Day 2: classroom
The first few days of school were filled with orientations, awkward silences in the hallway with other classmates, holding farts in even when the teacher walked out of the room for a second, and countless thoughts like "I'm gonna ace all my classes!" or "I can't wait to do all these assigned readings!" There is more to this degree than just cooking, and people don't like to believe that. They think we cook and fuck around all day. That may be true to all extents, but there is a lot of reading to be done beforehand. We meet for an hour everyday before we go into the lab, and this was the first time going over the book. Exciting? Not at all...
We got our knife kits the week before we were actually going to be in lab. We received them in white cardboard boxes, and inside the box were the knives and a carrying bag for the knives all wrapped in plastic. The instructor gave them to us so we could go home over the weekend and test them out, try to get a feel for the knives. I have to be honest, I know what a knife looks and feels like, so I just took them, removed the plastic, and that was that. I thought that everyone would've been smart enough to do this, but boy was I wrong. When I arrived to the room, almost half the class showed up with the box in hand, everything still wrapped in plastic. Did I mention the carrying case has a shoulder strap? So apparently these morons would rather carry a big ass box than to carry a little bag full of weaponry. I looked around the room for some hope of intelligence, someone I could enjoy these fine moments with. Although it's only the second day, I already know that it wasn't possible. I was all alone, similar to when I was in Iowa suffering silently through my blog. I may endure the same sort of suffering, only there's homework involved. Oh, and one type of suffering....
I sat in the front of the classroom, always grabbing the seat in front of the teacher so I don't have any reason to fall asleep. It's easy to fall asleep in the back, acting like you're writing with your cheek on your bicep (we all know the move). I unloaded my notebook, unmotivated because it was the first day of REAL class where we would start talking about the book. Can't we just get in the lab already?
In comes the teacher. He's a burly little guy, beard half shaven and belly the size of Arnold's in Junior. By the way, that's our Cali governor. His pants were highwaters, seeing his yellow stained socks pulled up to his knees and matching his beastly teeth. His nipples were showing through his chef coat. Yes, HIS CHEF COAT. Those coat's are thicka than a snicka, and prevent from burns, hot temperatures, and bullets. This guy's nipples are in danger of all that.
He said hello to everyone, coughed, and told us all he forgot his attendance sheet and wanted to try and remember our names from memory. He got to me, gave me a long look, and said, "Catheter, right?"
1) Seriously? Did he just call me a tube? Should I be insulted or amazed?
2) Definition: a flexible or rigid hollow tube employed to drain fluids from body cavities or to distend body passages, esp. one for passing into the bladder through the urethra to draw off urine or into the heart through a leg vein or arm vein for diagnostic examination.
3) How did that enter his brain as a possibility? It's like saying "You're name is Shit, right? Oh, it's Roger? Sorry..."
I replied, "No sir, It's Cababa. Common mistake, though."
He smiled, as if he was glad he didn't offend the one asian kid in the class. "Whew, that could've been an ugly lawsuit" was the thought in his small little brain.
After roll call, he stood up, posted himself and his 3 month year old baby in his stomach in front of me, and started to teach. As soon as he started to talk, I grew lightheaded. My eyesight became blurry and I started to see spots. Where have I had this feeling before? Why is this all so familiar?
Oh. My. Word. It's Dragon Breath Z's brother, The Dog Breath Whisperer.
This guy was standing at least 4 feet away from me and I could smell his breath. Hot garbage from Aldi and decaying dog poop in the yard from last year were the comparisons I thought of right away. It was fire breathing with every word spoken, and burning my nostrils like Panther cologne.
I placed my hand over my nose, trying to break free from this mini gas chamber he had put me in. I tried to think of pleasant thoughts: My puppy sleeping, Prince Fielder hitting a home run, Cabbage Patch Kids, fresh air, my DJ Qbert shrine. Nothing worked. It was too strong, too potent to focus on anything else.
I then put both hands over the entire half of my lower face and looked out the window, yearning for outside contact. The guy sitting next to me looked puzzled by my actions, yet had the eye of understanding. He felt my pain. His sweatshirt was over his face as well.
The class finally ended, my eyes bloodshot and my knees shot from all the kryptonite dog drool that dribbled down in front of me from his mouth. I stumbled to the door half dead and left for the day.
Back of the classroom, you never looked SOOOOOO good.
