Leave the Kids at Home. It's Safer for all Concerned.Submitted by AllyJeans at 2006-01-23 13:17:50 EST
Rating: 1.88 on 46 ratings (46 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Last week we had “bring your kid to work day.” Generally, it’s just an excuse to go to lunch early and spend the day playing Minesweeper with your little darling. The problem is I don’t have any—not a darling, a kiddo, or even a fucking ward. You realize how shallow you’ve become when you wish you got knocked up for a day of goofing off.
I tried to rent one from a couple of friends—you know, any old clunker, just something I could kick around for the weekend—but they think Ally is a little too crazy to mind their children. They think their kid will come back missing an arm or a leg, or worse. I actually have one who’s read a couple of these posts and won’t even let me in the same room as their little girl. Of course, she’s never come out and said that I’m a danger to her kid. She always makes excuses about her being sick, or under punishment. If that were true, the little brat would have to light bags of her puke on fire and throw them at passing nuns under her window.
The only person that I’ve known to do that is me.
I’ve heard it a million times: Your real friends are there for when you need them most. I needed a baby and mine sure let me down. Fuck. Let’s see what happens when they come to me for platelets or bone marrow. They can forget about a goddamned kidney.
Anyway, back to my day. It day started great, that’s for sure. When I got up, I was irritable and had a headache; on my ride over, I almost got sideswiped by some asshole talking in his cell phone; and when I walked out of the elevator, I was flooded with happy giggling sounds, about a third of them being the kids. It’s like the gods were conspiring against me.
After getting to my little cubicle, I decided to let out my frustration— punching the keyboard like the bitch owed me money. “Fuck you F5; eat me space bar. You’re telling me you worked all morning Caps Lock and you don’t have any fucking dough for mama?” I really wanted to give that bastard a black eye. Then I realized I was only hurting my fingers. I went to grab some coffee.
The break room looked like a day care. The little tikes were smashing toy cars into the counter and spinning around in circles. There was some crayon on the cabinets, and even the mandatory kid with his shirt over his head. In the middle of it was poor Hitchcock.
He looked up when I entered and I smiled. “Why are you stuck with the gang?”
Hitchcock sighed. “Well, Jesse said she needed a smoke and asked me to watch Kevin over there.” Kevin was opening and closing his mouth, apparently trying to see how wide he could get it. “Then Carline asked me to watch Peter, and Ed asked me to watch…that kid, whatever her name is…”
“I think that’s Sarah.”
Hitchcock shook his head and reached for a newspaper.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.” He threw his arm up as I reached for the coffee pot. “Hold it.”
“One of them poured Coke in it.”
“That’s impossible. There is no way they could even reach it.”
“No, just improbable.” He twisted his neck around. “The little bastards are everywhere today. Did you know that one of them is pissing all over the place? Nobody will take responsibility. We got piss in the conference room and next to the water cooler. Custodial won’t even clean it. It’s just sitting there…stagnating.” He shivered.
“I think it’s Kevin.” Kevin smiled at the use of his name. “Someone already accused him, but Jesse threw a fit and swore that her precious angel wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Who accused him? Was it you?”
I laughed. “It’s a tough job being daddy day care, eh Hitchcock?”
He rolled his eyes. Hitchcock still hasn’t gotten over the banana incident and refuses to even smile at my little jokes.
I reached away from the pot and turned on the hot faucet. Then I and poured some water into my cup. I had some Sanka in my drawer and decided to hunker down and wait out the storm. I waived goodbye, but Hitchcock had his head down, working on a crossword puzzle.
Back in my cubicle, I leaned over the divider and tried to sniff out the urine. Nothing. I couldn’t smell anything past the coffee grounds and decaffeinated richness. I couldn’t stop thinking about where the pee would end up. I wondered if it would soak through the carpet and drip onto some unsuspecting guy below—some poor bastard pounding away at some tax forms or taking notes in a meeting. What would he tell his wife when he got home? She’d smell Kevin’s business and they’d end up getting divorced—with the wife citing extramarital urination.
