Sometimes a few light chores
accompany my visits. They’re usually at
my discretion and a residual symptom of my self- diagnosed OCD. In addition to giving a client’s home that
“lived in” appearance (lights on, window treatments opened during the day and
my car in and out their driveway daily), I will wash pet bedding, scoop litter
boxes, load and run dishwashers, water house plants/flower beds and take out
trash/recycle bins. The last item is the
reason for this story.
The only exception to this
standard procedure was the two times I was hired just to water houseplants…they
took the dog with them.
I am a morning person as long
as I have a reason to be a morning person. “Tigger” was my reason for two three
week periods last summer. The single pet
of a family of four, he must have felt his home to be enormous and much too peaceful
during his family’s vacation. “Normal”
in this home was defined as organized chaos with two boys, 17 months apart both
under the age of 4.
Morning visits were
predictable. Food, clean litter &
social time shared seated on a very comfortable couch. I relocated a clock radio from a bedroom and
kept the station tuned to a classical station during the hours between visits.
Tigger had outdoor playtime, if I wished to put him on a tethered harness which
stretched the length and breadth of the unfenced back yard.
The floor plan of the home
was typical for this area; a great room which opened to a patio, flanked by
bedrooms, study and bathrooms. The
dining room was a straight shot into the kitchen which was the center of
activity in this home, I’m sure. The
garage was connected to the living spaces by a laundry room.
Trash day is announced by the
placement of green rolling trash cans curbside by 5:30 A.M. If you wish to entice the local wildlife, you
could chance its delivery the night before.
Dumpster duty coincided with
the retrieval of newspaper and a quick look see in the mailbox. It had rained,
the lid to the dumpster was opened and I was cursing the waste management truck
driver. The rainwater made maneuvering
the can up the steep driveway a little tenuous.
I focused on the job at hand and arrived at the end of the concrete
drive and looked for a level spot to empty it.
Okay, lawn straight ahead,
the can was “facing” me, what I mean is the lid was open, folded back and snug
between dumpster and myself.
Now if the lid is “facing”
me, I should not be able to roll it, right? I began to tip it away from me,
resulting in the lid sliding toward my feet and all of a sudden it rolled from
my grip. I lost my footing and ended up
head to torso, right down to my posterior in the can. Water, a few leftover used newspapers and I
snug in a predicament!
My second wave of cursing had
nothing to do with the waste management company. I was hoping for a good Samaritan. Remaining stunned, embarrassed and soaking
wet, the only visible clue to my involuntary incarceration was my legs and butt
leading into spaces previously reserved for refuse. I laid a moment hoping the crime scene
investigators would be arriving or a jogger or a curious neighbor-somebody!
Nobody, I mean no one heard
or saw anything. Just my luck. I wriggled and backed out, kicked the can and
with “hulk” like grace, I tossed it in its place.
I was miserable, mad and did
I mention soaking wet. Gathered my
composure, found the house key, in the pocket of my scrub top, and stormed
inside right past Tigger to the laundry room.
Starting the washer, I
removed my outer most layers and wrung them out over the utility sink and into
the machine. Tigger delighted in this
one ring circus and sat quietly in his kitchen while I prepared his breakfast
in my less than appropriate attire.
The wash and dry cycles kept
me prisoner for ninety minutes. Tigger
and I lounged about, taking great care to avoid the front door which I left
open so that he could view his street through the storm door. I had calmed down
sufficiently to call my husband and share my morning. My right knee developed a rainbow bruise and
a noticeable limp kept me from balancing upright. “Oh, great”, I thought, this is just the
beginning of my day.
Attitude is everything. A smile, a giggle, a short bout of hysteria
and of course, freshly laundered clothes helped me through that memorable
morning
That experience helped
prepare me for the several years I have enjoyed this profession. It was the reason I now carry an overnight
bag even if my stay is just beginning…
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