. Hydroponics everywhere, watering and feeding row after row of marijuana plants, filling the warehouse to the top. He knew how to build and he knew how to garden, but the trouble is, is that he still remained an honest simple good man, who didn't have the kind of talents required to succeed in commerce, let alone criminal contraband commerce. He created a massive production centre, but had no thought of how to sell his product to the local enterprising gentlemen of Ireland, something his lacklustre English or complete lack of contact with Ireland hitherto would have made more difficult. When the Irish police kick down the door of his warehouse and catch him watering the weed plants, it's the sole saving grace for him - there are no contacts, no buyers, no addresses or numbers, because he failed to sell a single leaf. He maintained he was just a handyman being paid 50 euros to water the plants. My mother at this time was thinking of doing up the kitchen, so she wanted to get a quote from him, see how much it would cost to do up the cabinets. So she calls his number. She's rather surprised at that point when she hears an Irish man pick up the phone - she thought with some pride that Mr. G. must be doing very well, to afford his own secretary.
'Are you looking to buy any... product?' The Irish "secretary" asked.
'No, I don't know what I want to buy, still just looking. I want someone to look at my kitchen for a price quote before I buy anything.'
'So... You don't want to buy anything?'
At this point my mother got very angry.
'I already told you I just want him to look at my kitchen before I buy anything. I am not going to buy a cabinet before I can get the quote,' she said very crossly. 'You are not listening.'
She was very angry when they hung up on her, and decides against renovating her kitchen for now, so cross was she.
After about two weeks she forgets about the whole ordeal until suddenly Mr. G. is at her door with a gift basket, profusely thanking her for the call. She is still at this point confused, until Mr. G. explains everything. He says that after her phone call the police concluded he really was just a handyman who had been hired to take the fall, and there was no way someone as stupid as him could mastermind such a massive growing operation - the real masterminds must have fled long ago. And then she asked him for the kitchen quote and got the new cabinets. He finally managed to buy back his tools through legitimate trade, now realising that perhaps he was not cut from the cloth of a drug lord. So goes the legend of the best, and the worst drug supplier in the British Isles
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Topic: Myth and Legend (Read 633 times)