Slam Dunk

So I send Hil off to school feeling a little uneasy about what might happen with The Piece of Paper.

Not unlike the time my mother, when equally as baffled by a language arts homework question as I had instructed me to write "Beats the hell out of me," on the blank in the workbook. Or a similar time when neither of us could answer the question about who did some inane thing in another reading assignment, had me supply the answer "Mabel Selhorst." I was mildly relieved to learn that this name was neither the name of some suspected mistress of my father's nor the name of some recently arrested prostitute, but that of my ancient neighbor across the street where 3 generations of women lived under one roof, grousing about mankind day in and day out.

I assured Hil that I would do nothing to embarrass her, though she shot me that wrinkled forehead look anyway. Evidently, in her estimation, I am just this side of clueless on what things do and do not mortally humiliate my child. Point taken. I apologize profusely for belting out Band of Gold with Freda Payne with the windows open at the Wawa where the Middle School set gets their beloved smoothies.

I get to work and can not resist checking my phone every few seconds for a missed call or voice mail or text.

And as luck would have it, the school does call...but when I am unable to take the call. Not that I wouldn't have blown off just about everyone short of The Blessed Virgin Mary to take the call, but a potential new employer had called and it is poor form for a job seeker to put the interviewer on hold for anything other than being robbed at gun point.

But I return the call, feathers all puffed up and posturing for a fight with the newest idiot the school district has placed in the Principal's office in the Big Boy Chair.

And to my everlasting amazement, when he came to the phone, he was not only polite, but deferential, admitted that the form was a problem, and committed to throwing it in the shredder. Assured me that Hil would have no problem. Hopes she is feeling better.

When I recovered sufficiently to pick myself up from the industrial grade carpet my cheap-o employer paved the office with, and managed to form words, I found myself smiling as I offered to help rewrite a more effective contract that abides by the law and holds the appropriate people accountable for their own conduct. An Elevator Honor Code.

He sounds overjoyed at the offer (and the free advice) and thanks me. We commit to making it a project for the new school year. We wish each other well and say goodbye.

Now if nailing down a new job were this easy...