My First Day at My New Job

15 Sep

I recently started working as a tutor at Lewisville High School.

The school looked like that school from Boy Meets World.

Aged. Stone and brick. Traditional architecture. Students everywhere.

“Why are all these kids here?” I asked no one in particular.

“Who are you talking to?” the security guard standing by the front door asked. I turned to him.

“No one in particular,” I responded gruffly, turning up the collar of my trench coat which, considering the 94-degree heat, was purely for vanity. “My god, the heat,” I whispered. My butt was sweating profusely. A tiny bead of sweat adventured down into the chasm of my butt crack. He was never seen or heard from again.

I approached the class and opened the door. The teacher was addressing the class. Typical.

“Oh, hello,” he said, slightly startled. “Class, this is one of our new tutors. Please, introduce yourself.”

I removed my trench coat in the most dramatic way possible, in hopes of startling the children and inspiring fear, by whipping it around my body and throwing it directly at the largest child I could see while spinning around really fast (Most of them were a blur; I was trying to remove my trench coat in the most dramatic way possible. You know how it goes.).

The boy quietly removed the coat from his head. I walked over quickly and took it from him. I placed it on a hanger and put it in the closet.

“My name is Kyle,” I said. “Kyle is my name, but you may call me ‘instructor’.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” the teacher, Mr. Lampassas, said. He had beady eyes and a haircut that screamed “I was chosen to make my owner’s head more aerodynamic.” I roll my eyes at Mr. Lampassas and turn to the class while he continues to address them.

My first group was a science group. They wanted to learn about chemicals and shit.

“So, if I mix Magnesium with poop, what happens?” Rodrigo asked. What a strange question. What a strange boy. What a strange time to be an American. [Editor’s Note: I feel like you’re losing focus here. Are you feeling all right?]

“Well, son,” I said, shifting softly into song, “If you want to learn ’bout poop…” I stood up and put my foot on the chair–now giving into the deep-seeded and oft-repressed desire to sing in public. “You better get the scoop… and leeeeeaaaaarn!” The class stood up around me.

Because no matter what you mix

With that smelly stuff

It’s all just gonna smell like shit.

And your mom’ll make you talk

To the preacher and a doc.

But not the kind of dock where you hid that guuuuuuuy!

Upon hitting the final note, the teacher did a back flip, but landed poorly and broke his neck. He died instantly. He released his final breath and several snakes spilled out of his eyes. [Editor’s Note: Okay, Kyle. This is too much. Please contact me.]

“Welp!” I said, taking off my hands and putting them on the floor. “It’s time to get to work!” Two or three of the students evaporated immediately. They made the sounds of a cow mooing. The rest of the students got out their classwork folders from the mouth of a gigantic toad that sat in the back of the classroom. “Please begin working on the assignments in your folders while I turn the sun back on.” I walked to Mr. Lampass’s recently vacated desk and turn the sun back on. “No big deal,” I say, and wink to Jesus, who had just walked in to make sure my first day was going well. [Editor’s Note: We’re not putting this out. We need to talk. You need to talk to someone.]

“Mr. Irion!” Jenine, a young girl who is a student called, “Your trench coat has come to life and is trying to sell me on 3D films!”

“3D films?!” I asked, angrily. I got on the tiny giraffe to my right and rode it to the coat. [Editor’s Note: Did you drink the red stuff that was in the jug in the refrigerator?”]

“What do you want?” the trench coat asked, but then immediately became my father. I tried to talk to him, but he spoke only in whistles and bird sounds. [Editor’s Note: Kyle, that was humming bird food! You need to go to a hospital!]

But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t go to the hospital. I thought I was… [Pause, look to the ground thoughtfully.] I thought I was invincible. So here I am. Wherever…this is. Do I regret it? Do I regret drinking that delicious, acidic, horrifically sweet beverage that Editor left in the office fridge? No. I don’t. And you know why?

Because nothing’s sexier than getting your stomach pumped.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: