Month: November 2011

Slum Lords & Pirates

The Boy Child has had some issues concerning the apartment he lives in at school.  The end of August, he wrote a rent check that did not clear, and he made repeated calls to check on it so as to avoid late fees.  After leaving many messages, The Slum Lord finally called back and told him it was never received.  He wrote another check and took it to the office, asking that if the original check shows up to call him and he’d pick it up. 

Two months after the fact, The Slum Lord cashed the original check.
He called her and remarkably, she did not return his call.  In the meantime, his account has taken a significant hit, so I told him I’d handle it.  I made a call to The Slum Lord and she said gee, I guess I forgot about that, yeah there was a conversation about a lost check, I guess it was here in the office the whole time, it must have been put with the October deposits, I’ll just put it towards the rent for November.  He’s paid for November.  Oh, she says, did that check clear?  Yes.  Well, then I’ll put it towards the rent for December.
Ummm, no you won’t I said.  You’ll write him a check and he’ll be at your office Monday morning to pick it up.  The SL got High and Mighty after that, telling me she was going above and beyond even having a conversation with me since I wasn’t her renter.   
  
I was retelling the story to The Teacher Girl who cut right to the chase and asked me if I called her a bitch.  I was about to and she hung up on me.  “Well, Mom,” she said, “if you do have to talk to her again, you tell her she’s nothing but A Dirty Pirate Hooker.”
I guess there’s no need for me to lay awake at night, kinking my curls over that one getting taken advantage of by anybody.

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Walking With Eskimos

From the archives of The Big Daddy Bad Behavior File……………..

I walk every day.  Sometimes I ask The Big Daddy to accompany me.  He does not.  Walking is for girls.  He likes The Biking that requires gear.  Thump-the-chest-look-at-me-I-wear-gear.  Walking requires gym shoes.  How lame is that?

On a cold, snowy day that wasn’t suited to biking, I convinced him to go for a walk.  This was the perfect weather to wear his dad’s Standard Issue Army Parka from back in the day.  He loves to haul out the parka.  He has gone in the basement during dinner parties to bring up the parka for Show and Tell.  That’s nice, honey.  Now put that away cuz we have guests here. 

Off to the park we went and he couldn’t hear anything I said because he had his parka hood on.  When he’d turn to look at me, his head would still be inside the hood because it was so big, so then he couldn’t see or hear.  It was walking, yelling, and The Big Daddy saying, “WHAAAAAAAAT?”  Why, oh why, did I ask him to come along?

We got to the park and up ahead there was a guy walking towards us with a little dog.  We walked off the sidewalk to avoid a dog altercation, and as we passed, the guy said, “Thanks, I appreciate that.”  To which The Big Eskimo Daddy said, “WHAAAAAAAAAT?”  And gets his face lost in his hood.  Again.  Next thing, I hear a yelp and BD’s boot is in the air with a dog flying off the end of it.  I do not know you.  I’ve never met you.  Do not walk with me.  The Big Daddy is looking around in his hood saying, “What happened?  What happened”  Well, ya kicked the guy’s dog in the ass, that’s what happened.  

The guy scoops up his whimpering dog and gives The Big Daddy a big dose of stinkeye.  Which he couldn’t see, what with the hood on and all.  By this time, Henry and I had walked on, the guy was carrying his crippled dog home, and The Big Daddy is standing all alone in the park in his Standard Issue Army Parka, shouting into his hood, “Hey, hey you guys, wait for me.”

We did not.

The Employment Diaries

The last year of my employment goes as follows:

Gave notice at Crazy Town in late December.  Wanted to quit after the 1st employee meeting four months into my Community Service Sentence when Crazy Owner showed her true colors and publicly ripped each employee.  Stuck it out for another year.  Gave a two week notice and two days later was told it was my last day.  There is a Santa.

Took time off to write and purge the toxicity from Crazy Town.  Purging took awhile.

Friend calls with opportunity to work at a local bookstore.  Love books, love the shop, but am scared off by one of the partners, who acts like he might be related to owner of Crazy Town.

