This may bore you, shock you or amuse you, I hope it is the latter.
I lived in Fowlerville, Michigan for a number of years in a handyman special home. You know the kind of places with a stop sign and one stop light and if you blink you miss the village. At any rate, for those number of years we contended with a lot of issues. You may remember the movie, “Money Pit.” One of the first problems was the water line that gave a direct source of water to our crawl space, so much so, it might as well have been a swimming pool. Needless to say, we had to have the water shut-off, fix the problem and turn the water back on.
In the course of that time, I began working at the village offices. I made the mistake of letting the clerk know that our water was shut-off and then turned on again. So why is that important, the Department of Public Works (DPW) Manager also served as the Village Manager. He did not charge us; however, the clerk that I opened my mouth to did charge for the shut-off for services rendered. Oh well, the story goes on.
A new Village Manager was hired, Dan Bishop. He offered to have me be the Assistant Village Manager. The Clerk then made the decision to let me go as I was an, “at will employee.” I discussed the situation with George Tait, a trustee, who thought I should contest the decision. I decided; however, I did not want to work in a hostile work environment.
As it turns out, I was hired by the Fowlerville Schools. Yes, it is a small world as there were times I substituted for my son’s kindergarten class and low and behold, his teacher was the clerk’s daughter. The position worked out well though and I received $5.00 more an hour than when I worked at the Village offices. Sometimes it pays off to keep one’s mouth shut.
Well, turning along in time, the clerk ultimately became the temporary village manager as well as serving as clerk, which became an issue for the Attorney General, Frank Kelly. Remember small worlds, Frank Kelly graduated with my mom from St. Theresa’s in Detroit. Kelly ruled the clerk could not serve in an elected position and a hired position. I am glad I never confronted her myself, and we remained amiable over the years. She was forced to give up the village manager position.
In the course of all the reminiscing, I nearly forgot to tell you about our resident bats for twenty-two years. The first night we resided in our new home, which was a VA, FHA, HUD home, my ex-husband and I were sleeping in the bed along with our two-year-old in the living room when dashing out from the ceiling light was a bat.
I immediately pulled the covers over myself and our daughter while my ex-husband chased after the bat like Pete Rose hitting a homer or for you younger generation, Miguel Caberra.
For whatever reason, maybe because my ex-husband didn’t know how, we never had an exterminator.
For twenty-two years and after a divorce I contended with bats. My neighbors, who I will call the Handy's, told me about the trick of a tennis racquet where the bats are unable to detect the swing and low and behold… I could probably have volleyed with Venus and Serena Williams as I learned how to nail those things.
For our environmental enthusiasts, know that we had a high number of rabid bats in Livingston County. So much so, that one day I was on a walk with my ex-husband in daylight and a bat leaped from a tree right into my right ear. My ex-husband ran and got a shovel and smacked that thing.
My neighbor, Mrs. Handy, who was about in her eighties at the time, said I should take it to the health department. Just my luck, the bat had rabies, so I had to take the shots. It was in 2005, and my mother passed away that year.
I will share more of this story when time allows.
