Approving the Woman From the Walsage.

Remember the Woman from the Walsage who I mentioned in a post a few weeks ago? She was the one I discovered clearing the road drains in my lane when I went out to do the job because I live here. Well, today I found a note from her in my box. It was an offer to help me out in the event of my having to self-isolate. Services include:

Picking up shopping

Posting mail

Urgent supplies

A friendly phone call

It’s the last one that really gets me. That one is definitely well above and beyond the line of communal duty. I think I would rather die of Bubonic Plague than engage in small talk with some stranger who would probably be old as well as ill.

Hello Mrs Smith.

‘Hello Mr Beazley. Do you believe in God?’

What?

‘Do you believe in God?’

Do I believe in God?

‘Yes. Only I’ve got this horrible illness and I’m scared I might not make it, so do you believe in God?’

How long have you got?

‘What, before I die?’

No. How long have you got to listen? Only you’re going to need more minutes than you’ve got brain cells, and I’d like to know before I bother starting.

I’m not very tactful, you see. The Woman from the Walsage probably is. I only spoke to her briefly that day in the lane and decided she was OK immediately. There are very few people I would describe as OK, but we INFJs are reputedly very good at assessing people with remarkable accuracy in the blink of an eye.

The INFJ

Tact: Poor.

Capable of accurate and fast intuitive assessment: Excellent.