I woke up at seven this morning in order to be at their house by 8:15 AM. I got there by 8:00 AM.

The girls I was babysitting for were called S and A. The elder was four, the younger was two. Their mother welcomed me in, going through and announcing the details that I would need to know.

"Hot dogs for lunch, which are a choking hazard," she told me as she opened the refrigerator door. "Now A doesn't eat the bun, though she'll ask for it. And be very careful with the hot dogs, since she can choke on them." This was the first inclination that something was off. Why would she tell me to feed her little girls something that was such a hazard that she had to warn me, twice, prior to it?

"We're out of bread," she continued, "and A needs a nap around 11. But she probably won't go down until 1."

I could handle that.

"The playroom needs to stay clean. I straightened it yesterday because we have company coming over tomorrow."

Again, do-able.

"The girls shouldn't watch too much TV. They can watch movies though."

Alrighty.

"They can also splash in the pool."

Fantastic. I can do everything. The mother left and the girls were wonderful. We played games, making sure to straighten up after each one. We drew pictures, played with play-dough, watched two movies, splashed in the pool, and played kick-ball. We ate lunch, which I meticulously cut in to tiny pieces and made sure A only ate one piece at a time. I put A to bed, which involved me carrying her around their house for half an hour and then holding her each time she woke up from her nap. S and I played house, cooking and cleaning and going grocery shopping. It was honestly one of the best babysitting gigs I've ever had.

But, and there's nearly always a but, when the mother came home after seven hours, she handed me a check for $45. That ends up being $6.42 an hour. For two little girls whom I gave up work at the Store today for.

I admit, some of the blame lays on my side. I should have specified how much I usually charge to watch kids (for the record, the going price along all of my friends is $8-$12 an hour. I know people in larger cities who charge $15 for one kid). But she never asked, even when she called to confirm. Now it's been my experience that the parents ask how much I charge prior to arranging a sitting. The mother was a client, so to speak, of a friend's. My friend had recommended me and the mother called. That's fine. I rarely babysit anymore but I like doing it. What I don't appreciate is that the mother did not ask how much I charge and also underpaid me. I understand $6.42 is over minimum wage. Yes, that's lovely. But I'm still rather upset because I spent the entire day there, taking care of her kids. I worked my butt off to make sure she and her children were happy. And I got a lousy $6.42 an hour for it. And it wasn't because they aren't well-off or because that was all she had on her. She wrote me a check.

Now, to keep from upsetting many people, let me add this to the record. Yesterday I babysat for a one year old boy and I charged $5.00. That's also what I charged for another little girl two days ago. They paid me because I offered to sit for free. And because it was only for two hours apiece. Sitting for seven hours is a different story and I expect to be compensated properly.

It's a shame that I won't go babysit there anymore because I really did like the kids. But, at the risk of sounding trite, I refuse to drive all the way across town to be paid much less than what I deserve.

Labels: babysitting

It was 5:59 PM when she walked in. Manager glanced at me and Coworker. The woman was carrying two bags from our store, a clear indication that she had some type of return. Our eyes grew wild as we contemplated the idea of staying past 7:00 PM to close. It wasn't a pretty thought.

We watched while she shuffled past with her daughter, quickly gathering garments. It seemed as though she would be a quick customer, finding what she wanted and leaving. We breathed a sigh relief before she flagged Coworker down. Her daughter needed a fitting room.

The music and TV were off. Nearly all of the doors were shut. Our last customers were being ushered through the motions of leaving. And she wanted a fitting room for her kid.

The customer is, unfortunately, always right. She received the room and watched as her kid tried on outfit after outfit, bringing more in each time she made a pilgrimage to the sales floor.

Manager sighed and sent Coworker and me to the door, telling us not let anyone else in, at all. It didn't matter if they were buying one thing or twenty. No more.

We watched as the other stores around us closed, their employees leaving before our customer did. How did they do it, we wondered.

At 6:32 PM, the woman and her daughter finally left. She returned one item (we have no idea why she brought two of our bags in for that) and bought six. She also mentioned how quiet it was in the store (obviously, without our music or customers) and how the doors were closed. Manager kept a smile on her face as she told the woman politely that we were in the process of closing. The woman then flipped.

"Oh my God, I had no idea! I'm so sorry!" She smiled apologetically.

"It's fine," Manager replied.

"My son told me the mall was closing at 6:00 PM today but I didn't believe him."

Manager just smiled, seething inside. Why would your son lie to you about what time the mall closed? Why wouldn't you notice that everything was off? Some people are so entirely oblivious. I hope she wakes up before something bad happens to her, I really do.

Labels: work

Johnny walked in, his normal camouflage jacket missing. His pants were held up with rope, his t-shirt green. He wore his usual bottle-green hat upon his curly blonde hair. It flared out, making wings beneath the baseball hat. His face was freshly shaved as he paused beside the cologne bottles. He picked the tester up, sprayed it upon the pieces of paper held beside it, and waved it in the air. After he decided the scent was acceptable, he doused himself with it. Then, he glanced up at the television screen. Music videos were playing and Johnny settled down onto the brown pleather couch. He sat there, murmuring to himself as the songs played on. Finally, when a video came on that he did not approve of, Johnny stood up and walked once more to the cologne. He gave himself a final spray and walked out, muttering beneath his breath.

Johnny is the resident homeless man of the Mall where I work. No one knows his story, only that he has one. There are rumors that he fought in a war, though which one no one is certain of. He looks anywhere from twenty to forty and he rarely changes. During the wintertime he wears a thick camouflage coat and boots. In the spring and summer, the coat is missing.

He won't take offers of clothing. I've seen him be offered a t-shirt and decline. He does, however, take food.

I'm used to seeing him when he walks the Mall. He walks slowly, because he has no where to go. He talks to himself, often coming up behind people carelessly. He's been known to shock many. Especially those who aren't used to Johnny.

I saw Johnny the other day at a fast food restaurant, which is about six miles away from the Mall. It was closing time when he came in and settled into a booth. He sat there, speaking words that only he could understand. When I left, I saw the workers give him some food.

Johnny walks everywhere. He walks from the Mall to Downtown. He walks from Downtown to the hospital. He walks. But there aren't sidewalks or shortcuts. He travels alongside the roads, constantly speaking to those voices. He chose to create his own world instead of living in the one around him, although he ventures into it whenever necessary.

Whenever he goes missing, everyone who knows him wonders. Where does he sleep? Where does he keep his coat? Who is he talking to when he's murmuring? Are those the voices of the men he saw die? Or are they merely a product of drugs? Does Johnny suffer from schizophrenia? And will he always come back?

Labels: Johnny