Please Donate to the "Mephanie Gets a Tan and Helps Jamaican Orphans" Fund

After my first year of college I moved off grounds. My new apartment was located roughly a mile from class and bars and was, in the mind of a college sophomore, a bit of a trek (of course now that I live in an actual city I laugh at this naivete). In my new apartment there was a kitchen. A kitchen with a stove and a microwave and a toaster! However despite all these newfangled amenities and my nearly four star culinary skills, I tended to eat out or order in for every meal. I also started going to bars in my second year. My fake ID was working and I ordered amaretto sours like they were going out of style (which they were) and jager shots (which never go out of style). When the semester began to wind down and winter set in my friends and I fixated on spring break. We wanted to go to Jamaica. Between the cabs from my apartment to bars, the cost of pre-made food, those damned amaretto sours and a trip to Jamaica I went broke right as I took the trip home to NJ for Christmas break.

As I sat on my couch watching anything on HBO that stormy winter, I knew something would have to go. I couldn't afford this irresponsible lifestyle on the pittance my parents called a food and class allowance. There was no way I was going to be able to cover my share of our spring break trip which was going to run about $1,000. As I watched "Little Woman" for the fourth time (Beth's death got me every time) I knew I would have to take drastic measures. I researched scholarships and grants, considered taking out a loan. In the end I made the obvious choice. I created a PowerPoint, reminded my parents they were divorced and got down on my hands and knees.

Melizabeth and Marles, who rarely sat down in the same room together, united in their decision. They would sponsor my trip to Jamaica, which I was sure to explain would include many community service oriented activities like group jello shots and communal pot smoking with orphans. There was however a catch. I had to obtain a job. This job they said, would be part time and did not have to pay school related costs. It would however show my commitment to fiscal responsibility and a willingness to contribute to the newly created "Mephanie Gets a Tan and Helps Jamaican Orphans" fund. Whatever I could not cover they would then take care of. At that moment I felt the love in the room (though not between my parents of course, they were still divorced). And you know what, parental love feels and smells a lot like money.

When I got back to school in January I was relaxed, refreshed and reinvigorated. I was so thrilled to start job hunting. Of course it would have to wait until I was unpacked, started classes, got into a routine, had my car tuned up, got a hair cut, returned any old books, cleaned my room-you know that sort of stuff. After about six weeks of being at school I completed this long to do list. This just so happened to coincide with an extremely threatening joint email sent by my parents reminding me of the conditions of our agreement. Thus the job hunt began. Being a student and having a somewhat erratic schedule (mainly not wanting to work on the weekends or at night) I thought babysitting might suit me best. Among my many qualifications were extensive babysitting experience, a generally pleasant disposition, verbatim knowledge of every song from The Sound of Music and a desire to impact the youth of America.

One fateful afternoon after three days of answering ads with no luck, I called a Mrs. Mones. She had two boys aged 10 and 12 and was looking for someone who could sit from two to five on weekday afternoons. The boys, being active strapping young lads, had sports practices and play dates some days thus our hours would be cut short but our pay would remain consistent, $150 a week. Jackpot. I knew from my previous life as a ten year old boy that they would really only want to watch TV and play video games this would be easy. There was of course a problem. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I had class until three. "You can switch off with a friend," she suggested. "We've had people do that before." Mrs. Mones was a genius!

I guess at this point it would be appropriate to introduce Mmelissa. Best friend, Roommate, Free on Tuesdays and Thursday, and Babysitter extraordinaire. She was also an intended participant in the upcoming Jamaica service trip, thus my employment was of primary importance to her. I got off the phone with Mrs. Mones and explained the situation to Mmelissa, I told her how nice she sounded and how much money was being paid for hanging out with these seemingly awesome kids. Mmelissa was in. I called Mrs. Mones back to tell her of this good fortune. She said that before we made things official she would like to meet us just to make sure we all seemed to click. "Great!" Mmelissa and I exclaimed in unison. We set an "interview" for 1:00 p.m. that Friday at their house out in the burbs beyond our college bubble.

At 12:40 p.m. on Friday afternoon I hurried out of my last class of the day into Mmelissa waiting car. I was dressed in my babysitting interview best; wearing my cutest boot cut jeans, a pink pinstriped long sleeved polo with the sleeves rolled up just the right amount, pearl earrings (what mother doesn't feel at ease with pearls), and a pair of sunglasses perched atop my head, holding my long straight brown hair out of my face.

