Shit Hitting the Fan
Some people would find it hard to believe that I’m any good at poker – my face says too much. I was walking back to my class and my vice principal asked, “Hey amigo, you all right?” Then another co-worker asked the same thing. They all could see the frustration on my face – by the end of the day I almost snapped at a student.
He made some ignorant comment that was supposed to sound like a white man’s interpretation of what Chinese was supposed to sound like. I took in a deep breath and explained to him that what was said was disrespectful to me, and then he said it wasn’t meant for me to hear. When I said I did hear him, he replied that it wasn’t his problem that I had heard it. I took in another deep breath and let him stand there. He’s what people call IEP – politically correct folk call him a child with special needs, I call him a fucking retard that still has problems figuring which end is his head and which is his ass.
All these things raced through my mind. I wanted to apologize for the fact that his mother was high on cocaine and decided to fuck her brother for a score, and that his dad [who’s also his uncle] didn’t pull out in time. I wanted to apologize for the fact that he’d lose a game of Scrabble to a tube of toothpaste. I want to apologize for the fact that society had to develop the “spork” because he was too stupid to distinguish the two. I wanted to apologize for the fact that he could only win at “Memory” if all the cards had the same picture on all of them. I wanted to apologize for the fact that he was the poster child for inbreeding and crack babies. And most importantly, I wanted to apologize for the fact that he couldn’t put a sentence together unless he had his flashcards in front of him.
I told my vice principal, “It’s not the fact that the shit hits the fan, the truth is that the shit from yesterday never came off.”
He made some ignorant comment that was supposed to sound like a white man’s interpretation of what Chinese was supposed to sound like. I took in a deep breath and explained to him that what was said was disrespectful to me, and then he said it wasn’t meant for me to hear. When I said I did hear him, he replied that it wasn’t his problem that I had heard it. I took in another deep breath and let him stand there. He’s what people call IEP – politically correct folk call him a child with special needs, I call him a fucking retard that still has problems figuring which end is his head and which is his ass.
All these things raced through my mind. I wanted to apologize for the fact that his mother was high on cocaine and decided to fuck her brother for a score, and that his dad [who’s also his uncle] didn’t pull out in time. I wanted to apologize for the fact that he’d lose a game of Scrabble to a tube of toothpaste. I want to apologize for the fact that society had to develop the “spork” because he was too stupid to distinguish the two. I wanted to apologize for the fact that he could only win at “Memory” if all the cards had the same picture on all of them. I wanted to apologize for the fact that he was the poster child for inbreeding and crack babies. And most importantly, I wanted to apologize for the fact that he couldn’t put a sentence together unless he had his flashcards in front of him.
I told my vice principal, “It’s not the fact that the shit hits the fan, the truth is that the shit from yesterday never came off.”
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on Wednesday, March 29 at 11:13 PM.
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