My job is stressful. I teach in the inner city, at a middle school in the middle of a gang hotspot, where it's nothing to see pregnant sixth graders, tattoo'd kids, drugs, knives and the occasional gun. Last year I broke up a fight, got hit in the head by an inadvertant fist and ended up with major ear drum swelling and what they thought might be brain damage.
Turns out I'm just a moron naturally.
Point being, I'm 6'0, 300 something, and I got mollywhopped without a moment's hesitation. It's fuckin' nuts.
As you can imagine, being a fat white man in the midst of an almost Caucasian-less society, I'm an outsider. So are the rest of the other Caucasian teachers, regardless of whether they have a spare tire. Or spare tire shop, as it were.
The stress that comes with working here is absolutely out of this world. Nary a day goes by where I can go home and say, "I had a good day." This is my fifth year here, and I can count good days on two hands, honestly. I am desperately, desperately, hoping to get hired somewhere else, hopefully in conjunction with coaching. But, as my Mom has so helpfully pointed out a million times, you need to look good in your suit to make a good impression. Because I've never heard that before ever. From anyone ever.
The problem is that when I'm stressed out, I eat. And every day could probably make a case for my worst day at work, ever. Especially this year. One of the few things in life that makes me happy right now, instantaneously, is getting a Baconator from Wendy's and gnawing the shit out of that thing, and then washing it down with a Diet Coke. Fuck you, I like the taste of Diet Coke. Regular coke is too syrupy.
But my short term happiness, ie a burger, is in direct contrast to my long term happiness of not having a heart attack and dying in this rat infested shithole.
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