So it must be a VENT.
I have two things to tell you.
The Life of a Volunteer Coordinator
Stage One: Ask for Volunteers
“GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY YES we’d love to do that for you!” You describe the job completely. “Yes, yes, we can do that in our sleep!”
Stage Two: Wow!
Wow. I have a team.
Stage Three: Call in Team
And then you say, OKAY, tiem to do jorb nao, and they say, “This is not as described. I have surgery/vacation/fallen arches.” And then I check my sent mail and see how I described the job exactly as it is.
Stage Four: Wine
I am stupid. Cry. Do job myself. Vow to never do this again. Mean it this time.
PART DEUX
2. Today I told my friend a story about my ex-husband to make her laugh, as she was having a rough day.
Three years ago, I took my big kid to the dentist. This is when I was still under the impression that we were going to be splitting medical expenses and whatnot as outlined in the parenting plan. (“Parenting Plan: For When You Run Out of Hamster Litter.”)
So I sent him a bill for the dentist, asking him to pay half. I think it was around a hundred bucks total. What I got in the mail was a check for twelve-fifty.
“What’s this about?” I said.
“Well, that would be half the copay if either of us had insurance,” he replied. Clever. ELEGANT.
After I finished telling the story my friend said, “Is he…special?”
Yes. He’s very, very special. Turns out she gave me the laugh.
I am so printing out your post and bringing it to my volunteer team meeting tomorrow. This is a new team. My last team had so much turnover we could have churned butter with the revolving door. People were going to school, getting married, etc. Then there were the people who just never showed up. Ever. Why do they sign up if they are not going to come? Mad-den-ing.
$12.50? Did you never get to tell this story to the mediator? Or a sitcom writer? That is a level of specialness that is rarely found.
There is a special place in hell for volunteers. Unfortunately, I think I will probably end up in hell and have to be their coordinator. Maybe I’ll see you there?
No he did not.
IF you had insurance? IF! What a crock of special shit.
And if either of you pooped gold coins out your butt, you could have paid for it with that!!
Wow.
But I think I can beat that. When I left my ex, he was having an affair. So I went to get checked for STDs. The bill? It went to the house (which I let him keep… long story), and he sent it to me. So I could pay it. ‘Cause he couldn’t cough up twelve measly bucks for his disease-of-the-month club party pack.
Did I mention he was my “high school sweetheart”? Yeah. I officially had exactly zero good ideas when I was 17.
I’ll give your ex one thing: he must have had some big ol’ balls.
Yes, big balls, complete lack of conscience, potato potahto.
This is where I ramble some because I have too much coughing jags in me to sleep.
A really good friend of mine is a librarian in a different state and she’s constantly bemoaning the lack of volunteers for her programs, especially her homework help nights. I’ve done a lot of tutoring of grade and high school aged kids, so in a fit of empathy, I called up several local libraries and asked about their volunteering.
I got some of the rudest answers I’ve ever gotten in my life.
Apparently in Chicago prospective library volunteers are a waste of time and huge assholes to boot.
In short, if I lived near you, I would totally volunteer with you and not give you crappy excuses unless you needed me this week because dude, seriously, coughing jags. Unless you think nonproductive spastic coughs are sexy in which case come here and I will lick you.
Also your ex is such a fucking choad, how’d he manage to get custody at all? I’m surprised he’s got enough brain power to continue breathing without being constantly reminded to take another breath.
MESSAGE
MESSAGE
That was almost as fun as the time he tried to tell me that it was my fault he’d slept with her… because I hadn’t actually told him not to. Apparently, that was my job as his wife, and not his job as the one who owned the p3n1s.
Yes, he was serious.
And, no, I have no idea what I was thinking when I married him.
Still, I don’t have to wake up and be him every day. And he’s now an official-ex, so it’s win-win for me.
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