Just a typical day …

We have a new nanny, Pam, who does the Thursday-evening-Single-Dad-gets-to-go-out thing and every other Saturday. She is older, a bit discombobulated, but great with Pearlsky and all is good.


I did not have my standing dinner date last night … the lovely, young, intelligent, gorgeous, red-head belly dancer teacher is out of the country for seven weeks, and, no, I am not going to have dinner with her now-lonely boyfriend! But that’s cool …

Freya is having dinner with her best friend and suggests I join them. Well, suggests I join them for a drink before dinner but then I have to leave so they can do the girl-talk thing. She actually thinks I will drive an hour each way, in the rain, for a 30 minute visit and drink! The nerve.

So I got in the car and went.

Thirty minutes into the rainy drive, there is a car accident a couple of hundred yards ahead of me. You may or may not know, thirty years ago (!!) I was a paramedic … I ran a rescue squad responsible for about 35,000 people. It’s still in my blood to some extent … so I stop to help. There are several legal reasons that I should not, I am not going to get into that here …

I get to the car that is in worse shape and open the driver’s door. The driver is banged up, the passenger looks fine. I do a quick check and say to the driver …

Are you into politics?

Ummm, I guess.

What is the president’s name?

Obama

Great. What’s my name?

She looks at me, puzzled.

I have no fucking clue.

Right answer.

I see that police and help are a few hundred yards back, in the traffic that is now backed up, but making their way. I tell her not to move at all, tell the passenger to say to the first responder “she needs a short board and collar.” I have him repeat it back to me … and with help arriving, I leave.

For Thanksgivings in the years to come she will be telling the story … “and then the moron asked me HIS name! …”


I continue on my drive … and my cellphone rings, a number I don’t know …

May I speak with Pam, please.

There is no Pam here. Well, sort of not (name of my nanny). Pam who?

Pam Smith

Oh. May I ask who is calling?

I am so confused.

Jonesville police.

Oy. She is my nanny and better be at home with my daughter. May I ask the problem?

Please give her the message that we reached security and all is set.

Let me get this straight. You claim to be the police, you want me to give Pam the message that all is set with security? What is your name?

Dispatcher 10.

Very strange. I try calling the nanny’s phone. It goes right to voice mail, repeatedly.

I get to the restaurant, late (which I hate). I immediately ask Freya for her phone, I want to call the number that called me (from a different phone) to see if it really was the police and find out more. No answer. Uggh.

At least the ladies insisted I stay and eat.


When I got home I did hear some bizarre story about forgetting to lock one’s office, no one answering phones, asking the police if they can call security at the facility where she works (big place), cell phone not charged, etc. Pearlsky was fine.

So, you wanted to hear more about Single Dad’s life? You asked …

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