Can’t we just put them in a cage for the day?
Oct/091
Contrary to what I was hoping for, I have found myself commuting daily to a location that is as joyous and fun as the world-famous theme park, teeming with thousands of happy visitors adorning caps with large round ears: the Longmont Butterball plant. The facility has been improved a bit from when I posted about it earlier in the year, though, and, as I become increasingly comfortable with their cross- contamination safety protocol, I’m settling in fairly well. Of course, the shitty economy and serious lack of electrical projects makes me hate this project a little less.
In an effort to ease the suffering amongst those of us who are partaking in this brave endeavor to restore life-safety notification appliances, or fire alarm for short, we, as fire alarm guys, or FAGs for short, have unanimously agreed to adjust our schedule into four ten-hour shifts. With this, we are allotted a full three days of turkey-free time off every week. This, I must tell you, is an adjustment that I both enjoy, and am very fortunate to be able to seamlessly accomodate into my life. There was a time when my schedule wasn’t as forgiving and the slightest delay could wreak irreconcilable damage to my way of life and comfort of living.
About a million years ago, way back during the Candleboxian Era, my wife and I decided to make a child. The plan seemed simple enough, and it didn’t take long before our constant perverted fucking produced a beautiful child. We knew that our limited income would make this financially difficult, but we decided that we’d much rather serve our time as young parents than try to deal with asshole kids in an older, decrepit-er state. We had anticipated the added cost of diapers, baby clothes, and formula, and factored it into our budget early on, but we weren’t completely prepared for the toll that daycare was going take on our pocketbook. Childcare facilities were running upwards of 25% of our combined family income, so we, instead, chose to hire someone who offered daycare services from their home.
The first sitter that we found was living in the same apartment complex as us, so it seemed like an obvious choice. She was watching a few other kids and seemed like a very nurturing woman. Her apartment was littered with kid toys and the place had the exact same aura surrounding it as some of the expensive centers that we had previously approached. Aside from having to lug our own baby swing to and from her apartment every day, there didn’t appear to be any problems. After bailing out of work one day, a couple weeks after hiring her, I found myself knocking on her apartment door, unable to get her to open it up. Impatience got the best of me and, finding the door unlocked, I decided to enter. My son was sleeping soundly in his swing, and a plethora of other small kids were playing gleefully. My presence piqued the interest of the oldest, maybe eight years old, girl. She recognized me and informed me that the sitter, who’s fucking name I can’t remember, was doing laundry at the community laundromat. Pissed at her negligence, I gathered my kid and my swing and stormed back to my apartment. It was at least ten minutes before she called me, frantically hoping that it was me who had removed the child from her home. I fired her ass immediately.
The next one was slightly better. I have to admit that I was slightly swayed from the first day, though. Shelly was a thirty-ish former co-worker of my wife. She was fairly trim, and decent enough looking, that I wasn’t worried at all about the fact that she was still in her nightgown when she answered the door. She was also a parent, and comfortably reached out and took hold of my young infant son. She bounced him on her hip for a minute or two while I introduced myself and tried, unsuccessfully, to not stare at her nipples poking through her gown. Eventually, the fatigue of holding a small child set in and she sat him on the chair next to her, bending down to hold him still, and giving me the perfect view down her nightie. As if it wasn’t difficult enough to look at her face, now I had an unblocked view of her exposed body, from her small little tits, all the way down to her fuzzy little snatch patch! I was sold.
She ended up being a flaky bitch, though. She’d give us less than a days notice when she was unavailable, and sometimes wouldn’t answer the door when I was trying to drop Junior off, claiming later on that she didn’t hear me knock. This, however, didn’t stop her from being extremely picky about drop-off and pick-up times, and i was stressed daily trying to juggle my very-average work hours with her fucked up and demanding “hours of operation.” The cheap bitch wouldn’t accept a check either, so I’d always have to fuck around on Friday afternoons, trying to get my paycheck in the bank, and getting cash out for her. She also got knocked up, and had a kid, so the few times that she inadvertently allowed me an additional glimpse down her shirt, I was only rewarded with, in all of its deflated balloon glory, a grim look at the ill-effects of a baby’s mouth on a nipple.
These days, the wife has a nice “work from home” gig that all but eliminates scheduling conflicts. I dont worry about snow days, random school closures, or the occasional sick child. I get up and go to work every morning without obstruction. No longer do I have to make that awkward call to the boss, requesting the day off because the sitter has important errands to run. Ten hour shifts? How about twelve? I don’t have any reason to miss work whatsoever. I can show up whenever they need……………… Fuck!