Answer craigslist ad for retail/creative type who is able to sew.  Right up my alley.  Had great phone interview and owner wants to meet me the next day.  Hired the end of June for 20-30 hours per week.  Worked six hours the entire month of August and was fired by mail due to lack of business.  Never been fired before and by mail.  Really?

Fill out application for J. Jill after noticing A Unique Opportunity sign while shopping.  Turn it in and make a follow-up phone call.   They’ll look it over and get back to me.  They don’t and now they’re dead to me.

Have interview at floral shop where I want to shoot myself during the process.  Got job offer, but declined.

Get lead on a home decor store that I LOVE.  They get the lowdown on me from a friend then interview me for an hour.  Decide I need to spend time “shadowing” at the store to get a feel for the place.  I spend a Wednesday morning pricing, cleaning, sorting………  Tell me to call back in a week.  Call back and told they’ll get back to me by the end of the day.  They don’t and I need a tax receipt for the 3.5 hours I donated. 

Filled out an online app for the school district.  Within 24 hours get a call from a nearby school for an interview.  Sat at a table with two women firing questions at me.  Felt like I held my own and have years of volunteer experience to back me up.  Next day get a Dear Speckled Trout email regretting to inform me, and good luck in my search.

Good luck.  In an uncertain job market, I can say with certainty that luck is something I don’t have lately, which explains why The Big Daddy and I are nearly done with our third liter of gin since the start of summer.  And what will be our cold weather cocktail?  I haven’t decided, but I’d like to have one of these.

Now would be fine.

Eye of the Beholder

Nancy and I were discussing the lack of courtesy some women fail to show other women.  Namely, 30 somethings towards 50 somethings.  This recently happened to her, and when I worked at Crazy Town, it happened daily.  They size you up, have judged you in ten seconds or less, and never see the need to make eye contact again.  You have been dismissed, Getting-Old Woman.

These same women like to go through their day wearing work-out clothes.  That way, you can say oh, are you going to the gym.  What gym do you go to?  Well, you look great.  Only 36???  No kidding.  You look great.  Two kids in eight years?  Of course you need to go to the gym.  Oh, and a spin class, too?  Well, you sure look great.

You look great to infinity.

Consistent propping up comes under the umbrella of motherhood, and there’s a limit to how many adults one can mother.  Those of us of a certain age know that the day comes when “you look great” means “you don’t look tired.”  It happens so much faster than one can imagine, and that’s why it pays to always be Mindful Of The Karma.

Passing The Test

In my little world, the subject of test scores comes up a lot.  As the kids have gotten older, ACT and SAT scores are the numbers inquiring minds want to know.  After three kids, I still don’t know what a good score is on the ACT.  I know their name won’t make the local paper for a perfect score, and they won’t be taking online classes in their pajamas because their score was so low.  That’s good enough for me.

The Boy Child is a horrible test-taker.  He’s like his mother and freaks himself out on a regular basis.  And if we’re ever required to do any public speaking, we sound like we’re about to cry.  And by public, I mean more than two people.  I’ve never looked at any crappy score on a standardized test he’s taken as much more than a case of nerves.  I know he’s smart.  I know he works hard at school.  I know he will make it out in the world.

The BC has a part-time job at school working for a home decor store.  He has found that working for The Corporate Man can wear a man down.  He told me about one of his supervisors who makes a big deal out of EVERYTHING, like it’s life or death.  Very hard.  Very intense.  Full attention needed.  To move Christmas ornaments from one end cap to the other.

Because I knew exactly the kind of person he was speaking of, and because I like to crack The Boy Child up, I said, “You should tell her that the crap you took this morning was ten times harder than anything you’ll ever have to do on this job.”  

And we sat in the car laughing until we cried because it was true, and even though we think this kind of stuff all the time, we don’t say it out loud.  We may suck at tests, and couldn’t give a speech without an Immodium chaser, but when it comes to smarts needed to get through an eight hour shift at a dead-end job, we’re way above average.