Feces

 

(My shit stinks to high heaven.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 5 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A rich 28-year-old man from Seoul left his plastic surgeon’s office loaded to the gills on narcotics. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of getting into his Rolls Royce before letting the drugs wear off. And you guessed it. He passed out behind the wheel and killed a young woman with his vehicle. To make matters worse, he fled the scene of the accident on foot. He now faces significant time in prison for his crime.

I prepared bacon and hash browns for Rice-Boy Larry. He was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.

I said, “What’s wrong with you?”

He shot me a puzzled expression. “Nothing. Do I look weird or something?”

“It’s your posture. You remind me of a guy with a hangover.”

“I didn’t get enough sleep. I’ve got a million tests to study for, and the work keeps piling up a mile high.”

I changed the subject. “How’s that pretty girl in your class doing? What’s her name? Mary?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “How the hell would I know?”

“I thought you liked her. Maybe you should try to talk to the girl.”

He sighed heavily and gave me the stink eye. “Everybody likes her, Dad. But this is Korea, and nobody our age goes on dates. Besides, we’re all too busy prepping for our exams.”

I walked out of my apartment at 6:35 a.m. to catch the bus. And let me tell you motherfuckers something. I’m really enjoying the hell out of public transportation. I kid you not. It’s so easy, and I no longer have to worry about filling up my SUV with diesel. Plus it’s economical. My costs for getting from here to there come to roughly a hundred bucks a month. And that’s including Rice-Boy Larry.

Anyway, I arrived at my office at 7:20 a.m. and drank a coffee with my colleague Richard Hurtz. He’s a giant of a man standing an impressive seven feet tall.

He said, “Do you know Jenny Gomez?”

I nodded. “She seems like a nice girl. Isn’t she one of those wonder kids who gets A’s on everything?”

“Yes, she’s a terrific student.” He took a sip from his mug. “But I don’t like her one bit.”

“How come?”

“She only runs with her little clique. I hate those types of assholes.”

“I stay out of their personal lives. Who they decide to run with is none of my business.”

Mr. Hurtz is a teacher who gets involved in the social affairs of the students. For instance, he knows who gets invited to the best parties. And he’s also interested in the romantic relationships between the handsome boys and the pretty girls. Personally, I don’t see the point. It’s a fulltime job just taking care of Rice-Boy Larry, and I’ve got other fish to fry.

Mr. Hurtz took another swallow of coffee. “Jenny’s one of those girls who thinks her shit doesn’t stink. She’s a real bitch.”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t stink. For all we know, her fecal matter smells like flowers. I wouldn’t waste another moment even worrying about it.”

My day at work went OK. I’m currently reading a couple of anti-war poems by Carl Sandburg with my high schoolers. One is called Buttons, and the other is called Grass. They’re both pretty good.

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