SCENE: Me in a foot boot due to undiagnosed pain and swelling in my left ankle. Tamara (name changed to protect the innocent.) lives across the street from my mother. Works for the county for a company that sends people out to clean homes for elderly. Does my mother's house and several others in the area. Just had to go out in the rain to buy mother's weekly groceries....all ten items that she couldn't wait till tomorrow to have.
Calling mother on cell phone standing behind my car: Hey, it's me. I'm standing outside on your driveway. Do you know if Tamara left her window open?
Mother: No, she doesn't usually open the windows.
Me: I didn't think so. It looks like the screen is off too.
Mother (Sounding disgusted) : Well, Darlene, I'll have to go check.
Me: Check what? I'm not talking about YOUR window. I'm talking about hers.
Mother (still agitated): Well, I don't know anything about that. You know I can't see well enough to see if it's open.
Me (rolling eyes trying to stay calm): I know you can't. I'm telling you it looks like her window is open. I'm looking at it. And your groceries are in my trunk.
Mother: Well, you'll have to call the company. I don't know where she is at. I'll unlock the door for you.
Me: Alright. I just hate to take my eyes off of it if someone is inside.
Mother (being hateful): Well, I can't see to look up the number.
Me: Fine. Bye.
Take groceries to the door as she blocks the entrance with her walker, decrepit self and her dog. Get past her and put groceries down.
Me (Putting the groceries down and getting agitated): How am I going to look up the number? What's the name?
Mother: Well, it's on that paper they turn in. They leave a copy and I keep them in the piano bench. Tamara just put one in the folder today.
She hobbles over to the bench and lifts it up. I come by her and pick up the first packet on the top.
Me (picking up the first thing in the pile): Is this it? It's an envelope not a folder.
Mother (Very annoyed with me) : NO! It's a folder!!
I look under the multitude of envelopes to find "the" folder.
ME: I got it.
I step just outside on the front porch to keep an eye on the place as I call. Only there is no number in the folder. Just a sign off sheet showing that she had been there and how many hours total for the week. I decide to call the girl that comes to give mother her bath. She works for the same company and I have her cell phone number. She tells me the phone number and says that the company will call Tamara and tell her if I call but, not if she called them.
I call the number and I am telling the woman I am trying to leave a message for Tamara Johnson and this is the only number I have to get the message to her.
Worker: I'm sorry I can't give out Tamara's personal information, blah blah blah
Me (getting frustrated. Foot hurting. Up to long and just want to get away from here): Mame, I don't want her personal information. I know her personal information. I live across the street from her and it looks like one of her windows is open and in all the years I've known her, I've never known her to leave a window open and I'm just trying to get that message to her.
Worker: Oh! Well, have you called the police?
Me: I think I should get a hold of her first. It may be she is aware it is open.
Worker: Everyone is in a meeting right now but, I will see what I can do about getting a hold of her.
Me: Thank you.
I hang up and go back in the house. Mother trying to put away her groceries. Seems calmed down.
Me (relieved): Okay, I called. They wanted to know why I didn't call the police, I told them I wanted her to know first. Poor Tamara. That call will freak her out.
Mother (snippy): Well, Darlene she isn't working for that company today. She is working for a private company today.
Me: WHAT?!?!?!?! You said to call the company.....
Mother (Back in defensive angry mode again): Well I just remembered she isn't working for them today but, you had already run outside before I could tell you.
Bear in mind, foot is in boot. I am not "running" anywhere. I am agonizingly limping very slowly.
Me: You know what? This just isn't in anyway my problem. I'm done.
Mother (still hobbling around in the kitchen) Well, I'll call the police then! What is their number?
Me: Uhm, 9-1-1 ?!
Me: I'm leaving
I get in my car, drive around the corner to get a closer look. What do you know? Her window wasn't open after all. It was a half window with a window A/C sticking out of it and she apparently cleaned the glass so good it looks open. OOPS! My bad. heehee