Not the Matcher

It is a wonderful program! It is a stupendous, super terrific, excellent program! And you get to be your school’s coordinator. Hooray! Wow! What an honor! Yes! I was thrilled for a red minute. I talked sixteen teachers into being trained as mentors. I signed up forty-eight children. I have uploaded all the data into a computer, that only took me four hours of my own time Our entire school system’s grand kick-off is tonight for the mentors to meet the mentees and their families. As I got to enter all of the children’s interests, and several of them checked all two hundred boxes. I am not the matcher. I had begged to be the matcher, because I know the mentors and mentees. The matching though, has to come from headquarters, from a computer. A data-entry-guru named Shirley has to do the matching; a woman who does not know any of the players. This is the system, and it is in place, and it has apparently worked in the past. Shirley was so upbeat and positive and loving and loud and happy at first. As the school coordinator, my job was to invite all the children who have been matched By upbeat, positive, loving, loud, happy Shirley. Out of the forty-eight potential matches, in spite of three phone calls to her, she has matched 2 children. Remember, the part where I am only allowed to invite the children who have been matched? Only two have been matched. Neither mentor can make it, and the big wow kick-off party is tonight. I am supposed to bring eight people to my table. She said she had faith in me. Who? I asked not- as-upbeat-positive-loving- loud Shirley as yesterday, because I have no idea who. Invite the other children who need mentors she told me. I promise I will match them by next week. She had already promised me she would match some by this Tuesday, and that did not happen. We are having a kick off meeting this afternoon, and a kick off dinner tonight. I will be sitting at a table for eight, alone. Natural consequences. Taking no blame for this myself, I will happily sit and write poetry.