Volunteering

A very nice aspect of my job is they want us to volunteer in some way. I wouldn't normally think that was nice, because I don't like doing things outside of lazing on the couch or surfing the internet if I have to be at work. They probably realize a lot of us are like that, slothful jerks who really don't want to give back to the community unless they are getting paid to do so. Genius, pay the workers to volunteer somewhere. So, for 2 hours a week, I get to leave work and do something supposedly good. In this case, I will be tutoring 6th graders in "literature." Unfortunately, I have to use quotes because this isn't literature, but really just one-page reading exercises on subjects such as Columbus, McDonald's and Milton Hershey. The students mostly come from low-income, Spanish-speaking families. Last year I worked with 8th graders, and they read at a 2nd-grade level. I don't know why the program switched to a lower grade, but maybe it is so by the time they are in 8th grade they'll be doing a lot better because of efforts with them in 6th grade.

There have been many remarks in the past about my distaste for children, and I still stand by it. Seriously, I get to leave my desk for 2 hours a week, and get paid as if I am still sitting there surfing porn sites with men sticking their schlongs through pizzas. Now, if there's a bonus on top of that pretty sweet deal, then it is the hope I really can encourage some kids to read--teach them that it is the perfect escape from what ever terrible reality they might live in, like being in middle school. Also, it gives me a chance to teach them fun works like "fustigate," "definestrate," "callipygian."

Today we had a training session for the new school year. You would think that this would be something just for the people who are new to volunteering, but they made us repeat offenders go to it as well. I'm sure I could have said I was busy, but really, I wasn't, and I got out of the office at 1:30pm on a Friday! How devious of me to get out of work and make them pay for me to sit in another room for 2 hours being told banal things about teaching literature to children. Things like, focus on vocabulary words, comprehension, inference, etc. They made us participate. Luckily whatever the hell is wrong with me is giving me a mucousy-frog throat, so they didn't really enjoy my talking much. It was pretty much as I expected, and got some free bottle water out of it.

The best part was the two ladies who were at my table. One had to have been approaching 80 and smelled god-awful, the poor dear. I fear she may die in front of the kids, but maybe she will actually smell better in death. I should be relieved she didn't smell like lavender or violets. I just cannot wait until my body starts breaking down and I offend the noses around me. Yeah, old! The other lady was between 55-60, and had a permanent expression on her face like someone had been rubbing shit on her lips right under her nose! The audacity of those shit-lip-rubbers! The senior citizen was sitting to my left and the shit-on-her-lips (SOHL) was across the table from her. No one was across from me. SOHL kept shooting me looks of serious disapproval. How dare someone let a person like me come in and teach children how to read! She must be hooked on crack and has gay lesbian sex behind COSTCO after buying a year's worth of gummy worms in a large plastic bucket, and looking for children to abduct to turn in to gay-homos. Surprisingly, I knew why Milton Hershey gave WWII troops chocolate bars as "emergency food." She was baffled by the whole idea. I watch her give me these looks, so I started doing the nice ol' eye-rape, where I sweep them from head to toe with my death rays. And do you know what this woman was wearing on her feet? This woman who acted like another woman with a tattoo on her chest was probably raised by feral dogs and still pees on the furniture? She was wearing very pointy-toed, leopard-printed, spike-heeled sling backs without the strap. Who the fuck does she think she is? Cougar fantasies much? The old lady in turn, was so kind and nervous even as I was watching her teeth fall out of her mouth. Her head kept bouncing around on her spindly neck. I truly do worry for her. And the rest of us--she was driving a huge SUV in the rain.

At one point during the training, we were discussing "behavioral issues," and the instructor asked if we would consider a child with his feet on the desk a behavioral issue. Without even thinking, I said, "No, not at all. If that child is engaged in the activity, then I don't care what position the child needs to be in to learn." Oh, how proud of me the instructor was--I said exactly what he wanted to hear. Go me. The old lady turned to me (no, I'm not just being an asshole, I didn't catch these people's names) and said, "You're so smart!" Yes, well, considering that a good portion of my body is covered in tattoos, I'm always treated as if I have behavioral issues. I am that kid with his/her feet on the desk, but still completely capable of being smart and able to learn and contribute to a conversation, a skill, a task. Geez people. It's not smarts, it's common sense. Sometimes, and I know it's crazy, we might not all go about something the same way to get to the same end result. Wow, epiphany, right? So yes, great-grandma, I am very smart, thank you for noticing.

Next Friday will be our first class. They better give me some kids with behavioral issues, like that 8th grader last year who kept running around the classroom and hitting his buddies. That was a good time. He also had some strange tattoos obviously etched with a straightened-out paperclip and some India ink. I can't imagine having something so rough and ugly on me at the age of 13. These kids really really do need some guidance. I can at least recommend the name of my tattoo artist. I'm here to provide a service, gosh darn it.