The Working-Man Blues

 

(It's not easy being a working man.)

Yesterday, I didn’t have much to do at work, so I watched the Tucker Carlson Show on YouTube. It seems that Joe Biden lied about the number of jobs created in the second quarter of this year. He reported a million new jobs, but the real figure according to the Philadelphia Fed is closer to 10,000. This inflated amount gave Fed Chairman Jerome Powell the excuse to raise interest rates yet again. But here’s the sad truth. Senile Joe doesn’t even know what day it is. Therefore, somebody behind the curtain is controlling the narrative. Oh well. What’s a boy to do?

Suddenly, there came a tapping at my door. It was a guy named George. He’s one of the English teachers at my school.

He said, “I just went to see the vice principal.”

I said, “Did you sign a contract for next year?”

He nodded. “I sure did. But the meeting didn’t go well.”

“What happened?”

“I explained to her that I can’t do professional development over the break. I’m too busy with Korean classes and other activities. And she got kind of pissed off.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah, no shit. She said that she would have to rethink my course load for next semester and even suggested that I manage my free time in a more responsible fashion.”

I smiled at him. “And what did you say?”

“I told her that it’s my free time, and what I do in private is none of her business. I got so frustrated that I even cried real tears. I broke down. I have to admit that I’m somewhat ashamed of my behavior.”

I shrugged. “These things happen. But it’s nice to set boundaries. You’re absolutely right. What you do when you’re off work is your own affair.”

“Damn straight it is.”

George has been trying to get out of professional development for the last few weeks. I've told him many times to cool it with that nonsense, but he refuses to listen to my advice. All the teachers have to participate in professional development. It’s in our contract.

I got home later that day at 6 p.m. and played with Dolly the dog. I scratched her ear, and she licked my face. Then I switched on Netflix and began viewing a show called Knightfall. It’s comprised of 20 episodes and tells a tale about the Templar Knights. I managed to get through the first two parts before being assailed by an attack of violent diarrhea.

I ran to the toilet and read the headlines on my smartphone as I evacuated my bowels. The smell was terrible. It was so thick that you could almost taste it as it lingered in the air. The Korean government is clamping down on human trafficking and prostitution after they were scolded by America. According to the U.S. government, too many entertainers from poor countries like the Philippines are being lured to the peninsula for the purpose of sex work.

I walked to the living room to talk with my wife.

I said, “I need to get Rice-Boy’s American passport from the closet.”

She said, “Do eet. Why you ask me? I not you swave.”

“I never said that you were my slave. But you got all kinds of crap piled on top of the box where it’s located. And I don’t want to screw anything up, or you'll chew my head off.”

“I move da stuff dis weekend. Is dat OK, mastah? You not need da passport dis minute, do you?”

“I’m not your master, so you can drop the sarcasm.” I sighed heavily. “The weekend will be fine.”

I went back to my room and continued watching television. I eventually feel asleep at 10 p.m. I was in dreamland as soon as my head hit the pillow. I’m wonderful that way.