Just My Type(7)

Lincoln jumps down off the bar stool and races out of the room, just as my cell phone dings, indicating I have a new email. Snatching up my phone to check it really quick while Lincoln is brushing his teeth, I gasp loudly as soon as I see the subject line of the new email.

To: Ember Hastings

From: [email protected]

Subject: Shit Mouth Transcription

“Oh, no. Oh, fuck,” I mutter, tossing my phone back onto the counter like it’s made of fire.

I think about the email from corporate. I think about the transcription project saved in drafts in my account with JMT. Then, I think about the fact that I had an entire weekend to get this project completed, since Lincoln was with his dad, but I decided to spend it in my pajamas, watching unrealistic romantic comedy movies, while I cried through several bags of Reese’s Cups, because my life is neither romantic nor funny, and that’s just bullshit. I cried, and I stuffed my face with chocolate, and I felt sorry for myself, when I should have been finishing that project and removing all my notes before sending it back to the client.

Oh, God, my notes!

Freaked out butterflies start flapping around in my stomach, and I feel like I might vomit. There’s only one person this email could have come from. The only person I’ve called Shit Mouth in the last few days. In my defense, I called him that in private.

You know, the private place on the JMT site that stopped being private and secure while I was trying not to get any snot on the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups I was inhaling like a vacuum cleaner.

Racing around the counter, I rush over to the couch and grab my laptop, quickly logging in to my account. I can see the file still sitting in drafts, but clearly that means nothing right now. Opening the document, I reread what I worked on Friday, groaning as I go.

Not only do I replace any nicknames I may have given the clients before I submit the file as completed, but the program the company uses automatically deletes everything I put in parenthesis before it’s sent to the client when it goes through their editing program, unless I turn that feature off. Sometimes, I put questions in parenthesis for myself, like (Google this big, fancy medical term and make sure you spelled it right). Sometimes, I make a note to come back to a certain spot and re-listen to make sure I heard the words correctly. Sometimes, there’s such a long pause between people speaking that I type random thoughts so I’m constantly moving my fingers and not breaking up the flow of my quick typing. I read through the file one more time, and it doesn’t magically get any better.

Speaker #1: Talks like he has shit in his mouth. He shall now be referred to as Shit Mouth.

Speaker #2: She gives zero fucks about this interview. She just wants to get laid. Hello, Skanky Giggler.

Skanky Giggler: “I just can’t tell you how happy I am you asked me to interview you.” *Sigh (Here we go with the breathy sighs.)

Shit Mouth: “Mmm-hmm…” (And other unintelligible words. Take the shit out your mouth.)

Skanky Giggler: “Let’s get right down to it, shall we? What’s your favorite color?” (What are you, five? Who the fuck asks that as their first question in an adult interview??)

Shit Mouth: “Uh… mmm… purple.” (Might be purple. Might not. Sounds more like burnt hole. Maybe that’s a new Crayola color. Google it.)

Skanky Giggler: *Giggles (For fuck’s sake)

(She’s still giggling. Because he said burnt hole. Or purple. Neither one is funny. I bet she’s twirling her hair around her fingers while she giggles. Is she even a professional interviewer? What is happening right now? Can we get to the good stuff and ask some important questions here?)

Skanky Giggler: “Okay, next question. (Fucking finally) Are you single?” (JESUS CHRIST)

Shit Mouth: “Is that really important for this piece?” (Yeah, you tell her, Shit Mouth.)

Skanky Giggler: “I think it’s really important to establish who you are as a person first and foremost.” (*GIGGLES)

Shit Mouth: “I’m… I guess…” (Don’t do it, man) *Sigh “I’m single.” (Son of a bitch. You’re a disgrace. Where are your balls???)

Skanky Giggler: “It’s obvious you work out a lot. (No she did NOT.) I think it’s really awesome you own your own gym. (Ahhh, so that’s where his balls went. To the steroids. Don’t do drugs, kids.)

“Well, I’m good and truly fucked.”

“If you can say the F-word all the time, I can say penis whenever I want,” Lincoln announces as I look up from my phone to find him standing in front of me with his backpack on and his teeth freshly brushed.

“Okay, fine.” I shrug, grabbing my keys from the counter and choosing to deal with this problem right now instead of the Shit Mouth one. “But since I’m the adult, I’ll test it out first, okay there, penis? Did you pack your penis in your backpack? Did you study for your penis test?”

“Moooom,” Lincoln whines as I usher him out the front door.

“What’s wrong, penis? I thought we were cool with penis,” I say as we get into my car and buckle up. “Turn on the penis and find a good song. I bet it will be a song about pe—”

“Okay!” Lincoln finally shouts with a laugh. “It’s not cool when you say it. It’s kind of gross. I won’t say it all the time anymore.”

Well, I’m not going to win Mother of the Year anytime soon, but that’s one problem solved.