For the Birds

 

(I'm glad I don't work in a cubicle.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 5 a.m. Then I walked to the bathroom and read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a shit. A couple from the city of Incheon were indicted for the death of their 12-year-old son. The stepmother would often tie him blindfolded to a chair and poke him on the thighs with sharp pencils. His biological father, meanwhile, would abuse the boy by punching and kicking the kid. The poor child finally succumbed to his injuries on February 7^th.

I ate hash browns for breakfast while watching The Five on Fox News. Two Americans were tortured and killed in Mexico by a drug cartel. The victims were black, and the Mexicans mistook them for Haitian narcotics dealers. The leader of the cartel wrote a letter of condolence to the American government in which he actually apologized for the criminal actions of his gang. You don’t see that every day. I guess he’s nervous that we might use our military for vengeance.

I drove to work in my ancient SUV. Rice-Boy Larry was in the passenger seat. We struck up a conversation along the way.

He said, “Are you still watching basketball?”

I nodded. “I indulge in one game per night.”

“Anything going on that I should know about?”

I sighed heavily. “Well, let’s see. Ja Morant is in trouble for bringing a loaded pistol to a strip club in Denver.”

“Will he go to jail?”

I shook my head. “The cops have decided not to press charges. However, he’s been suspended from the league until further notice.”

“Is Ja Morant a good player.”

“Good? He’s better than that. The kid is fantastic. And rich. He makes more money than God.”

“So why did he bring a gun to a club?”

“I have no idea. Sadly, the actions of black people often confuse me.”

We got to school at 8 a.m., and I walked directly to my classroom. Then I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “Did you ever get that issue with your electric bill settled?”

She said, “Yes, I spoke with the company, and they told me that I had already paid it. So we should have lights and hot water and air conditioning for the foreseeable future.”

“That’s great news.”

“I often worry.”

“Why?”

“I’m just not as sharp as I used to be. The stroke really took something away from my intelligence. I continue to forget stuff.”

“Try to keep exercising your mind. And don’t get down on yourself. You sound much better than John Fetterman, and he’s much younger than you.”

“That’s true. Frequently, I have a hard time looking on the bright side of life. I need to be more optimistic.” She changed the subject. “Has your novel been doing well?”

“No. In fact, I’ve only managed to sell one copy so far. Most of the fuckheads and retards who read my blog are too cheap to spend a dollar to help me out with my career.”

“That’s too bad.”

I shrugged. “I don’t blame them. I’m not sure if my book is any good. It might be a pile of trash.”

“Well, keep plugging away. Who can tell? Maybe you’re the next Stephen King.”

“I kind of doubt it.”

My day at work went well. I like my job a great deal. It’s a ton of fun bullshitting with the kids. For instance, we talked about the first Star Wars movie during one of my classes. I told them that they should view it immediately, but to give the sequels a wide pass. None of them are going to listen to my advice. But it’s cool to have a gig with human contact. The last thing I would ever want to do is slave my days away in an office cubicle. That type of life is for the birds.