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Friday was my last day of five in a row at the AAA Call Center and I was scheduled for 3-11 pm.

Except partner Tonya called in that her two daughters caught her strep throat and she was doing her patented mother hen routine. I have faithfully warned Tonya for quite some time now that her little mini-queens WILL break her heart in 4/6 years depending on age. She lives in an ever less comforting state of denial and I ponder that I used to get much more fun out of I told you so then of late.

Be that as it may I am now faced with the task of being gracious about being expected to work an extra hour closing at midnight and pretend why it's no imposition at all team player glad to do it will add more lustre to that gold watch 9 years or so in my future.

But Tami knows my drama queen mentality and is well aware of all my tricks. She smiles and says Claire might be able to close by herself. She's been in training for it for a week now and closing is a piece of cake even the Geico cavemen would think beneath them. I'm not to enjoy my martyr status and my chip is sliding rapidly off my shoulder in a snit. Tami (rightfully) calls Tonya back and asks if she thinks Claire is ready. Tonya believes so. I go back to daydreaming about 11 pm and after work marriage benefits I have been so carefully laying the groundwork for the past three days.

The fly in the ointment is Josh. He wants me to stay anyway and sends Tami to me with the news in the back room where I'm making notes on the Avengers issues from my want list (we dare not type NEED list) I picked up at the Bookery on the way in and I am now officially broke with one nickel to my name. Avengers score: 61 out of 503. The drama queen turns primna donna--not a pretty sight and Litnet now has the visual evidence to back up that statement. I tease her that I'll do for you Tami (in her capacity as Dispatcher Coordinator--more proof a title is better then a pay raise) rather then for Josh (my real boss) but darn he's on the phone actually conducting business so my mini-drama goes the way of a TV writers strike--unwritten and never filmed. Oh well--an hour overtime at the OM rate. By the by I work Sunday for Tonya who's owed an entire day's worth of comp time but my sudden vacation day last Monday out of the blue nixed the OM rate for these upcoming eight hours. Something is better then nothing I always say. Stolen sort of from Travis McGee by way of John D. MacDonald.

The busy period comes and settles down and around 9 pm or so I'm down to three calls and the rest of the night goes fairly well with only one interesting flareup that merits recording.

Sprint has a roadside assistance program they push. They should work their phone programs and leave towing to the pros. AAA National several years ago decided to expand the customer base by taking on extra programs such as BMW, VW, Hertz (the nastiest people to deal with by far) and a few others. I personally have always objected to this added workload because I'm a AAA member's first and only. They paid their dues with that in mind. In the good old days I'm pretty sure I would have been a believer in the Monroe doctrine. I'll keep my yard--you mind yours mentality.

The very first thing I would do is teach Sprint customer service how to read a map. Or AT LEAST find out what COUNTY a member is in. I have a Sugar Creek township in my territory. The key word here is township. The real Sugar Creek Ohio is on the other side of the state. A word to the wise is sufficient.

Now the call that woke up the grizzley bear started innocently but annoyingly enough. A driver ran his car off the road into a yard in Beavercreek. Key word is YARD. A competent calltaker would have asked if said yard was the domicile of our incompetent operator of power equipment. If not--was the owner of the home there and was there any property damage? If so police reports made etc.?

None of this was done. Not the end of the world yet. We may still be able to deal with this. Possibly it was the home of Uncle Bob or girlfriend Sallie Jo whatever. We'll see.

There is only one contractor that regularly runs Beavercreek for me (and my main personal car repair facility) and they run their calls by a remote computer which means that they read the call at the same time that I'm reading it and we (their dispatcher and I) are coming to some conclusions.

John Doe Slipsingrass doesn't bother giving Sprint the ADDRESS of the yard he's in. Note Sprint didn't push for it. Sprint informs us that that he is in the 2100-2300 block of Smith street off of Jones street (names fictious to protect the dignity and the neighborhood of the real thing and a nod to old Dragnet reruns). Again annoying but not the end of the world.

My contractor goes looking for the despoiler of innocent lawns and pink flamingo ornaments. No car at the intersection or down the street.

Contractor dispatcher calls John Doe who admits he's been sitting in the car and GUESSING where he is. Dispatcher calls me and interrupts my quiet reverie of what does Logos really think of me thoughts and I shortcut my solutions. The member has updated it to an intersection a mile away from the original location. I know what the station is hinting at. They want a new ticket with the updated information then go looking again starting from scratch. This is not an unreasonable request.

In the next five minutes a Sprint manager will give new meaning to the old proverb "A miss is as good as a mile."

I speak to Sprint calltaker Maria with my practiced version of protraying the member as a geographically challenged soul who should be pitied but not coddled and can I please have my new ticket?

Maria is either new or been burned by this ploy before. She puts me on hold with 80s music for a few minutes then tells me Supervisor Mike says "No"--after all we gave you an approximate location." I wish I had pointed out the flaw in that theory by member being in a yard but my reaction to this unforeseen rebuttal was along the lines of having a thread locked down in the religious threads after I post something--it's happened but so rare as to be a fluke. (Yes dear Logos I know you said it wasn't ME but the padlock was so fast ---!!).

I console myself that I know just a wee bit of human nature and the quick correction of location is a signal of a straw clutcher and I may YET get my second call if all goes as I hope.

And it did.

He went from Smith/Jones to Smith/Wesley corner. Which means He is in a yard on Smith street. We go the mile and ---

ah you know.

No car.

Got him. My contractor calls him and John is not used to the concept of looking at door posts for addresses (or mailboxes). Even better he hangs up saying he'll go to a neighbor and ask them where he is.

Got him--the fatal mistake. He hung up. I instruct the station to pull off until we hear from Sprint--as member cut his own lifeline off by hanging up. Now he has to start over. And I will have my pound of flesh.

The victory was sweet.

By the way the yard was on Wesley street off Nowhere Near Smith street. The night gets better and better and I wrestle with Satan in not calling back Sprint to chortle and give an impromptu training exercise in better information gathering. Because I also know what's about to happen next.

Police are needed to do property damage report. That takes about 45 more minutes. I don't even bother asking Sprint I annotate the call to reflect a quite proper request for additional pay for needlessly tying up a tow truck for all that time waiting for The Serve and Protect organization when this could have been done PRIOR to calling us.

We fantasize about having a drink with Mike and laughing about the follies of men (mine would be a Mountain Dew and Mike would leave the tip). Only fair.

Better chances of the Long Suffering One buying me Avengers #1 before that happens. (Though she gave me money for the Giant-Size Avengers #1 last month come to think of it.)

THIS has been a lesson in the consequences of what happens when you DON'T try to help yourself (John Doe) and Sprint (who should have done a better job of it.) We are willing to suffer an honest fool but not a lazy one.