FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES

It's nothing personal, but I'm not fond of frogs. I think they're kind of ugly, although I try not to judge. For all I know, they think the same about me. Not that it matters, since we usually don't come into contact--what with me enjoying the comfort of my couch and them enjoying the comfort of wherever they watch "Dr. Who." But all that changed yesterday...

First, I should explain that I love to swim, and by "swim" I mean splash around in my pool. Actually, I do much more than that but, if you saw me, you'd think I was just splashing around. Here's how it goes. Before I get in the pool, there is a crazy chatterbox in my head pitching fastballs into my brain, something like this:

How did it get to be so late? What can I make for dinner? Are there leftovers? I need to order meds for the dog. Got to remember to buy stamps, milk, and… what was the third thing? I can't believe I forgot the third thing! I am so losing it…

But, as soon as I wade into the pool, Ms. Chatterbox forgets all that and says, "Ahhh, this is nice!" And, if I'm lucky, I won't hear from her for the rest of the day. I then pick up the pool net and start circling the perimeter, scooping up leaves and bugs (I can't risk getting a bug in my mouth. I'm sure you understand) while immersing myself oh-so-gradually. Once the pool is bug-free, I completely submerge and practice for my pretend audition with "Cirque du Soleil," underwater edition. I proceed to roll and tumble, pirouette and twirl--I just couldn't be more graceful. Of course, I can't see myself, so that helps.

After practicing my routine, I try to see how long I can swim on the bottom of the pool while scuttling like a crab. I imagine I look just like the blue crabs that sometimes find their way into our pool. And sometimes I just free-float, swaying like a sea anemone, giving up control of my limbs. Control is overrated anyway. 

Yesterday was different though. As I was netting up the debris, I caught a glimpse of something moving. A tiny black frog, no bigger than a nickel, was trying to scale the slick tile wall of the pool and make his escape. I could see that it just wasn't happening for him. He was so cute and determined, I decided to help, offering him a lift on my index finger to ferry him out. But he had a different idea. Grasping my finger with all his puny strength, he decided he liked it there and no amount of coaxing could convince him otherwise. I was touched. I couldn't help but smile as my little friend and I cleaned the pool together, basking in the afternoon sun. I lazily tried to remember anything I could about frogs and came up with one thing: they love to eat mosquitoes.  I thought about how my friend's mother had contracted West Nile Virus and our dog had contracted heart worms, even while taking preventative meds; both of those were mosquito-borne diseases. 

I suddenly realized that by saving my little frog's life, I could be saving a person's life! I was struck by how far-reaching one small act of kindness could be. 

"I know you're nervous," I said, gently nudging him, "but it's time for you to go. You have a big job. You have to save the world!" He finally understood how important he was and reluctantly hopped away.

I've changed my mind about frogs, of course, how could I not? But I still won't be inviting them to watch "Dr. Who" with me on my couch.

If You'd Just Listened To Me In The First Place...

Nobody, and I mean nobody, can nag like I can. If you don’t believe me, just ask my husband Charlie. He'll probably roll his eyes without actually answering because Charlie isn’t one to waste words, but he knows in his heart that he wouldn’t be where he is today but for me and my nagging. Now, if you ask my neighbors and friends in Covington about me, they'll say: “Ella Boudreaux? Oh, she can be real persistent,” but they always say it in such an admiring way that I don’t mind at all. 'Nagging' just sounds so negative and I am not a negative person. Truth is, I’m the kind of person you'd ask for directions if you were lost, or tell your life story to while waiting in line at the grocery store, which has happened on more than one occasion, believe me.  

So how does a person with my unique skill set make a living? As a bill collector, of course. It didn’t occur to me for a long time that this was my true calling--not until I had tried my hand as a dog walker, burger slinger, barnacle scraper, typist (on a real typewriter, with correction tape and everything), waitress (for  fancy and not-so-fancy restaurants), and telemarketer.  

Without a doubt, slinging burgers was the most humbling job, hands down. By the end of every shift, my skin and clothes had soaked up more oil than a gusher. The worst part of that job was feeling like I was in the army. We had to follow orders and never question our superiors, even if they were no smarter than a French fry! For an independent thinker like me, that was torture, as you might imagine.

While my other jobs had their highs and lows, I have to say that telemarketer was my absolute favorite. I certainly set some records while I was there, including: fewest magazine subscriptions sold, highest phone bills racked up, and most sob stories ever listened to--which may explain why I only lasted a month. But the stories I heard were priceless!   It’s amazing what people will tell you when all you asked was:  “Are you happy with your magazine subscription Mrs. _______?”  Why, I could write a book!  I heard about runaway dogs, philandering husbands, tragic illnesses, financial catastrophes, and children whose sole mission in life was to disappoint their parents. But it wasn’t all bad stuff. Some days I heard about upcoming nuptials, new grandbabies, second chances at love, and vacations to faraway places, like California and Hawaii. 

And while this may not be news to you, it was a real eye-opener for me to learn that some people have no filter at all--whatever pops into their brains flies right out of their mouths faster than a kid coming down a water slide. So, while I tried to sell them magazines, they were spilling their guts like guests on The Jerry Springer Show. Funny thing is I never thought of it as a dead-end job, not once. No, it was more like my own personal soap opera with an ever-changing cast of characters. All I had to do was listen--and throw in an encouraging word once in a while.  

I loved that job, so I was sad when it ended. It was the last Wednesday in June, around lunchtime, and I was on the phone with a woman named Maria Teresa Flanagan who very much wanted to renew her subscriptions to Reader’s Digest and Needlepoint Now, but just couldn’t afford it with everything else going on in her life. Well, wouldn’t you know it, right when Maria Teresa got to the good part of her story my boss, Roy Charbonnet, Jr., walked over. Of course, everyone else pretended to be working when they saw him tap me on the shoulder, but I knew what was coming, especially in light of my poor sales record. He was so nice when he fired me (he said he was “letting me go”) that I couldn’t be mad. All the same, I was sorely disappointed. Now I would never know whether Maria Teresa’s son did the right thing and married his pregnant girlfriend, or joined the army to get away from his drunken step-daddy.

I must admit that telemarketing taught me a few things about people. I learned that while everyone has a story to tell, boring people believe their stories are absolutely fascinating. They do so love to talk, but their stories are rambling and pointless and never have an ending. Not much of a beginning or middle either, to tell the truth. I had to learn how to interrupt them while still being nice because if they hung up on me, I'd just have to start all over again with a new chatterbox. 

****

Charlie is reading this over my shoulder and giving me a look that says I need to move my story along, or someone will be tempted to shut me down for rambling. Even if I believe I'm absolutely fascinating.  I know he just wants me to get to the part where he has a starring role. Don't worry Darlin', I'll get there…             

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