I no longer work at Denny’s. I quit because my manager was mean and FUCK if I’m gonna work midnights when I don’t even have to. At first, I felt really bad about it because I just walked out in the middle of a shift, but now that I think about it… I was sweeping cigarette butts and wiping booster seats, assembling kid’s cups and dealing with the impossible-to-please elderly. Who needs that, really? Not me. I do miss the pancakes, though.
Now, thanks to my Fairy Godmother-in-law-except-I’m-not-really-married-to-her-son I have a different job as a teacher’s assistant at a local grade school, the exact place to which I once said I would never return. It’s amazing how much your priorities can change when you have no money. Oddly, the worst part of the job is the seventh graders. Pretty much every other grade I’ve found to be tolerable at least. Sure, there are a couple problem kids here and there, but that’s to be expected. I mean, get any group of 200 people together and there’s sure to be a few assholes. The other worst part of the job is dressing professionally, which I hate. Why can’t I grade papers in a t-shirt and jeans? It’s not like the kids police my fashion sense or anything. (Well, maybe a couple kids do.)
Some good things about working at the grade school are the fact that I have access to soda throughout the day, I get to cramp my little sister’s style and my lunches are paid for! Yay! I have to eat the kids’ food, but it’s free! Even if the chicken nuggets are dry and the burritos can also double as sledgehammers, if I didn’t have to make it and I didn’t have to pay for it, I will eat it and be thankful.
Another interesting thing I learned about myself during some soul-searching this summer: I hate writing essays.
Yeah. I do. Which is weird, because I’m really good at it. I guess I just convinced myself that if I was good at it, that I also liked it. But no. I realized that I would rather mud-wrestle an angry gorilla than bullshit five pages on “To Kill a Mockingbird”. (I actually have written an essay on that book, and I’ve never even read it.)
In light of this realization, I’ve decided to change everything. It’s kind of like I’ve been in a marathon, and have only just realized that I’m running in the wrong direction. Majoring in English will guarantee a buttload of essays, and I just don’t think I have the emotional capacity for it.
So I’m in Anatomy and Physiology I and Psych, trying to learn more about people… and hopefully myself.
Maybe I’ll be a doctor. Does anyone want to pay for me to go to med school?