Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Not the Mama! (whack, whack)

Maybe it's the fact that I'm in ubercrunchy Seattle, but despite a combined attack of laziness and feminist scruples that left my legs unshaved and my hair un-blow-dryed, I fit right in with the Princeton Review audition crowd. My prepared lesson, How Recorders Work (And Why They Suck) was warmly received, and I think they'll probably call me for an interview.

But. While I was out prostrating myself before the test prep gods, James was dong his own performance for Scott - a scene taken straight from The Exorcist. He wouldn't be held, wouldn't be rocked, wouldn't be played with, wouldn't even make eye contact. All he did, for three mortal hours, was scream at the top of his lungs and writhe in fury. OK, he also ate a jar of food, but he screamed between bites. He eventually collapsed mid-scream on the livingroom carpet, with Scott laid out beside him like a man on the rack, and that's how I found them when I walked in.

I'm not sure what to do about this. I don't think Scott's exaggerating the horror of baby-sans-mommy; he would love it if I could earn some $$. Maybe James is just too young to leave. Or maybe (treacherous thought) there's a reason that he tolerates the gym daycare but goes apeshit when I leave him home with Daddy. Maybe there just has to be a boob in the room at all times.

So anyway, I don't know what I'm going to say if they offer me an interview. If I decide to refuse it, I'm definitely going to put a flea in their ear about the FORTY FUCKING HOURS OF TRAINING that is compensated at a rate of SEVEN FUCKING TWENTY-FIVE AN HOUR. After that, the wages are good, but the whole idea of them getting to do this incredibly extended interview (because there's no guarantee of hire), with zero scheduling flexibility, at peon wages, is just nauseating to me.

So it's back to craigslist I go, hoping for a SAH gig.

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