"Heyyy!" I got in the car throwing my books in the backseat.
"Oh Shit!" Mmelissa greeted me. I turned to look at her and instantly understood her word choice. In the driver's seat Mmelissa sat wearing the exact same outfit as me, down to our light brown Rainbow flip flops.
"Crap. We look ridiculous." Goddamn UVA and its preppy uniform of polo's and flip flops.
"Why did you wear that, didn't you see me this morning before you left for class?" Mmelissa accused.
"I wore it because I thought it was cute." Clearly she had as well. "And no I didn't see you this morning or else I would not have worn it."
"Do you have an extra shirt on you?" Mmelissa asked.
"No." God she's dumb, I thought. "I didn't happen to bring a change of clothes."
"Well there is no time to go home now, we'll just have to hope Mrs. Mones doesn't notice."

We arrived at the Mones' without a minute to spare. The house was mid-sized with a basketball hoop in the driveway and a soccer goal in the front yard. Plush green grass surrounded the house on all four sides. This was the type of family that had barbecues on the back deck and threw block parties with the neighbors. We put on the most wholesome smiles we could muster and rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Mones answered the door wearing a pair of mom jeans like I've never seen before. They were wedged right up under her sagging bosom. Her red turtleneck was tucked in to the faded elastic waist. Her hair, cut much like my own mother's, was short and wispy with bangs and a general dullness that suggested she used Pert Plus instead of Pantene Pro-V.

"Hi girls!" Her southern accent sounded stronger than on the phone, her voice warm and welcoming. We each introduced ourselves and shook her hand. She lead us into the kitchen and we took our seats around the table where breakfast place mats with maps and superheros still sat.

"So I just wanted to meet you before we set anything in motion. I hope that's okay?"
"Of course!" We said in unison, far too enthusiastically.
"My you two sound alike. You know when I first opened the door I couldn't get over how much you look alike, you could be sisters!" Mrs. Mones smiled.
"Well we kind of are." Mmelissa said with a gush, waving her hand between us. Mrs. Mones smile turned into a puzzled frown. What did that mean, she must have been wondering, as I certainly was. "We kind of are" implied that there was some unanswered question about our relationship, as if there was an unknown concerning our paternity that would soon be answered and confirm our blood connection.
"I think Mmelissa meant we practically are, we're so close. Best friends!" I piped in, attempting to steer Mrs. Mones away from the thoughts I was already having. There was an awkward group laugh and I poked Mmelissa under the table. We moved on to our majors and extracurriculars. Mrs. Mones told us about her sons. They were huge sports fans and were obsessed with UVA soccer.

"Wouldn't you know," Mmelissa said, her Southern accent singing sweetly. "I know the WHOLE entire team. I'm very close with them." Mmelissa leaned in and gave Mrs. Mones a knowing look and a sly half smile. A look likely intended to imply confidence and a knowledge of athletics. Instead however, she looked like a whore who had slept with the entire mens soccer team. While I knew of and had no problem with Mmelissa's propensity for late nights and high risk behavior, our potential employer appeared horrified. "I mean I know a couple of the guys from high school and go to a lot of games." Mmelissa, realizing her error in tone and expression tried to backtrack. Another awkward laugh.

We talked a few minutes more about schedules and availability before Mrs. Mones showed us the door and said she would be in touch. Mmelissa and I ran to the car bursting out laughing as soon as we had driven out of view. Recounting our follies we were sure no one in their right mind would ever entrust us with their children. Jamaica began to seem like a dream. I began to work on the PowerPoint that would explain to my parents why I had been unable to find unemployment and why "Mephanie Gets a Tan and Helps Jamaican Orphans" fund remained a worthy investment.

Three nights later, as Mmelissa and I sat in our living room eating the overpriced unhealthy food we had just ordered, my phone rang.
"Hello," I answered, mouth full of fries.
"Hi Mephanie it's Mrs. Mones. I talked it over with my husband and we would love for you and Mmelissa to start babysitting as soon as possible!"
"Yes, we would love to!" Food went everywhere and Jamaica materialized in front of me.
"The only thing is," Mrs. Mones hesitated. "Event though the boys love soccer, I don't want Mmelissa bringing any players by the house, or any boys for that matter. Ever."