I got so pwned today, it's not even teh funny. I was two minutes away from corralling the spawn inside for dinner, when a mom from down the street strolled by with her daughter. I said hi and she said, "Oh, hey, can I ask you something?" I knew I was fucked right there. The question was, "how fucked." Did she want me to bake something for school? That wouldn't be too bad, I reckon. Did she want me to supervise some class art project. Been there -- shitty but not the end of the world. But no, she had a special request.
She asked if I would do some fucking phone-tree thing next week before the voting for the school board. PHONES! ME! I hate talking on the fucking phone -- especially to people I don't know about shit I don't understand. Sure, it's a good cause -- there's this bond thing that people need to vote for so the school can buy a bunch of new computers and shit. Great... I totally support it. But godfuckingshitcock, now I'm gonna have to cold-call all the parents in Miss O's kindergarten class and tell them why they need to get their asses to the polls and vote. Oh, and did I mention that I couldn't say "No, sorry I can't help you" to this mom because she's nine months pregnant and the thing's about to drop any goddamn day?
I know it doesn't sound like a big deal, but I have this phone issue that I've had since fucking forever. Hell, I literally used to pay my sister, when we were kids, to call and make haircut appointments for me... in high school. The Old Lady's constantly getting on my ass, and rightly so, for making her call for all the kids' appointments and shit. I mean, I'm getting better at it, but I practically dump in my drawers every time I need to make an orthodontist appointment for Mr. Z.
I'm not sure when it all started. Its genesis may have occurred once, when I was trying to order Chinese food for my family back in junior high. I think my parents were out, or something, and my brother and sister made me call. As I was straining to understand the broken English of the (most-likely multi-lingual) order-taker on the phone, my asshole (and apparently racist) siblings were pulling a Rosie O'Donnell and mimicking the likely conversation with some "Would you like egglorr"s and "How 'bout some flied lice"s. I remember laughing so hard that I was unable to finish the order, handing the phone to my sister and running out of the room. Of course, my laughter stemmed from nervousness and the inappropriateness of the situation, and not from me finding any humor whatsoever in their callous mockery of a hard-working immigrant. Those heartless bastards... no wonder my parents love me the most.
Anyfuck, now I have to relive this adolescent nightmare once again, and cold-call a buncha strangers, begging them to "get out the vote." I'll probably just call while naked in the bathtub, so when someone asks a question I'm unprepared for and I inevitably shit myself, I'll at least be able to hose-off quickly when I'm done.
Hey, maybe if I were to get Mr. Z a new video game, he'd make the calls for me. Never too early to teach the boy about participatory democracy!