Ma Bell would turn over in her grave

Answering the phone on weekends at Alcatraz is interesting. I never know what sort of calls I'm going to get. Oh, most of the stuff is standard like wanting to speak to an employee or someone calling to talk to a kid. That's normal. I also have to take care of intra campus calls, which are usually no big deal. (If a kid is running, we have lots of phone traffic I have to manage, between intra campus calls and I have to facilitate the police officers who are called in).

Otherwise, I get the 'usual' stuff. But sometimes, it does get weird.

People call and ask me for directions to get here. For our address. For our fax number. My favorite was when a woman called and asked me for our phone number. After a few seconds of silence I just gave it to her; she thanked me, hung up, and called back about 10 seconds later.

Since we do foster parent stuff, I get calls from foster parents who have kids with them. These are one of our very top priorities. These are often scary. One foster mom called to say her foster son was threatening to kill himself and they were in her car. Another time a kid wanted to come back here rather than stay in his placement.

I get new parents who call and have to tell me who they are and the name of their kid. And why the child is here. And that they aren't bad parents. All they really have to do is call and ask for "house [insert number]" and I connect the call. I don't even need the name of the kid; the house parents get paid to sort that crap out. But I feel badly when a new parent feels they need to explain it all to me, and I'm just the measly phone operator. And I really don't want to know why... trust me, you don't usually want to know the why. Ever. At all.

One parent wanted to know if she could bring a birthday gift and leave it with me to give to her daughter.

One dad asked me if swearing was allowed by the boys in his son's house because they cuss in the background all the time when he's on the phone with his boy.

I had one woman call and ask if a certain student had a home pass because she was calling the cops on him if he did because he molested her daughter.

One parent asked if I could watch her 3 year old for four hours while she visited her older son. She didn't have a babysitter and her son who is at Alcatraz has a "no contact" order with the three year old.

I've had people call and ask if my town has a mall or a specific restaurant so when they pick up their child they can take them there to eat.

I've been asked if pets are allowed so "Joey" could play with his dog that he misses.

Former students have called collect from jail.

Last night I had a call that "takes the cake." A mom called me, en route, and wanted to drop her kid off here because she was, and I quote: "done with her." Let me tell, ya I sent that to our on duty boss ASAP!

Maggie

Why Mac is the way he is...

For some reason or another, this entirely true story I am about to regale ya'll with needs to be told with a Southern influence. So read it out loud in your best southern accent. I'm not sure why other than the fact I'm mentioning Mac's daddy, aka Sperm Donor, and he's just a dumb, fat, ol' Redneck not worth the air he breaths or the skin that covers his spreading hide. And I'm just adorin' the parenthesis today...

Mac is an only child. Get over it. I'm 37 and have been single and divorced for 13 years. He's gonna be 16 years old on Easter Sunday (I loved telling him he was delivered by an Easter Bunny outta an egg... yeah- that logic fails me as well) My uterus has cobwebs on it. He's an only child and unless some Biblical-like miracle happens like it did with Abe and Sarah of Holy Bible Fame, I will not begatting any more yung'uns. (Oh dear Goddess of all that is baby do NOT make me eat them words). That being said, because Mac is an only child, we are on a different wave length than other moms and kids, I think, and we communicate in altogether a different fashion than kids whose parents are former YUPPIES and have to SURVIVE in a NUCLEAR family. Either that or I've given up...

Take today, for example. Mac called me and wanted to know if I would please come and get him from his daddy's house because they were having macaroni and cheese and smoky links for dinner and he hates it today. This was at 3 pm in the afternoon. Now I let the "hatin' it today" thing just slide because I have learned in 16 years of trying to force veggies and healthy shit down his throat that I might as well give up and let him turn into an advertisement for Super Size Me because if he don't want to eat it, he ain't gonna! My comment to him instead was the ever high road about his Sperm Donor: "your daddy and stepmonster are eating dinner at 3pm in the afternoon?" (Hiz daddy is 9 years older than me and so close to bein' in a retirement village with a walker and a nurse and all that good stuff so I thought maybe they wuz practicing up for that dear day when he goes to Florida and never darkens the north again until it his time comes to return to his Redeemer since he's found G-O-D since we've divorced... via a plastic body bag, of course) Mac's response to them eatin' dinner in the middle of the afternoon: "They're fucking retarded."

Now as a good PC parent I shouldn't laugh there and I should well- okay, there are all sorts of things wrong with that and what I should do, but I did tell him to not say "retarded" and that I would call him back in an hour since I was driving on the interstate and since I was in the Midwest and it's near racing time, people around these parts were practicing for qualifyin' for a pole position at the Brickyard or the Indy 500 so I needed to stop talkin' on the Crackberry and actually focus on drivin' so I didn't get myself and Daddy-O killed. Daddy-O was riding shot gun.

