Tattletale

I took on that role twice this past week. Despite schoolyard teachings against such behavior, I'd do it again, both times.

The first time I called in to our office to report a fellow driver for not being in uniform while working. I know he was working because he was picking up freight from the same company at the same time as I was. Our uniform is a light blue button-front logo shirt, either long or short sleeved, with navy or grey pants or shorts, and sensible shoes to protect the feet from the many hazards they encounter in factories, construction sites, etc. For weather, add logo hat, logo sweatshirts, and logo jackets. He was dressed in open sandals, no socks, black pants, and a dark blue knit shirt.

His attire reflects on all of us, and lack of uniform has cost us many a customer. (One notorious example was a guy showing up in pants hung with chains. Our company "didn't reflect the image they wanted to present to their clients." No kidding!) Since it might affect my bottom line, and my company pride (or what's left, anyway), I ratted him out. I've done it before, including a fashion plate years ago who thought her choice of attire was much more fetching than the old style green and tan uniforms. She was right about that, but still not in uniform.

Today was a completely different issue. While it may not be the route to job security, I called 911 to report one of our customer's clients.

I had a pharmacy delivery to somebody's home, one important enough that it had to be signed for. It was a non-security apartment, so I walked right to their door. No doorbell or knocker, so I exercised my knuckles for a while. And again. And again. While nobody came to answer the door, I could hear what sounded like two very small children running around, laughing and squealing. My mother's ear pegged one of them at about two and the other just older. There were no words spoken. The surname suggest recent immigrant, so I was prepared for English difficulties from an adult, or foreign words from the children, but they seemed pre-verbal. I say that now, having had most of the day to reflect on it, but my impression at the time was simply kids in diapers, and just from the sounds.

Each time I knocked, the door moved in its frame a bit. It hadn't even been latched. Had somebody stepped out, leaving it ajar, having no key to let themselves back in with? I carefully pulled it back to close to being shut, and resumed knocking. I will enter a business without invitation, but never a home. The kid noises had stopped by this time, and I gave up knocking. I sat on the stairs and called in to dispatch, getting the number of our shipping customer to explain the situation to them to get their instructions. They had a phone number and called it, with no answer. I heard no phone ringing inside, though the walls and door allowed all kinds of noises through. (The baby across the hall cried for a while until Daddy came and started goo-gooing to it, and I heard all that clearly, every syllable.) We presumed the number belonged to a cell phone, and the owner was not present. They tried the mother's phone number, listed in their records as an alternate. All they got there was somebody taking the call only to immediately hang up. No voice. Also no sound of a phone from the apartment.

I was told to return the drugs to them, which I did. But I stopped on my way before leaving the parking lot to phone 911 and report my suspicion of small children being left alone, explaining all the details. Years ago I did day care, and that made me a mandatory reporter. There's probably a better term for it, but it means any evidence of abuse of neglect of a child and I was mandated to report it to the proper authorities. I never needed to do it then, but I still feel the responsibility, even without the mandate. So I called. They said they'd check it out.

My imagination provides several scenarios. One is of somebody there, afraid for whatever reason to come to their door. Was I from immigration? One is of children left alone with strict instructions to run away and hide if somebody showed up, never opening the door, and -with the slip of the initial noise - trying to pretend nobody was there. One is of an adult there but sleeping/drugged/incapacitated enough to not hear and answer. The door leaves me thinking the most likely scenario was somebody left in charge who simply left "for a minute". I will likely never know for sure anything beyond the fact that I heard evidence of very young children but none of any supervision.

Plus the fact that I tattled.