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April 03, 2007

Part-Time Baby Sitter

You'd like my friend Swoosh. He's one of those personable, outgoing, friendly types who bonds with most people almost immediately. He's also one of the best graphic designers that I know, father to two kids almost the same ages as mine, and the man responsible for bringing the gift of foosball to my office. For that alone, you know he's got a special place in my heart.

Last spring, he and MrsSwoosh were undergoing some upheaval in their childcare arrangements, and as a result he decided to put a post on Craigslist for a "part-time baby sitter." His post quickly outlined the details: a nice family looking for someone to come to their home a couple of days a week to watch their two kids. Pretty basic, straightforward stuff.

His first mistake was telling us about it.

He sat there at his desk, resplendent in his vintage Ray Bourque jersey, and detailed the trouble he was having getting coverage for their boys since their previous sitter had taken a full-time job elsewhere. We made some suggestions, hassled him about not ponying up for FT daycare like the rest of us suckers, and then he told us that he'd wait to see what kind of feedback he received from his Craigslist post before he went down that very expensive road.

So, being the good friend that I am, I turned around, walked back to my desk, immediately looked up his job post... and sent him an application.

Hello, Nice Family!

I'm a 22-year old student majoring in early childhood development, and while I've previously spent my summers earning money for college through a lucrative bikini modeling career (not to mention my role as spokesperson for the National Brazilian Wax Association), I've always dreamed of leaving that all behind to devote my time to a family in Shrewsbury.

While my previous babysitting experience is limited to the 2 years I spent in the Peace Corps caring for children in Absurdistan, I do hold a 3.9 GPA in my major and am currently heading up my college's Big Sister program. I love children, foosball, hockey, and artistic/designer types.

If any of this sounds promising, please reply to this e-mail address. Thank you!

Then I went back to work, and immediately forgot about it.

Ten minutes later, I heard a cry from the other side of the office. "Guys! You're not gonna believe this!"

I stood up and walked over, expecting to be punched in the arm for being a smart-ass. Instead, Swoosh was standing in front of his computer, literally aglow -- looking like a man who'd just won the lottery. "You're not gonna believe this," he told me, TheCEO and ThePrez. "A bikini model just applied to be my babysitter."

Oh my God. He was taking this seriously. As he read the response out loud to TheCEO and ThePrez, I thought about it and realized that somehow his eyes had glossed over the word "Absurdistan" - which he'd probably misread as Afghanistan - and that he actually believed that his dream girl was desperate to come take care of his children.

"Wow, that's amazing," I responded, and walked back to my office. TheCEO followed, asked "That was you?" and when I confirmed, just shook his head and walked away.

An hour later, I checked my nameless yahoo e-mail account, and discovered a response from Swoosh.

Thank you for your interest. We are currently going though the responses from the posting. We may contact you after we've had time to review.

Thanks Again.

Truly,
Swoosh

A polite and appropriate response. Which called for a completely inappropriate response from me.

Thanks - I'll look forward to hearing from you.

By the way, I love the illustration on your website (sorry - I went ahead and checked out (Swoosh's website for his freelance design work). Am I being too forward?). Did you do that yourself? Back in Absurdistan, I used to dabble in illustration as a way to pass the time while the children tended to the sheep.

As you can see, I was making a legitimate effort to let Swoosh in on the joke.

No such luck.

"Guys! She wrote back! I don't believe this!"

TheCEO suggested, "Maybe you should skip the babysitting thing and go right to an au pair relationship. Have her move in."

Swoosh blanched. "No way. My God... MrsSwoosh would kill me."

"You sure about that?" I asked. "She might see this as an opportunity to pawn off some of her wifely duties, above and beyond childcare."

"Are you trying to get me killed?"

Fair question. The answer, of course, was yes.

Fifteen minutes later, I received a response from him.

Not too "forward" at all. Yes, I did the site. It's been under construction for a while now. I just don't have time to mess with it right now.

Thanks again for your interest.

Truly,
Swoosh

The ball was in my court. I found myself torn between wanting to push this into really twisted, disturbing territory... and wanting to clue Swoosh in on the joke before he did something potentially disgusting. So, of course, I tried to do both:

Hello Swoosh,

I wanted to follow up about the PT babysitter opportunity. I'm sorry I didn't do so earlier -- I got caught up in some minor issues with my boyfriend (correction: ex-boyfriend, who is currently travelling as - believe it or not - a professional foosball player), and wanted to resolve things before I moved forward.

I'm ready to make a clean break with my past, and I'd love for you and your family to play a big part in my future. I'm in great shape, and am ready to take on any and all challenges this role may offer. I'd welcome the opportunity for you to examine my qualifications more closely.

If you'd like to hear more about my studies, review my modeling portfolio, or just learn firsthand about my time caring for kids in Yrubswerhs, Absurdistan, please feel free to e-mail me back.

Thanks,
(MrsSwoosh's first name) M. Aginary

Okay... to review: A) I made the bikini model's first name the same as his wife's first name; B) Her last name, M. Aginary = imaginary; C) The name of the community in Absurdistan where she cared for kids and tended sheep is... the name of Swoosh's town backwards; D) "examine my qualifications more closely"? C'mon. How obvious can I be? and E) Professional foosball player... at this point I was just begging him to figure it out.

Ten minutes later: "Jeezus! She wrote back again! This is unbelievable."

As he read her newest response out loud, I bit my lip and did a banner job of keeping a straight face. TheCEO, meanwhile, was turning bright red and biting on his fist to keep from busting out laughing.

"I think you're gonna have to hire her," I told Swoosh.

"God, no. I've got to stop this here. This is crazy."

"You sure MrsSwoosh wouldn't be up for this?"

"MrsSwoosh doesn't ever need to know about this."

This time, he didn't send a response. TheCEO was all over me to keep it going -- trying to get me to cut/paste web photos of some bikini babe to keep him intrigued... but I wanted to give him the chance to get out of this situation with his dignity (relatively) intact.

Finally, I sent one more missive.

Swoosh,

Do you drive a Porsche? I've always wanted to spend time with the children of a Porsche-driver. I'd expect that in a sexy business like graphic design, you'd drive a hot car like that. My boyfriend drives a Camry... I hate that about him.

I should explain two things here. First, Swoosh is a German car afficianado. He's had a lifelong lust for Porsches -- his screensaver, in fact, is a rotating selection of Porscheporn. Secondly, he drives a red BMW 5-series that our 60-something year old colleague Kitty has mistakenly and repeatedly referred to as a Camry. "What year is your Camry? Mine is a '97." (Swoosh hangs head in shame as the rest of us burst into uncontrollable laughter, and Kitty just looks confused.)

Anyhow, with this... light finally dawned on marble head. He walked into my office, pointed his finger at me, and - smiling - said "Bastard!"

I can't say he was wrong.

10:35 AM |

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