Obviously, I've Made A Serious Vocational Error
Welcome to my nightmare, I think you're gonna like it...
I'M WITH CUPID
I was for 2 and 1/2 hours, anyway, during which I was instructed to lift Romulus and Remus five feet off of the ground and heave them into their hammock swing, remove them from the swing, heave them again into the swing because they'd changed their mind... you get it. Mom was appalled that I did not want to heft her freakishly large children, and I was appalled to find out they were only 2 and 3 years old. Ever see those commercials for the pull-ups they make for elementary school kids who still wet the bed at overnight parties ? Yep, them's the diapers they sport. Where were those things when my brother needed them ? But I digress...
Anyway, I had the nerve to run a fever on my second night of work and called out. I repeated ad nauseum and produced a doctor's note saying "no lifting of cupids until Monday", so now the mom won't return my calls so I can have her sign my timesheet for that whoppin' $19 pre-tax I earned. Meanwhile, the agency told me I have to return next week and endure her resentment until they find a replacement. Good luck finding someone to drive over here for that rate of pay.
As their house is within view of my front step, I will be able to see the exact moment their next victim wrenches her back and collapses into an agonized heap. I'm planning to sell tickets, if any of you would like an evening of side-splitting entertainment. Of course, Juicie gets a complementary ticket because she could actually remember the color of my stairs when quizzed, which I couldn't even do until I ran out there and looked.
Did I mention that this mother discussed possibly firing her other two "nannies" in front of me ? Good thing the "nanny" walking through at that time with an armload of laundry pretended not to understand English, or Supermom may have gotten a bottle of Tide dumped over her ignorant head.
I guess I shouldn't call her ignorant- the woman has mastered four languages, as evidenced by phone calls during which she jabbers away in Hebrew and Arabic while shouting commands to the "nanny" in Spanish and to me in English. Her husband can yell on the phone in five languages, which causes his sons to cry/slap themselves in the face/dive for cover under couch cushions. I actually liked the dad, who seemed happiest when I also yelled at his kids (because both he and the TV were so loud I couldn't be heard otherwise). I was forced to endure Patrick's favorite AIDS-infested Australian quartet frolicking on the TV at top volume, cavorting around some kiddie park with the now-deceased (Thank you, God) but forever ingratiating Crocodile Hunter. They aren't paying me enough for this.
BUT GUESS WHO IS ?
I'll watch the Wiggles all damn day for the $18 an hour Hella pays me, and she's also reputed to give raises. I know, who'd have thought ? Thanks to a scheduling mishap in my favor, I'm on the verge of scoring extra hours in the fall. Keep your fingers crossed that my supervisor, who hands out hours like candy to her favorites, will return from vacation in a better mood than when she left...
Tomorrow's my last summer school day with Johann, who hates my guts and has the weirdest pigmentation I've ever seen on a redhead. I take that back- my sister was the weirdest, because she had a greenish tint due to all the Macrodantin she took for kidney disease. Juicie, Marisali and I have attempted over the years to duplicate the exact shade of red on this kid's head, but to no avail. Actually, I CAN make it, but I am allergic to violet dye and can't wear it anymore. Like long eyelashes, red-violet hair is completely wasted on a boy who will probably dye it black with blue stripes the first opportunity he gets. Sigh.
Did I ever tell you the story of Ricky, who got tired of hearing about his beautiful eyelashes ?
The neighbor lady used to wax rhapsodic over the length of his lashes so often that when her birthday came around, the first thing that came to Ricky's mind was to cut off his eyelashes and glue them to a card for her. She cried, and he never did grow them back again. I love that story...
I'M WITH CUPID
I was for 2 and 1/2 hours, anyway, during which I was instructed to lift Romulus and Remus five feet off of the ground and heave them into their hammock swing, remove them from the swing, heave them again into the swing because they'd changed their mind... you get it. Mom was appalled that I did not want to heft her freakishly large children, and I was appalled to find out they were only 2 and 3 years old. Ever see those commercials for the pull-ups they make for elementary school kids who still wet the bed at overnight parties ? Yep, them's the diapers they sport. Where were those things when my brother needed them ? But I digress...
Anyway, I had the nerve to run a fever on my second night of work and called out. I repeated ad nauseum and produced a doctor's note saying "no lifting of cupids until Monday", so now the mom won't return my calls so I can have her sign my timesheet for that whoppin' $19 pre-tax I earned. Meanwhile, the agency told me I have to return next week and endure her resentment until they find a replacement. Good luck finding someone to drive over here for that rate of pay.
As their house is within view of my front step, I will be able to see the exact moment their next victim wrenches her back and collapses into an agonized heap. I'm planning to sell tickets, if any of you would like an evening of side-splitting entertainment. Of course, Juicie gets a complementary ticket because she could actually remember the color of my stairs when quizzed, which I couldn't even do until I ran out there and looked.
Did I mention that this mother discussed possibly firing her other two "nannies" in front of me ? Good thing the "nanny" walking through at that time with an armload of laundry pretended not to understand English, or Supermom may have gotten a bottle of Tide dumped over her ignorant head.
I guess I shouldn't call her ignorant- the woman has mastered four languages, as evidenced by phone calls during which she jabbers away in Hebrew and Arabic while shouting commands to the "nanny" in Spanish and to me in English. Her husband can yell on the phone in five languages, which causes his sons to cry/slap themselves in the face/dive for cover under couch cushions. I actually liked the dad, who seemed happiest when I also yelled at his kids (because both he and the TV were so loud I couldn't be heard otherwise). I was forced to endure Patrick's favorite AIDS-infested Australian quartet frolicking on the TV at top volume, cavorting around some kiddie park with the now-deceased (Thank you, God) but forever ingratiating Crocodile Hunter. They aren't paying me enough for this.
BUT GUESS WHO IS ?
I'll watch the Wiggles all damn day for the $18 an hour Hella pays me, and she's also reputed to give raises. I know, who'd have thought ? Thanks to a scheduling mishap in my favor, I'm on the verge of scoring extra hours in the fall. Keep your fingers crossed that my supervisor, who hands out hours like candy to her favorites, will return from vacation in a better mood than when she left...
Tomorrow's my last summer school day with Johann, who hates my guts and has the weirdest pigmentation I've ever seen on a redhead. I take that back- my sister was the weirdest, because she had a greenish tint due to all the Macrodantin she took for kidney disease. Juicie, Marisali and I have attempted over the years to duplicate the exact shade of red on this kid's head, but to no avail. Actually, I CAN make it, but I am allergic to violet dye and can't wear it anymore. Like long eyelashes, red-violet hair is completely wasted on a boy who will probably dye it black with blue stripes the first opportunity he gets. Sigh.
Did I ever tell you the story of Ricky, who got tired of hearing about his beautiful eyelashes ?
The neighbor lady used to wax rhapsodic over the length of his lashes so often that when her birthday came around, the first thing that came to Ricky's mind was to cut off his eyelashes and glue them to a card for her. She cried, and he never did grow them back again. I love that story...
posted by Fredrika Krueger at 6:31 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home