Sticky Business

I groaned when I discovered the missing pile of hi-jacked mail (my husband retrieved the mail and left it in the deep, dark, abyss called his office only to mysteriously surface many months later on my desk). Wincing, I slowly peeked with one eye at the several invitations for parties, weddings, and showers that came and went weeks ago. I was still reeling from embarrassment over the unseen invitations when I found several bills that were also MIA, therefore not paid. Thus commenced the sequence of events that would undo even the most composed super-mom, let alone Zazoo Pits.

                 “English!” I yelled into the phone for the third consecutive time.

 “I’m sorry, we couldn’t understand what you said. Please say which language you wish to continue in, English or Spanish?”

“E-N-G-L-I-S-H. English!” I slowly spelled and enunciated for emphasis.

“I’m sorry, Please listen to the following available options to continue or hang up and try your call again.”

I closed my eyes and rolled them to the back of my head and sighed in frustration as endless lists of meaningless options were spewed out. With each hang up and redial I became more resolved that I would talk to a human being if it took me the entire day!

“Mama…” My three year old came into my office demanding my attention.

“In a minute hunny… mama’s busy…”

“Mama, I neeeeeed a snack!” Gabe insisted as if starved when he had recently inhaled two eggs and three pieces of bacon a mere half hour ago.

“O.k. hunny, in a minute Mama will get you a snack. I promise… in a minute. Oh, I hear Dora the Explorer calling you…” His little feet ran toward the television.

By now, I knew the list of telephone options by heart, punching the numbers, and saying the appropriate words as slowly and clearly as possible. I could almost smell victory as I passed from “English” to “Account Number” and finally to “Agent.”

“Agent!” I gasped with eager anticipation as if I had just won the lottery.

“I’m sorry, we couldn’t understand what you said. Please punch in your 16 digit account number.”

“No!!!!!!!” I hollered loudly as if being physically assaulted.

“I’m sorry, we can’t understand what you said, please repeat.”

“For the love of God can I talk to a flippin’ human being?!!!”

“I’m sorry, we can’t understand what you said. Please listen to the following options to continue or hang up and try your call again.”

I dialed one last time and carefully went through the list of options flawlessly.

“AGENT!” I screamed with every last ounce of lung capacity.

“Yes, this is Juanita, can you please hold?”

“Sure!” I panted. I was ready to give my first-born child in exchange for a live operator. “Of course I’ll hold for you, you precious hunk of human flesh!” I mumbled under my breath.

“Mama! Mama… I all sticky…” Gabe said interrupting my upcoming touchdown moment. 

“Mrs. Meade, Can you please give me the address of your birth, your dog’s maiden name, and your license plate number for customer identification verification?” The live voice asked.

“Mama! I said, I all sticky!!” Gabe interrupted once again, pulling on my sleeve.

“Okay darlin’…Mama needs to talk to this lady for two minutes. Just two minutes. Hold on sugar…” I said quickly when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a conspicuous stream of brown something coming down off of Gabe’s sweatshirt and onto the floor.

Like a hound dog I followed the trail to the kitchen cupboard while simultaneously rattling off information.

 Families have no business buying 25-gallon containers of bulk foods and this proves it! I gasped in horror at a mammoth empty container of extra thick and rich Aunt Jamina Syrup and worse, the gooey river of dread that spread underneath the refrigerator and all over the wood floors. I didn’t know what to do. I felt a "freak - out" coming on.

I held the receiver with my hand to let out the absolutely necessary couple high pitch shrieks while ridiculously stomping and jumping in circles. After commiserating with Juanita over my present sticky mess and paying my bill I covered myself in plastic for the horrendous cleanup. While scooping and wiping up the ponds of goop with hands taped with Walmart bags I laughed aloud. The ridiculousness of the moment caused me to realize something priceless. Maybe I can’t avoid all the sticky messes of life, but I can still have peace and joy in the middle of the mess. Thank God for His gift of perspective; I think I’ll face another day.