by Barbara Shoff (shady, beneath, devastated)
I clicked my cell closed. Dinner. Again. Tonight with my sisters. I wasn’t sure I was up to evading anymore of their prying questions. Maybe I would call back and cancel. I could say I landed a new client and had to work. My sister’s thought my newly chosen profession was beneath me.
Making the decision to quit teaching a bunch of snotty nosed, squealing, spoiled rotten, precocious brats and start a one woman detective agency had been my choice. What had ever possessed me to get a Master’s in elementary education? I remember. I thought I loved kids. Well, that idea had been blown to hell. I had squandered my scholarships on a degree in teaching. It could have been worse; I could have ended up with a huge student loan debt. Oh well, live and learn.
It had been either quit my ridiculously high salaried position teaching at the exclusive private boarding academy, or yield to the mounting desire to strangle a bunch of eight year olds. I should have known by the salary something was shady. Well, maybe not shady but, too good to be true.
The head of the academy had failed to inform me “exclusive” meant funded by parents who were a tightly knit group of international multi-millionaire swingers. They sent their children off to boarding school so they could continue their fun without their children knowing what their mommies and daddies were up to. It took me a year and a half to figure it out. I can sometimes be a bit slow on the uptake.
The uptake happened when I was finally invited to a “special” parent teacher conference at one of the couples’ mansions. I had heard rumors about how fun these “invitation only” conferences were, but not the details. I was invited by Ralph, an associate who had his doctorate in Math. When we arrived, the conference was in full swing. There were all these parents and over qualified educators enjoying themselves, mostly out by the pool and in the living room. I was definitely overdressed. I had my clothes on. All the women had bigger boobs than I did. So did many of the men. I was utterly devastated.
I turned to Ralph. “You should have told me.”
“I thought you knew.”
“Me? Clueless.” I headed for the front door.
“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you at any of these little forays.”
I kept walking toward the door.
“Are you a prude?”
I waited on the porch. When we were settled in his Mercedes I hit him over the head with my purse. “No, I am not a prude. I’m private and pretty much monogamous.” I hit him again. Not that he would ever have the opportunity to find out. I felt like I was going to ralph all over Ralph.
I turned in my resignation the next morning. Now I understood why I had landed the job so quickly after my initial interview. I had been hired the year before, over Christmas break. The Administrator quite diplomatically explained attendance at the special parent conferences wasn’t mandatory to my contract. I should think not. He couldn’t convince to look at the conferences as simply a “perk”.
We agreed on an exorbitant bonus to get me to stay until the end of the school year. He did emphasize the original agreement I signed, contained a confidentiality clause that not only covered the students but also extended to their parents.
Financial incentives can be powerful motivators when they are large enough. It was. In fact, it was generous enough to stay my hand from committing murder and provide me with enough resources to move back to my hometown, pay cash for a small house, set up my business and cover my essentials while I grew my client base.
My word has always been my word. I am good at keeping secrets.
I never explained to my sister’s the full details why I left my career with the academy. I simply told them the job didn’t suit me. That wasn’t good enough for them. They kept prying and pushing and just wouldn’t let it alone. I knew the time had come to face them head-on or they would never let up.
Dinner was great. Ashley is an excellent cook. And it’s hard to mess up lobster. The conversation had been light hearted; vacations, new movies we had seen, and books we had recently read. No one asked any prying questions-- until we were having our usual after dinner drinks. Rose started in. It was always Rose.
“So, Maggie, you never have fully explained to us exactly why you quit your job and moved back home. We are your family. You have been back in town almost a year and you have simply refused to take us into your confidence. There was apparently something that set you off and we want to know. We want to understand. We want to help. Why on earth would you spend all that time pursuing a Master’s degree in education, landing a wonderful job, and then throw it all away to become a-- a detective of all things?
Rose is such a snob.
Then Ashley jumped in. “Honey, was it a man?” She always thought every decision in life had to revolve around men.
I looked across the room at the mirror to see if steam was coming out of my ears. I certainly felt like steam was coming out of my ears.
“Okay. I am going to the explain situation to you. One time and one time only. If you bring it up again---ever, I will never speak to either of you again. Got it?”
They leaned toward me and nodded. Ashley put her hand on my shoulder.
“I discovered I don’t like children.” Ashley removed her hand.
“Oh honey, that’s not true. You are so great with your nieces and nephews.”
“That’s different. That’s limited time. I can send them home when they get on my nerves. I don’t like kids; especially in group settings. They are needy little creatures and I just don’t like needy little creatures. Dogs are less needy. Dogs I can tolerate. Give them some food and a doggy door and they are set. Cats are even better. Cats will hunt their own food.”
Ashley and Rose stared at me. They said nothing. What did I have to say to convince them? I continued.
“And to top it off, all the kids’ parents were swingers. Swingers-- as in trading partners’ swingers. You know I don’t normally judge others. At least, I try not to----“
“Okay, okay.” Rose stopped me. “We get it. We won’t ask you again. We do get it. You don’t like children. You don’t have make up stories about their parents.”
