monkey business

I never really know ‘what I was thinking’ when I sign up to work Alumni Basketball. Never mind that there are 12 teams of wanna-be men [some of them really, really old, like 50!] who come back to bask in the glory of high school sports life. Never mind that it is approximately 16 hours of work, this after a 40-hour week has already come and gone. Never mind that I’m here by myself and have to clean up everything alone.

The really overwhelming thing is seventy-nine wild, stampeding, hide-and-seek-playing, out of control little guys and gals running all over the place. They are here for the same 16 hours and just want to run all over the place or go home. The parents glance over at them once in a while and see that they are having so much fun so don’t really make an effort to control their shenanigans. Makes me just about crazy. Makes me want to cry a little. Or scream.

All day I follow after them and pick up torn off leaves from my prize planters. I mop up after their ice cream and pop spills. I empty garbages with foul-smelling diapers and wipe up pee off the boys toilets seats. Occasionally, I have to clean up blood or snot.


But, then I think of getting time and a half and things all fall into place.

I am, after all, having to pay for a new Dyson vacuum, a new showerhead and something else. I can’t remember. All I know is I thought I really needed to work so that I could just about come out even in the end. Not ahead, like I do some years, but close to even.

Better run, I hear the little darlings swinging from the trees again.