Jumping Off the Roof

 

(Mom is still on Lexapro.)

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. 144 teachers in South Korea have killed themselves over the past ten years. The writer of the article claims that they couldn’t handle the stress. Yet I vehemently disagree. Suicide is a plague which haunts this nation, and I believe that lack of sleep is the real culprit behind this strange mass depression. Trust me. Seven hours of shuteye per night cures a lot of life’s problems. But what the fuck do I know?

I cooked bacon and hash browns for Rice-Boy Larry. I put the plate on his bed.

I said, “How are you feeling?”

He said, “Better.”

“Are you going to school today?”

“Probably. I don’t want to fall too far behind.”

“Well, you are free to do as you wish. If you need the rest, then be my guest.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I leave it to your best judgment.”

I switched on Fox News. Bibi Netanyahu is thinking about occupying Gaza after he greases what’s left of Hamas. It’s a sound plan, but the dullards at the White House are crying foul. Those dipshits are still looking for a two-state solution. They obviously live in a fantasy world. The descendants of Ishmael and Isaac simply can’t live together in harmony. This feud goes back four thousand years, and forcing them to hold hands would result in a huge blood bath.

Later that morning, I caught the bus to work. The driver was a gentle soul who followed all the traffic rules. And you could have knocked me over with a feather. That’s very unusual for Korea. Most of the transit employees are filled with a murderous rage and hate.

I got to my office at 7:30 a.m. and called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “I got a traffic ticket in the mail.”

She said, “Were you speeding?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t driven a car in over three months. It’s my wife. She parked illegally again.”

“How much is the fine?”

“A hundred bucks.”

“Are you going to pay it?”

“Fuck no. She can pay the damn thing herself.”

Mom changed the subject. “I just got back from the hospital. I took your Mexican stepfather to see the doctor.”

“What’s the problem?”

“He’s having trouble with his balance. The doctor gave us some medicine, but the pharmacist says that she doesn’t have it in stock. She’ll have to order the stuff.” The old lady let out a huge sigh. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Some days, I just feel like jumping off the roof.”

“Are you still taking your Lexapro?”

She nodded. “Religiously.”

“Great. Maybe you should up the dosage.”

“I’m already on 20 milligrams per day.”

I smiled at her. “Well, if twenty is good, then thirty is even better.”

My day at work was uneventful. I spent all of my free periods scoring test papers. My pupils take their grades very seriously. They’re real movers and shakers. Sometimes, they even shed tears when they receive a B. Back in the day, my parents used to give me money if I scored above an 80. But it doesn’t work like that over in this neck of the woods. Anything less than an A is considered a heaping pile of steaming shit. Go figure.

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