Sunday, March 23, 2008

Confessions of an Erotic Babysitter

So I’m sitting in the break room, catching up on Jerry Springer when I hear the door chime. Audrey is covering the front, so I kinda half listen in on her conversation with the customer just to make sure she’s not trying to rip me off again. My attention is being taken away by some chick slapping her transvestite ex-boyfriend on our little TV when I hear I high pitched, whining little voice.


Now I turn my full attention to the front and I hear… “…oh that’s not a problem. CJ won’t mind at all... Oh CJ! Guess who’s here to see you!”

Fuck I knew it! I hear the pitter patter of tiny feet heading my way, followed by the thump-thump of Audrey’s slippers. A little furry 5 year old head pokes it’s way through the door. His name is Michael and he’s the son of one of Audrey’s Regulars. Please note it’s one of Audrey’s Regulars – not one of mine. Audrey appears behind him and gives me one of her puppy dog pleading looks. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m going in session for 60 minutes.”

I like kids. In fact, all my nieces and nephews absolutely adore their Aunt CJ. And I can entertain a 5 year old for a few minutes but 60???!!!! That’s what pisses me off about customers with kids – they’re never here for just 30 minutes. Listen folks – this is not exactly a daycare center. I’ve done this before and it’s always the same – I’m keeping some little brat from breaking something or hurting himself for an hour, meanwhile Daddy is getting his rocks off with a half naked masseuse. And do I ever get a little something sent my way after Dad’s popped off? NO. Nothing. Nada.

“Oh noooooo Audrey… not this time. The last time you pawned him off on me, I had to turn away 2 customers at the door. Not this time. Uh uh. No way.”

Audrey looks mad now. She hates confrontation. So we argued for a bit and finally agreed to $50 for my babysitting services. Hell, I know that she’s good for $180 with this guy, so I don’t feel guilty.

Audrey disappears up front and now I’m stuck with little Michael. He’s a relatively good kid, so I’m not too pissed. I’ve had worse. We’ll get a kid in here every now and then. Five is the oldest I’ve seen – I guess any older and Dad risks Junior giving away his little secret (I saw Daddy wrestling a naked lady!).

Worst experience I ever had was with a coworkers baby. Kid must have been 6 weeks, and she drags him to work claiming she can’t get a sitter. Anyway, she goes into session for an hour and here I am playing mommy. This kid will NOT stop crying. To make things worse, there’s no formula anywhere. Junior is pawing at MY tits now! So after about a half hour of nonstop crying I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to this girls room and banged on the door. She comes out wrapped in a towel and I tell her she needs to feed her damn baby. She’s like “I’m in the middle of session!” And I’m like “I don’t care!” But I felt so bad for that baby that I finally just told her to step aside and let me finish her customer, and she could keep the tip.

So anyways – back to Michael. I sit him on the couch and then find some cartoons on the TV. Then I dig around the fridge for some snacks. I’m not without a sense of humor, so I grab a can of coke and a candy bar. Hell, if we had an espresso machine I’d fix him a double shot. That’ll teach these assholes to stop dragging their kids to massage parlors. Mike scarfs the candy bar down, then chugs the soda. I’ll bribe him to love his Aunt CJ.

Thirty minutes have now gone by. If the door bell had rung, I’d be mad right now, but it’s been quiet and Mike and I are having a good time. We started a game of tickle which he’s loosing badly. In the past I’ve changed diapers, fed babies, played horsie, and once I even diagnosed a case of acid reflux. This 1 baby just wouldn’t stop crying. He kept burping and spitting up, especially when I’d rub his belly. I’d seen these symptoms before with my brothers kid, so I told the Dad when he finally got out of session. Of course he didn’t believe his kid had acid reflux – what did I know? Anyway, a couple weeks go by and I get this Thank You card at the Business. Apparently Dad had taken his kid to the doctor (shortly after taking his kid to a massage parlor) and had him diagnosed. Guess what – acid reflux.

Finally an hour goes by and I hear a door open followed by voices. I quickly dispose of the candy wrappers and coke cans (I know how to hide evidence). I said to Mike “Go see Daddy!” and he springs off the couch and towards the front. I don’t bother to go say hi since I know HE’S not the one who's tipping me today. I wonder what Daddy will say in 30 minutes when Mommy asks “What have you been feeding Michael?

Professional Babysitter


Anonymous said...

I'm not really a commenter on any blog that I read, but I wanted to say that I love your stories.
Great work!

The Bastard said...

Someday, there will be a blog out there with an entry that starts, "When I was five, my dad took me to a massuse parlor. Or so I thought..."

cj said...


Right???? Like these kids won't be talking about this in therapy one day.


Anonymous said...

Therapist: - "Where does this fixation on breasts come from, Michael?"

Michael: -"You tell me! All I know is that I pinpointed it to about when I was 5. Now I get down on my knees and if I can still see the woman's face, I cry."

The damage that we do.