Yo Hablo Espanol. And Yes, I Do Know Who The Father Is

I own a contract with the U.S. Postal service. Let me assure you that the postal system is as inept, backward, and overpriced as it seems. All of the jokes are true. They make the Russian bureaucracy look like a well oiled political machine. They send you a letter that states that they are going to send you a letter that will precede three forms that will stipulate the changes they are making pursuant to your contract. Notice the word CONTRACT. There seems to be a large amount of confusion regarding this word. A contract is a legally binding agreement in which two parties agree to certain terms for a specified length of time. Now the postal systems says that they have changed my contract?! Um, they can't do that.
But anyway, I did not feel like taking the U.S. Postal system to court over $120.00. Which is what it cost me to have the drug screens for myself, the master, and our relief driver. When it comes time to renew the contract, I will simply add the amount--along with ample padding to cover any other new additions--to my bid. Two can play at this little game.
So yesterday, I loaded up the van with the kiddos and hied myself to the workforce drug screening place to pay for the tests and make my deposit. I sternly warned the children that we were going into a place of business that was not used to having kids in it, that I regretted that they would have to wait with me but that I would get done as soon as possible, and they had better remain calm and quiet OR ELSE. When we stepped in to the waiting room, the kids eyed me suspiciously. There was a large banner pinned to the wall featuring children of all ages and races with the words "PARENTAGE TESTING--100% Accuracy." There was a leggo table and two bubblegum machines, and lots of Highlights lying around. I never thought of that particular market for a lab. I grinned sheepishly at the kids. Ooops. My mistake.
We took seats on the front row. There were four men dressed in the plant jumpers and a long line of Mexican laborers along the back. Raucous laughter from this latter sector erupted as soon as we came in to sight.
Mexican 1: in Spanish One, two, three, four, five...It is taking her a while to figure things out, no?
Mexican 2: in Spanish Maybe she just doesn't pay attention.
Mexican 3: in Spanish Someone should get that woman a calendar!
Of course, they never dreamed that I could understand them and they couldn't see my face turn a dull red. Then one of their amigos came out with his test verification and they lost interest in me. (following conversation in Spanish)
Amigo: Hey, Robert, where are you going now?
Robert: To the house.
Amigo: You aren't going to take the paper to the office?
Robert: No, I'm going to fax it.
Amigo: All right then, good by.
Robert: See you tomorrow.
For some reason this exchange attracted Abby's attention and after Robert had made his exit, she asked loudly, "Mommy, what did they say?" I turned to her and with an equally loud voice translated the conversation. Silence from the back row. I almost feel bad for them. Almost, but not quite.