So another working week demolished. ‘Working week’ is a loose term of course. I wouldn’t have applied for a job that required something resembling real work so instead I teach a rather agreeable 24 hours a week. Eighteen of these hours are over Friday, Saturday and Sunday, so it’s more appropriate to label it a working weekend. Don’t get me wrong, instructing a room full of five year olds how to talk about how many toes they have isn’t exactly a picnic. For instance, a girl punched me in the balls today. She wasn’t the first. I think of the majority of my salary as danger money. Or at least a deposit on the adoption agency I’ll have to use if this ball-punching trend continues. Also, another kid groped my arse in front of the class and then exclaimed to his gleeful chums that he felt “very happy.” My teaching assistant had to leave the class as she found it so hilarious. In the UK the kid would be diagnosed with ADD and sent to counselling. Or he’d be beaten up for being a gay. Or both. Probably both. Here it’s just funny. I find this strangely refreshing, although if that girl hits my ball-sack again she’s getting a fucking kicking.
I do not advocate the groping of my arse by kids or vice versa.
I went swimming again the other day. Cooling down in the post-swim shower I noticed the local janitor mopping down the opposite shower booths and sweeping the tiles. He was completely naked. I giggled for a bit until he looked me up and down with a stare that seemed to say, “Of course I’m nude, why would I risk getting my uniform wet in such an inherently wet place of work.” Fair point I guess, but that’s still mental!