Community Service

Community Service | Part Five

Community Service | Part Five

            Thirty minutes after the fire sprinklers turn off and the fire trucks leave, water dripping down my face and soaking my pink dress, the only thing I can think of is the scene from Mulan when she lights The Matchmaker on fire and splashes tea on her face, causing The Matchmaker's self-made goatee to drip everywhere. And as superficial as it was, I really really hoped that my toothbrush mustache had stayed put during our shower.

           "Well, I don't think that how you planned this to go." Ross whispers at me as we huddle in the kitchen, Anna furiously berating us for the mess we caused. I'm on the edge of my seat, as far away from Ross as possible, and I try to ignore his comment, focusing on Anna's energized hand movements. 

            "At least you didn't burn the kitchen down." Ross continues, chuckling a little as he shifts in his seat.

            Gritting my teeth, I stiffen and move further away, perching delicately against the very corner of my seat. Anna catches my eye and shakes her head, and I can tell that she is pissed.

            "When your esteemed dean called me and told me that two responsible teenagers could help out around here, I thought that the word responsible was being used in a reasonable fashion. The word, however, is not a reflection of your behavior in the least, and I am incredibly disappointed in the danger you put yourself and an entire community in."

            I cringe in my seat and lower myself, looking down at my sopping wet shoes, afraid to meet Anna's eyes.

            "Now, I'm not sure what's going on between the two of you, but you need to stop. You have to be around for another eight hours and I expect you to clean up the mess and resume order, do you understand?"

            I relax a bit as her tone gets less sharp, listening as Ross taps his shoes against the ground, creating an infuriating noise.

            "Jenn," I flinch as Anna addresses me, slowly looking up at the angry woman. "Please remove that hideous mustache from your face. I want you back in the kitchen, scrubbing every inch until everything is clean. The seniors will have to settle for pizza."

            Reflecting back on my life, elbow-high in a sink full of soapy water and dirty dishes, it is immensely clear that there has not been a moment in my life that has been half as embarrassing as setting a senior home on fire while sporting an unattractive Hitler-stache. My upper lip area burns from the cheap liquid soap and excessive scrubbing and I know that if I glance at the bottom of the pan, the shadow of my former mustache will reflect loudly and clearly.

            Ross is outside mopping the soggy floor when I carry out a pile of dishes to be reorganized in the cabinet. I ignore his quick glance, gripping the plates even tighter as I try to channel my anger into the porcelain ware instead of pouncing on him for a second time.

            After I finish putting away all the dishes and cleaning the burnt pan, Anna assigns me to mopping the dining hall with Ross. While he works on the left corner, I am diagonal, as far away as possible, and I move slowly, skirting to a new area the second he comes within a fifty feet radius.

            When we are done at five o'clock, I am as relieved as I have ever been, barely saying a goodbye to a still-upset Anna before running for my awfully parked car, Ross close behind. Fumbling for my keys, I finally close the door behind me, slamming it for good effect, and breathe a deep sigh of frustration.

            In all my seventeen years, I don't think I have gotten in as much trouble as I have the past week. The most traumatic and embarrassing situation I had ever been in involved Aladdin at Disneyland and a pair of soiled shorts, but chemistry and toothbrush mustaches really topped it off. And the only common thing between the two situations?