Jen Mann - I Still Just Want to Pee Alone

Funny Is Family

I shift nervously in the waiting room chair, discreetly checking my pits for the moisture that is my constant companion in stressful situations. Theyre still dry, for now. The magazines in the waiting room arent holding my attention, and as I wait for my job interview, my mind wanders. Do I even want this job? I ask myself for the hundredth time. The hours are horrible, and the pay is even worse.

Motherhood.

I know people who do this job. They seem to like it, and those broads are always recruiting.

Youll love it! they say.

Youd be so good at it! they encourage.

Itll change your life! they promise.

But thats the thing. I like my life. I dont think it needs to change. Im good at my job and I make more money than the zero dollars per hour that motherhood boasts.

Yet, here I am. Drawn to the idea of this new path, compelled almost, I sit on an uncomfortable chair waiting to see if the hiring committee is going to see me as a welcome addition to the club.

Amy Flory? A brunette woman with glasses on her nose and spit-up on her shoulder peeks her head out of an office door and smiles.

I follow her in and take a seat at the table with the woman and two of her coworkers, all three of them with pads and pens in front of them, ready to take notes.

I mentally prepare my list of strengths, ready to insert them into every question I can.

I love to read, and if Ive learned anything from watching television, most of parenting is reading to kids.

Ive spent eight years in retail, so I can fold clothing and pick stuff up off the floor like a boss.

Im lighthearted and like to laugh.

Im not afraid of a challenge. (Now this isnt actually true, but I fake it well, and can appear quite brave when really Im fighting back the nervous diarrhea.)

I make a mean box of macaroni and cheese.

Ive never been arrested.

Tell me why youd be well-suited for the job of being a mom? I imagine them asking.

Well, I brag. Ive never been arrested.

Upon quick inspection, my list seems woefully lacking, and honestly, having been arrested probably has no bearing on whether or not someone will make a good mother. And its not like Id never had the opportunity to be arrested, I just hadnt been caught. I pragmatically decide to keep this to myself.

What am I doing here? I begin to panic. I cant walk out, I think, doing that pretending to be brave thing I mentioned earlier. So I smile and try to ignore the bead of perspiration that snakes its way down my spine, blessedly stopping just before my crack.

Tell me about the last time you changed a diaper. The first question is lobbed to me after introductions and weather-related chit chat. They think theyre starting off easy.

Uh, well, I watched my husband change our nieces diaper three years ago, I offer. I handed him a wipe, I think. Seeing their faces, I hurriedly add, I babysat in high school! I changed diapers back in the nineties!

The women all make a quick note on their notepads.

Okay, how are you at managing your work and home responsibilities on very little sleep?

I laugh. They do not.

Oh, sorry, I thought you were joking. Im not ready to lie this early in the interview. I dont work on very little sleep. Sleep is important. Havent you guys heard that sleep is, like, crucial to a healthy lifestyle? I did not mention that what with all of my happy hours and poor eating habits, I really needed this sleep thing to keep me balanced. Because I care about my body, thats why.

Their pens scratch furiously.

How patient are you? The question is asked in a way that suggests they already know they wont be impressed by my answer.Id say Im an eight.

They brighten. On a scale of one to ten?

Oh, my bad. Thats on a scale of one to one hundred. Im not terribly patient. I continue, Especially when Im waiting for someone to get ready. Im all, What the hell? Get your damn shoes on! Im surprised by the question. Is patience an important trait for parents?

So you swear? one asks.

And yell? another pipes in.

I sigh. Yeah. Sorry for the language. I do that. And yes to the yelling. Only when Im pissed, though. Or when Im talking on the phone. My husband says I talk super loud on the phone. I grinned, giving them the Husbands, am I right? shrug.

Looking for a safe question, they peruse the list. Encouragingly, one offers, How do you feel about chicken nuggets?

I love them! I smile enthusiastically. My husband and I always hit the Wendys drive-through on our way home from the bar. Its hard to beat a nugget straight out of the fryer.

How about cold nuggets that are half eaten with the breading sucked off? And while were at it, are you willing to eat cold fries dipped in ketchup? Dont worry, the ketchup is licked off. You need to eat the fries and nuggets or else they end up on the floor and your dog will eat so many hell puke. Speaking of puke, where do you stand on catching vomit with your bare hands?