Dear God, Please Save Me, and Be With Cathy Burger

Dear God in heaven, thank you for this beautiful day, Lord. Today was just gorgeous. Oddly, summerly warm for January. Chaotic, but mostly only due to my job and the crazy state of the world, as so many countless days have been for, oh, ages, now. But it was a lovely day, anyway. 

Until, of course, the rash of outrageous calls and endless texts from fucking Cathy Burger. Cathy's name may have been changed to protect her privacy, God, but you know who I am praying about. 

Please, God, please take this anger out of me, Lord. Take this irritation from my heart, and please, please, help me want and have compassion, and to pray for this outrageously horrible Cathy person. 

I have known her for probably a good 7 years or so by now. She initially began harassing me over the phone when the boys were small. You remember. My outgoing voicemail message used to say, "I'm either in the field, or changing a diaper, or I might be changing a diaper in a field." This, along with my email and media handle, "Mother Realtor," was actually carefully chosen: a good flag of warning, I thought. To caution clients who might need a different type of agent. An agent with nothing else going on in their lives. Someone single and more hungry. Maybe an agent with a cat. But not someone nursing babies, remodeling various properties, making meals for her family, or cleaning, or doing laundry, or running errands for her husband, or parents, or anyone else in her village who daily helped keep her world spinning 'round. Not someone who, God forbid, ever needed a few minutes to use the restroom, or take a shower. Cathy made it clear she expected me to pick up on the first ring, and I had better have a good hour to listen to her list and pitch and roll about... even though it never amounted to anything. Cathy and I have never even met in person, but after telling her I wouldn't be able to be at her beck and call, that I would, however, put her in touch with an agent who could better serve her, she refused to take my suggested route. She seemed happier to try squeezing blood from the type of real estate agent rock that was me. 

She did, though, take every opportunity to tell me how unprofessional I was and disgusting. Yes, she said I was disgusting. For using the word diaper on my answering machine. But she found it perfectly fine to ear-rape me about how she enjoys peeing standing up with some miraculous gadget or other she had found, as well as other non-related-to-real-estate aspects of her life, for hours on end. I distinctly recall at the time wondering if she was just another real estate agent, crank calling me, just wasting my time for giggles, on the other end of the line. It was unbelievable to me that another person would behave this way with a stranger over the phone in this manner. Eventually, I suppose she grew tired of my avoidance of her, and for several years, all was blissfully quiet.

But she reappeared in my life, God, as you know, a few months ago. A new phone number, (I wonder if she changed it after burning so many bridges with the other) and she glibly dismissed her rude behavior with me before. But still, I said, "How can I help you, Cathy?" ...and it all began all. over. again. 

There was even a social media post within my real estate circles, and desperate posts referencing "Help! Who is this mad woman?!?" and "What do we do?" She demands showings and expects impossible results, berates anyone who answers, reschedules, or flakes out completely. There seemed to be zero benefits for either side to being involved.  So forgive me, Lord. In a rush to do work that would actually yield fruit, I casually told my colleagues to run, and continued on with my business. But poor Cathy. What do I actually know of her troubles? I have directly heard from more than five colleagues, all I know well and trust, that they have had similar experiences with her. I know she is elderly, I know she is alone. And what if she is simply sad? Or just lonesome? Or completely off her rocker with no one to care? 

Well, when I didn't respond to her in a way she approved of this evening, she called the cops on me. She wailed and cried that she was going to sue me, or I was going to sue her, or both, and that I was on meth, and, of course, she was going to "tell my broker on me." I got a call tonight from a local sheriff, asking if indeed I was on meth, and am I ok? My first reaction, to be sure, was... rage? Such a silly and flippant remark alone could have huge, devastating, dire consequences to me and mine. METH?!? Am I going to have Child Protective Services called on me because of the irresponsible rantings of this random old lady? Then she called and left a few more nasty messages. From a blocked number. Then she posted a one-star review on Google about me. The review literally reads:

Well, I could review this review all day. It definitely begs critique. "And she invites me?" Where did I invite you, Cathy? To take a long walk off a short pier? To go fly a kite? If you are going to post some criticism for the entire world to see, can you at least use complete thoughts and sentences, for goodness sake?! And also, Hi, Pot! Meet Kettle! And thanks a lot, Google! You champions of freedom of nonsense speech. (Google, FYI, will not remove rantings unless you have a court order for them to do so, and even then, they need to "elevate it to their legal team" and blah blah blah. So this all makes me angry! But that's not all. I also got an email from my brokerage asking me what this is about and demanding a heads up if this is going to affect them any. I'm feeling very low on care on how it could possibly affect anyone outside of me and my little circle at this moment, so please forgive me for that, too, God, but then also there's this idea gnawing at me, ever stronger. I really think I need to take a deep breath, pull my head out of my ass for a moment, and consider that I should actually be praying for her.

So please God, please be with Cathy tonight. Please send her love, and attention, and fill her with feelings of value, Lord. Please show her that she is worthwhile and that she matters. I don't think she has any family, but please send her someone, or a friend, or a cuddle from a pet, or a glimpse of a shooting star, and please remind her that the world needs all types of folk Even crazy bitches like Cathy. She's a dizzy old dame, but You made her, and that's good. I don't yet understand why You have brought her into my life, but please show me, and soften my heart towards her, God. I'm sorry that my ears are actually throbbing over this and my face hurts a little because she got so far under my skin today. Forgive me, God. In Jesus' name, I pray, Amen.

P. S. 

One day will you finally admit to me that there is some kind of collective consciousness going on here? I mean, is life imitating art, imitating life, imitating art? Because I was feeling very Elizabeth Bennet in all these exchanges, and she, well, she has thus far been so incredibly-very Lady Catherine de Bourgh..er......