Go figure.
I clicked my cell closed. Dinner. Again. Tonight with my sisters. I wasn’t sure I was up to evading anymore of their prying questions. Maybe I would call back and cancel. I could say I landed a new client and had to work. My sister’s thought my newly chosen profession was beneath me.
Making the decision to quit teaching a bunch of snotty nosed, squealing, spoiled rotten, precocious brats and start a one woman detective agency had been my choice. What had ever possessed me to get a Master’s in elementary education? I remember. I thought I loved kids. Well, that idea had been blown to hell. I had squandered my scholarships on a degree in teaching. It could have been worse; I could have ended up with a huge student loan debt. Oh well, live and learn.
It had been either quit my ridiculously high salaried position teaching at the exclusive private boarding academy, or yield to the mounting desire to strangle a bunch of eight year olds. I should have known by the salary something was shady. Well, maybe not shady but, too good to be true.
The head of the academy had failed to inform me “exclusive” meant funded by parents who were a tightly knit group of international multi-millionaire swingers. They sent their children off to boarding school so they could continue their fun without their children knowing what their mommies and daddies were up to. It took me a year and a half to figure it out. I can sometimes be a bit slow on the uptake.
The uptake happened when I was finally invited to a “special” parent teacher conference at one of the couples’ mansions. I had heard rumors about how fun these “invitation only” conferences were, but not the details. I was invited by Ralph, an associate who had his doctorate in Math. When we arrived, the conference was in full swing. There were all these parents and over qualified educators enjoying themselves, mostly out by the pool and in the living room. I was definitely overdressed. I had my clothes on. All the women had bigger boobs than I did. So did many of the men. I was utterly devastated.
I turned to Ralph. “You should have told me.”
“I thought you knew.”
“Me? Clueless.” I headed for the front door.
“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you at any of these little forays.”
I kept walking toward the door.
“Are you a prude?”
I waited on the porch. When we were settled in his Mercedes I hit him over the head with my purse. “No, I am not a prude. I’m private and pretty much monogamous.” I hit him again. Not that he would ever have the opportunity to find out. I felt like I was going to ralph all over Ralph.
I turned in my resignation the next morning. Now I understood why I had landed the job so quickly after my initial interview. I had been hired the year before, over Christmas break. The Administrator quite diplomatically explained attendance at the special parent conferences wasn’t mandatory to my contract. I should think not. He couldn’t convince to look at the conferences as simply a “perk”.
We agreed on an exorbitant bonus to get me to stay until the end of the school year. He did emphasize the original agreement I signed, contained a confidentiality clause that not only covered the students but also extended to their parents.
Financial incentives can be powerful motivators when they are large enough. It was. In fact, it was generous enough to stay my hand from committing murder and provide me with enough resources to move back to my hometown, pay cash for a small house, set up my business and cover my essentials while I grew my client base.
My word has always been my word. I am good at keeping secrets.
I never explained to my sister’s the full details why I left my career with the academy. I simply told them the job didn’t suit me. That wasn’t good enough for them. They kept prying and pushing and just wouldn’t let it alone. I knew the time had come to face them head-on or they would never let up.
Dinner was great. Ashley is an excellent cook. And it’s hard to mess up lobster. The conversation had been light hearted; vacations, new movies we had seen, and books we had recently read. No one asked any prying questions-- until we were having our usual after dinner drinks. Rose started in. It was always Rose.
“So, Maggie, you never have fully explained to us exactly why you quit your job and moved back home. We are your family. You have been back in town almost a year and you have simply refused to take us into your confidence. There was apparently something that set you off and we want to know. We want to understand. We want to help. Why on earth would you spend all that time pursuing a Master’s degree in education, landing a wonderful job, and then throw it all away to become a-- a detective of all things?
Rose is such a snob.
Then Ashley jumped in. “Honey, was it a man?” She always thought every decision in life had to revolve around men.
I looked across the room at the mirror to see if steam was coming out of my ears. I certainly felt like steam was coming out of my ears.
“Okay. I am going to the explain situation to you. One time and one time only. If you bring it up again---ever, I will never speak to either of you again. Got it?”
They leaned toward me and nodded. Ashley put her hand on my shoulder.
“I discovered I don’t like children.” Ashley removed her hand.
“Oh honey, that’s not true. You are so great with your nieces and nephews.”
“That’s different. That’s limited time. I can send them home when they get on my nerves. I don’t like kids; especially in group settings. They are needy little creatures and I just don’t like needy little creatures. Dogs are less needy. Dogs I can tolerate. Give them some food and a doggy door and they are set. Cats are even better. Cats will hunt their own food.”
Ashley and Rose stared at me. They said nothing. What did I have to say to convince them? I continued.
“And to top it off, all the kids’ parents were swingers. Swingers-- as in trading partners’ swingers. You know I don’t normally judge others. At least, I try not to----“
“Okay, okay.” Rose stopped me. “We get it. We won’t ask you again. We do get it. You don’t like children. You don’t have make up stories about their parents.”
Go figure.