Narrative

Never Again, Mrs. Campbell I was eleven years old when I first started babysitting. Whether it was for thirty minutes or five hours, I loved the independent feeling I got every time the parents shut the front door. For the first few years, I took every babysitting job to come my way; however, once I got older, it just became a hassle. One night, I accepted a job I will never forget. I received a phone call asking for my help on the following Saturday for only two hours. In need of a little extra cash, I gladly accepted the offer. I showed up at the little brick house with flower pots in the front at around 6:30 pm. I rang the doorbell and my mom’s friend opened the door. She smiled kindly and we made small talk for a few minutes. Finally, she let me inside and showed me the living room. The sight of the room overwhelmed me. Toys and Barbie dolls were scattered everywhere. Dirty dishes overflowed the sink and dried up coffee stained the countertops in the kitchen. I should have paid attention to the red flag in my head, but I just ignored it. Mrs. Campbell approximated her arrival home to be around 9 o’clock. She walked me to the toy room where popcorn kernels and sippie cups lay on the floor. The three children, one boy and two girls, were quietly watching 101 Dalmatians while sitting on their neon colored bean bag chairs. I thought to myself, “This is going to be easy!” I was extremely mistaken. As soon as their mom pulled out of the driveway, the youngest girl began screaming as loud as she possibly could. I rushed over to her quickly, but the minute I touched her arm she stopped crying. Her eyes dried up immediately and she began to giggle. The other two children joined in and began laughing hysterically, as if I had just been the victim of a joke. Annoyed, I walked to the refrigerator to get a drink. When I grabbed the handle and pulled open the door, a jug of milk fell out and spilled onto the tile floor. Then I heard a cry, and looked over to see the baby sitting on the carpet watching me. She was upset because that had been her “bed time milk,” as the oldest boy explained. Finally, after getting the baby to calm down, I decided to play a board game with the children. After an hour of Candy Land, I had had enough of those colorful square playing cards. I thought watching TV would be a good, quiet activity to do. Two hours later, after watching three episodes of Barney, six sing-a-long songs with The Wiggles, and two episodes of Bob the Builder, it was about time for the kids to go to bed. The baby had fallen asleep during an episode of Barney, so I put her in her crib. The boy went to sleep willingly, and all that was left was the six year old girl. She sat on the floor and refused to move until her mom got home. I approached her and she ran to the opposite side of the room. Trying this method four times, I concluded that was not going to cut it. I gave up. The clock said 10:30 pm and I was furious. Not only was Mrs. Campbell an hour and a half late, but the little girl was throwing her crackers at me. Therefore, once I heard the front door open, I rushed over to greet their mother. I lied and told her how wonderful her children were, hoping the compliments would help me out in the end. She reached into her pocket and handed me a twenty dollar bill. At first, I thought it was a joke. I charge $4.00 a kid, per hour. I smiled and thanked her for the money. As I walked towards the door, I heard her say, “I’ll call you.” Needless to say, the next time her number appeared on my phone, I hit ignore.