First, the kid I'm pissed at: This kid and his friend are in a feud with another kid and his girlfriend, and all four are in the same classes together all day long, so you can imagine the drama. But this kid is pissing me off, because he always makes these insidious sly sideways comments that are clearly meant for other people to hear. Mostly, it's about how wrong the other people are. Luckily, the other group has decided to be more mature about it (or less obvious), but this kid is trying, pretty much daily, to start trouble. Anyway, yesterday he got a copy of the itinerary of our weekend field trip, and he was going on and on about how lame it was. "What's this, leftovers? Ha! Cup o' Noodles? For breakfast? Y'all have fun with that." And part of me wanted to be like "shut the hell up, kid! Just because you can't go doesn't mean you need to ruin the anticipation of the trip for everyone else." The other part wanted to tell him how wrong he had it, too, since there's more food than you can shake a stick at, and while it's not gourmet, there is something damn special about burgers and salad and fruit and punch made outdoors after a long day of hiking in the wilderness. This kid's a punk, and I've had him for two years now and will probably have him next year, too. I hope he grows up some over the summer.
I had a kid for two years at my last job, too, speaking of growing up. This kid's a sophomore, now (he moved with me to the new school, sort of). He was always a real dork -- the kind of kid who chews off the end of his pen and gets blue ink all over his face, twice a week. Anyway, he came by to see me today, and was bragging about how grown up he is. He's five foot four, now, and he's got one full beard hair, with color and everything. He shaved. In March. It was hard to keep a straight face.
Okay, that's it. I'm still bummed about yesterday, and today got even more bad news. There's this... thing going on. Let's say I've got... clowns following me around. (I don't want to gross you out with the real thing.) So at the class last week, the nurse practicioner was like "You are OUR patient now. If you have any issues with your... hilarity, call us, not your old doctor." So, I call them and leave a message about the clowns, and I get a call back today (incidentally, too late for me to call anybody today) that says "Oh, that's not us. Call your old doctor." Thanks. I've still got fucking Bozo peering through my windows and nobody can do anything about it. Plus, we've now been trying for a full year, and it's kind of sucky to reach that kind of milestone with nothing to show for it. I'm going to eat some ice cream.
2 comments:
Clowns are scary.
There are so many reasons why I hate the medical establishment. So many. I wish you lived here, though, and I could refer you to the Miracle Doctor who Creates Babies. I went there not because I wanted a baby, but because I wanted to know what my various problems were in general. He said if I change my mind and want a baby, he can help. That's sort of creepy though...
And next time, totally tell the kid off. There was nothing out of line with what you wanted to say, other than shut the fuck up.
Post a Comment