OK, so...I'm an apartment manager...my office is literally 10 feet from my front door, and half that work is done from my own home office anyway. Combined with a bored summertime 8 year old is where things get wiggy. I had to file an eviction on someone that hasn't paid their rent. Never fun, but this chick faked static on her cell phone at me and cut the call, so I wasn't feeling too poorly about it. I do my paperwork, and head to the courthouse to file the papers, with K, the 8 year old, in tow. When we arrive at the courthouse, she climbs out of the car and has one jeans leg rolled up to mid thigh. The hell?
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I had a mosquito bite, it itched"
"Umm, ok...fix your pant leg and come on." In we go, to deal with a court clerk, who, I'm convinced are the most miserable workers on the face of humanity. I don't know why. They have pretty large-ish cubicles, and they're all decorated with their various crap that makes it seem homey. Fake plants. Pics of kids and grandkids. Birthday cards signed by all the coworkers. OH...and the hanger with the requisite sweater. Hanging on each one. Its like an office chick requirement...the sweater. I'm greeted by a clerk that I will refer to as Steelyeyes, because she had that action going on big time.
"Do you have your paperwork?" she inquires.
"Yes Maam, right here"
"AND you're 3 day eviction notice???"
"Yes maam, right here in the file."
"What about the Military Clause paperwork?" (or some such name...I haven't had to file an eviction in a while so this is all new to me) She grumpishly goes to get the paper that I do NOT have (I can see her smirking inside, where it counts) and I hear a whisper, "mom...." I turn around to see that my daughter once again has rolled up her pants leg, and continued to scratch the mosquito bite.
"It's BLEEDING." she says, dramatically.
"Yes, it is, about the size of a small Tsetse fly...and you need to roll your pants leg back down, and we'll deal with it when I'm finished here."
Grump, whine, slump goes the 8 year old. Sulk. Steelyeyes comes back with the paper and zippily instructs me that I have to assure them that the evictees are not in the military on this blank here and that one, and this one, and why, here, and sign here and here, but not here because it has to be notarized and witnessed. Then she zooms back to her homey cubicle, because I'm not ready yet. Bitch. So, I get to a blank loosely titled "They aren't in the military, and I know this because__________" This is confusing...I don't know what these fools do for a living, I don't run the applications. I summon Steely back and ask her what is up with this, what do people usually put there.
"A reason", she says. Bitch. "MOM." Lord ,again? I turn around to see my child sitting in the chair as instructed, yet her pant leg still rolled up, leaning on her thigh to tamp circulation off and thus increase bleeding. Blood has trickled roughly 2 inches down her leg now. I try to emulate Steely's glare and severely whisper
"Roll your pant leg down NOW, and we will DEAL with this in a MOMENT." Sulk. Slump. Pained Expression. Where's the Academy of Performing Arts and Sciences when a REAL contender is having the performance of a lifetime? I turn back to Steely and smile. She stares.
"Ok, so, a reason, I get that, but I actually don't know what they DO, so is there kind of a regular phrase here thats usually used?" because, ordinarily, there is, i.e., 'nonpayment of rent' in some spaces, instead of 'that damn fool is a deadbeat'.
"No." Steely states, "You put the reason."
At this point, I glance back, blood is now 4 inches down her calf, and she's swinging her leg to speed up the process. My inner mom comes out, only it comes out to Steely..."How about 'Because I said so'...will that work?"
SOOOO not amused, that Steely. I ponder putting down 'they're too damn old to be in the military' but a judge is going to be seeing this, so that's probably not a good idea. Steely has flounced back to her happy cubicle, that SO isn't working for her. I settle for 'because they have real jobs', then thinking about the war, cross off real, and put regular. There. Summon Steely back.
"MOOOoooooOOOOM." With the swinging involved, the blood has now reached her ankle. When we leave this office, she is in deep caca. Steely returns with my copies of the paperwork, 2 men behind me are staring at my child oozing blood, and my cell rings. Steely does not think highly of my "Your Body is a Wonderland" ringtone. She gives me my paperwork and we're outta there. I have my boyfriend on the cell, I order K into the bathroom to clean her leg up, and wait in the hallway. I'm reiterating all the melee to him, and he's laughing at me, HARD. What does he know, his kids are normal, some of us aren't that lucky. At this point, mine limps out of the bathroom with the pant leg still rolled up, wet toilet paper wrapped completely around her leg. At least twice. I'm speechless. We now have to walk back to my car...through the courthouse parking lot...full of police officers. I don't feel badly about making her walk 15 feet behind me, in her toilet paper cast. At all. I'm still being laughed at on the phone as I rant at this point. Whatever, make em laugh. Thats OK...someday, when she accepts her Daytime Emmy Award, she'll thank her mom. She BETTER, by God, thank her mom.
