Mentor

Like many of you, I enjoy the maritime sports. Water polo, water football, water bathing, I cannot get enough H₂O in my diet. So when I was offered the opportunity by the New York education department to run a camp for water-challenged children from desert families, I balked. "How can they learn to swim," I asked my would-be employers, "if they've never even had a glass of water?" I hung up and never wanted to see their extracurricular faces again.

But Gloria Chowski -- that's the name of the department representative -- was very insistent that I run the upstate Special@Water Project (or SWAP as the legend goes. The commercial at sign was too over the top for me). She called me back the day after I turned them down, during one of my ten major mealtimes. "I cannot be part of your sham 'education!'" I yelled, slamming my phone so hard I broke the mold. Relief! I was in the clear! Then... she called an hour later. Then a half hour after that. It continued in that regressive geometric pattern until the interval between calls was less than the time it takes to dial my number; I assume that by that point, someone was assisting her on a separate line.

"Sea witch!" I bellowed, "I will not sell out for a pair of water wings and a badge! Those children are your responsibility, not mine. I have no desire to- yes, I'm aware of your department's history, but I don't- no. Really?" Her kind words were melting my heart, by golly! We spoke for the next two hours about her grandkids and what I could do to improve my community, which apparently does not include having my neighbors' dog stuffed and mounted. "Gloria," I told her, "how was I s'posed to know that they would form an emotional bond with a dog of all creatures? I've only seen them feed and water it." She was pretty insistent on that point. But by the time I faked going through a tunnel to get her off the line, we'd really gotten some of the core issues sorted. I think I'm supposed to run a camp somewhere, but I don't know where... it is...