Main Ingredients:
children
professor
rainbow trout
rib-eye steak
bed
Spice Pack:
1/3 dash of moodiness
1/8 teaspoon of contempt
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.
I like school. I'm not terribly good at it. But I liked it more than any job I ever had.
But part way through school, I also realized I hated children. They whine a lot. They cannot take care of themselves. They are selfish. Annoying.
So, I thought I'd be a professor. This way I could teach, but wouldn't have to deal with kids.
But I did not do well in graduate school. Mostly because my mom stopped helping with my expenses. Just kind of cut me off. Sure, I still could live in the basement. But she stopped paying my car insurance. Stopped paying for my cable. After me about making my bed. Always on my case about a job. Etc.
My professors, similarly, refused to cut me any slack whatsoever. I finished my degree, barely. It's unfair, really. Some people go through life without a care in the world. Not me!
I was passing the meat counter. Paused, for a second. Manager's Special on ribeye steak. Yeah, maybe if I were rich. I stop to nibble on some smoked rainbow trout. The guy is wearing some kind of fake chef outfit, handing out little cups of the stuff with plastic spoons. He's not a chef. He just opened a package. It's good, though. I grab another. Eat it. Then, another. Mr. Fake-o-chef-o says, "One sample per customer, sir."
"Whatever." He obviously feels pretty important. Probably can't even pronounce Foucault. Bet he didn't even finish high school. But why make a big deal about it?
What did mom want again? Right, kefir. It's just expensive watery yogurt. I keep walking. I look into my basket, maybe I should put those Pringles back. No, she'll just have to deal with it. If I am going to run errands for her, I can get some damned Pringles. Plus, it's a good deal.