Because my children can read

Lots of people have jobs that I wouldn’t want to do on a daily basis myself. I wouldn’t be the best server at TGI Appleton’s, and I’d be able to keep an occupation where actual labor was involved for about an hour and 17 minutes. I tend toward the sarcastic, have a vivid imagination, and own the softest little girl hands found outside of banking. At least bankers’ hands get dirty handling wads of dirty cash.

That theme in mind, I decided a few nights ago there is one job I definitely would not be any good at whatsoever: I would make a terrible Tooth Fairy.
The Tooth Fairy

I can only surmise that being the Tooth Fairy must be incredibly difficult. For one thing, it’s all night shift work. Nobody does it first shift. Doesn’t matter how many centuries you’ve been at it, you’re working 9 PM to 6 AM, at best. The Tooth Fairy envies the doughnut guy his hours.

Worse than the hours, though, is the uncertainty of the scheduling. Ever driven a delivery truck or worked for FedEX or UPS? Those guys, well, realistically, the logistics people supporting them, usually have a few days, at least, to arrange and prep schedules, If not, the recipient is paying through the nose for overnight delivery. The Tooth Fairy has no such luxury; often a kid will remove a tooth while lying in bed, trying determinedly not to go to sleep. Suddenly, as The Tooth
Fairy, you’ve got another customer that has to be serviced in that one night. And in case you didn’t notice, every night has a limited number of hours.

Now, I’ll readily admit that as a member of the faerie class, I’m sure the little pixie has some magical dust or something that serves to speed the job along. Still, pagan woodland magic can only stretch so far as a tool in the exchange of cash for a child’s teeth beyond the OEM warranty. I’ve no doubt that it would be helpful to know that you can blow a handful of glitter at a sleeping six year-old and have some degree of certainty that he or she won’t wake up while you’re digging under that pillow for a folded tissue containing a recently removed bicuspid. That assumes, of course, that the darling child in question has only the one tissue beneath that pillow. Often times, I bet there are more, full of something that’s decided not a recently removed tooth.

So, in my opinion, it would be really difficult — and sometimes kinda gross — to be the Tooth Fairy. Luckily, I write software for a living and don’t have to shoulder the burden of remembering to trade teeth for a George Washington or two while half asleep in the middle of the night without waking anyone up. Yep, knowing me, I’d fall asleep in my comfy recliner, stumble to bed in the wee hours, and forget to do my Fairy duties altogether. Indeed, that would be catastrophic; a Tooth Fairy that forgets to make a stop one night, no matter the short notice, is the kind of thing that starts a kid on the path to being the drummer in a high-profile rock band, and we all know what happens to them.

Pud’n

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