The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions

Yesterday while I was busy fucking up a big spreadsheet for the umpteenth time, my cell phone rang. I hate when people call my cell phone during the day because I have a shitty plan and not enough day time minutes, so I try and hoard them just in case. (In case of what, I am not sure, as I am certain that I will not care what rate I am charged if I make a call for help from the trunk of a car if I am kidnapped or whatever other emergency arises.) Also, this was maybe the third call that interrupted my concentration, which is why I accidentally deleted four rows of vital information from the spreadsheet.

"Hello?" I said very irritably. Unless it was someone calling to tell me I won a Pulitzer Prize, which I suspected was not the case although I did not recognize the caller's phone number, I didn't want to speak to them.

The caller seemed surprised by my hostility. "Is this Suzanne?" she said.

"No, it's the motherfucking pope," I wanted to say. Instead, I hissed, "Yes."

Well, while it was not the Pulitzer Prize Patrol, it turned out to be an interesting call. It seems that a new management credential is going to (finally) be available to child care center directors. The woman on the other line wanted to know if I would be interested in teaching a module on finance and budgeting. As she asked me this, I misaligned some data on my spreadsheet because it seems that my ragged brain can no longer multitask. I distractedly mumbled something about my qualifications that I am sure made her question why on earth a reputable person referred her to me. She said she'd send me more details.

"Sure," I said. "I'd love to do it."