I could still see Kevin from my vantage point. He was whacking Hitchcock’s leg with a toy hammer. Hitchcock was doing his best to ignore it, but he seemed careful to pay attention all the same—as if he was weary that the little kid would reach in his pants and start smacking him with something else. It was strange. I’d known grown men that couldn’t take a leak without spraying their own underwear, yet Kevin was spotless. Not a drop of urine graced his coveralls. A criminal genius if I ever saw one.
I slouched back into my seat and began typing away again. An hour later, I was deep in my work and starting to feel better. The day was passing despite how slow I thought it was going. Then I heard a loud bang behind me.
I whipped around, but it only turned out to be a little boy—my first stray. He had taken a spill in the hallway and bounced off a wall into my little haven. I braced myself for some crying but he got up smiling.
I leaned over. “How’s it going, little guy?”
“Yes, I guess it is.”
I turned back to my computer and called up Excel. I started typing in some figures when I heard another thump. The crash test dummy was on his back, laughing again.
I shook my head. How can you have a kid like this and not give him a helmet. I reached in my drawer and grabbed a sweater. Then I tied it around his head with the excess hanging over his back. What did my friends know? I’d make a great mom.
As soon as I let him go, he went charging into the back wall of my cubicle. Smack. He rebounded like a rubber ball. I started to laugh. This kid was insane.
I scrunched my nose. “What?”
“No you could get…”
“Please.” He looked at me with such puppy dog eyes. What was I to do? I looked both ways and gingerly nudged him. He took off running and smacked against the wall, falling backwards onto his rear. It seemed like everything shook and rattled for a 20-foot radius, but these sorts of noises had become ordinary that day so I knew it would be ignored.
I put my palm on his back and gave a stronger shove. He went flying like a hyperactive dwarf and rammed sweater first into the wall. As before, he got up laughing. Now I was, too.
I pulled up my sleeves. “All right! Brace yourself!”
I heaved him into the wall as hard as he could and he didn’t hold back. After impacting, his arms spread out into a “T” shape, then he stumbled, hit the floor, rolled up onto his head with his arms (and legs) wiggling uncontrollably, before finally tipping over and landing face first. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!”
I looked up to see Ellen, one of my supervisors. I was still on my knees with my arms thrust out. The crash test dummy remained prone, but picked his head up. The sweater covered his face.
“I…uh…he wanted a push.” I drew in my arms. The boy giggled behind his mask.
“Are you insane? Come to mommy, Keith.” Keith struggled to his feet and waddled blinded over to his mother. She quickly yanked the sweater and threw it at my feet.
She looked at me. I made a half-hearted smile. “It was for protection.”
Ellen grabbed Keith and told him to wait for her in her office. Then she turned to me. I threw up my hands. “Ellen, he’s fine—let’s not get upset.”
She only threw up a finger. “If I ever catch you messing with my son again, so help me….” She didn’t finish.
I nodded meekly and she turned and left.
I stood up and got back in my seat, but my face was red and I felt horrible. It’s amazing how the funniest thing in your life can become one of the most startling. I couldn’t’ even concentrate. I swear I could even hear a ringing in my ears.
No, it wasn’t a ringing. It was....
I knew before I turned. It was the fucking urinator! He was letting it go right before my very eyes—a solid stream with intermittent gaps. I was frozen. To make matters worse it wasn’t Kevin, who I could yell at and hit with a large stick, but Keith whose mother could surely get me fired and ruin my chances at working anywhere ever again. My mouth was agape; I didn’t know what to do. I relaxed and accepted my fate. A few moments later, the dull splatter of his urine began to slow. Then he finished. “HAHA, FUN!”
He zipped up and bolted out.
Some things happen in your life call for a moment of pause. Keith pissing three feet from my shoe was one of them. I keep turning it over…. How could Keith get away without his momma noticing? If some maniac was throwing my kid into shit (not that I’m a maniac, mind you), I’d keep an eye on him. No way would my kid leave my sight. That leads me to wonder—did she tell him to do it, knowing Kevin would get blamed? Is that possible? Is anyone crazy enough to tell their kid to piss on your floor? Who knows…? I guess I have more pressing concerns
Like how to get out a week-old piss stain.