So, I get home and I try to call Mac- I call his cell phone because I hate calling the house because I so don't like talking to the bitch Stepmonster who mumbles at me, or his Sperm Donor daddy who grunts when I call. And yes, Mac has a cell phone- some fancy pants fandagled thing like a Stormyitouchinstinctberry. Of course he doesn't answer because he's prolly planning a hook up with his homefrenchfrygirlfriend with beneies- that I will explain another day.

Shortly after I leave a message, Mac texts me back and what follows is our exact exchange, including the words and symbols:

Mac: sorry i didn't hear it ring.
me: no worries
Mac: whatzup?
me: Not much. What are you doing?
Mac: sittin here
me: Me too. Sam was supposed *call me 30 min ago so we could "talk" ie: break up but he's yet to call. Wish you had a job so u could take me 2 dinner.
Mac: I wish I had something good to eat
me: me too
Mac: you suck

*end of transmission- because what could I honestly say after that show of emotion?*

See, we can get away with talking like this because he's an only child. I don't have to worry about setting a good example for other brats. And you know what? I had one chance to get it right and I obviously blew that opportunity (I screw up my kid but I took the opportunity to wear parachute pants in the 80s.... priorities.... dang!) so we just talk like that. And it doesn't even bother me. Other than the fact that I do wish he had a job so he could take me out to eat since I am unemployed. And hungry.

Hey, at least I am giving the boy PLENTY of stuff to talk about when he decides to go for therapy.

Mamma Mia,
Mags


* Since my shitty Crackberry only gives me 160 characters in a text window, I have to resort to writing in "text" language which I despise with all that his Holy! I swear on Prada that I would never do it- and look at me....

Another Sam story...I know, I'm making you all sick

Sam and I talk on the phone every night, as I think I've mentioned. And we've talked on the phone every night since that's all we have- that and Instant Messaging plus emails. All telecommunication mediums. I don't think I've ever loved technology so much.

We talk every night. We revel in the chaos that is our lives and how to blend us together over the thousands of miles and the Pond that separates.

S0, yes we talk every night- usually a few hours, until the wee hours of the morning in Ireland, when he should be in bed sleeping, but instead he's telling me anything and everything just mere hours before he needs to get up and go to the office. We whisper secrets into the dark, share our fears and thoughts about everything, we share our past lives, our desires, wants, needs, and play 'what if' with our future, our stories, and many many laughs. We just click, in a strange way that is so very good. And he's quoted some movie (neither of us can remember which one- When Harry Met Sally?!) because he said it sums up how he feels very well. He said he likes that he wants my voice to be the last one he hears at night before he sleeps... and he can't wait until it's the first one he hears in the morning... Oh my. Oh my oh my oh my.

Sam went to Amsterdam this weekend for business. Well, Friday and Saturday were in Amsterdam for pleasure- a mini vacation- and then Sunday until Wednesday are business in a town about 30 minutes outside of the city. And while in Amsterdam, he is enjoying... a particular offering of the city which is legal. He also told me that he MUST keep conversations on Sunday through Tuesday nights brief so he can get some sleep and be at the top of his game for business with potential new clients. Now, to recap the weekend talks: our conversation on Friday was brief; he booked my ticket and we chatted about his trip and my upcoming visit and the wonders of the State Department and my First Passport Ever. Saturday afternoon he called and it was... a brief conversation, which made me laugh and he doesn't remember.

Then there was Sunday night's phone call. Or shall I say calls? He called and I wasn't near my phone and he left a delightful message. (Some of you who've known me for a loooong time will get the ironic humour here.) He said "I'm in The Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Holland and have no Internet and no cell service. I'll try back in a half hour. If you want to call me, here's my hotel phone number and room number..." He called a second time and again, I missed the call- Mac and I were playing music in the car way too loudly. That message said, "Sorry I missed you again. If you get this message in the next 10 minutes, give me a call." This one came in about... 1:45 AM his time. I missed the 10 minute window so I figured I was just out a phone call from him, for the first time in over a month, damn it!

Ah, but I was wrong... he called me at 2 am his time. Because he missed talking to me before bed time. Because the weekend didn't allow for our regular phone call routine. Because he has it bad for me. Because he doesn't sleep as well if he doesn't chat with me before bed. Because of me. I couldn't stop smiling because it was 2 am in the morning, he was seeing clients at 7 am and he missed me, wanted to hear the sound of my voice. Even though he told me last week we couldn't have a late night chat, he still called me. He likes me, he really likes me! This boy has it BAD!!!!

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, don't tell, but guess what? So do I!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Somebody likes me lots,
Maggie