In Debt

 

(Somehow, I manage to sleep like a baby.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 6 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A man from Seoul got on Twitter and announced that he had K-pop tickets for sale. He took money from teenagers and kids in their early 20s, claiming to have the best seats in the house. He also traded the tickets for sex with underage females. Well, it turns out that his whole spiel was nothing but a hoax. However, he did manage to pocket more than $170,000 for his efforts. Yet his greed is going to cost him five years in prison. In my eyes, the sentence seems kind of light. But what do I know?

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I surfed the internet. One of the best players in the NBA is Ja Morant. He’s the point guard for the Memphis Grizzlies, and let me tell you assholes something. This kid is loaded with talent and grace. Anyway, he got caught once again on video brandishing a firearm. So now the league is preparing to rain a storm down upon his head. I’ve got an inkling that he will probably be suspended for the entire season next year. But here’s the thing. He actually didn’t break any laws. Not a one. In America, we have the 2^nd Amendment, and many states allow concealed carry. With that in mind, I think that they should let the guy play.

I looked at Rice-Boy Larry. “I put my application in for another job.”

He said, “Why? I thought you liked your current gig.”

I nodded. “I do. Trust me. But I occasionally send out feelers here and there. It’s just a bad habit of mine.”

“If you get it, will you go?”

“No.”

“Sometimes, you make no sense at all.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’m in desperate need of psychiatric help.”

“Will the school get mad if they find out.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Yet I kind of doubt it. People come and go all the time. It’s not like I’m special.”

And here’s the sad truth. I send out at least three resumes per year just for shits and giggles. For instance, I recently had an interview for a school in Kurdistan. It seemed to go OK. However, I didn’t get the job. Which is perfectly fine, by the way. I had no intention of taking it in a million years. I mean, what the fuck am I going to do in the Middle East? I’m not even sure if that country is safe.

I drove to work in my ancient SUV. Rice-Boy Larry was in the passenger’s seat. We called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, “How can you even sleep at night?”

“What? I don’t understand your question.”

“With all that debt your wife has accrued. You must be plagued with nightmares.”

“I slumber like a new-born babe.”

“It would drive me crazy.”

“Well, it’s not my burden. The cards are in her name. So she’ll simply have to get a job or go bankrupt.”

“But you’ll end up losing your apartment.”

I smiled wanly. “That’s OK. We have the school apartment.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Besides, when I eventually retire, she would never let me live there in a million years. As soon as I stop making scratch, she’s going to send me out to pasture. I’ll end up a homeless geezer in Asia.”

“So what are your plans?”

“I want to live with you and work at the Waffle House. The overnight shift, to be exact.

“Can’t you aim any higher? You have a college degree, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m too tired. This is my semi-retirement. I plan to sling hash until the grim reaper comes to take me away.”

She laughed and laughed and laughed.

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