Man oh man, January was a crazy time indeed. I finally gave up on my teaching job (gasp!) last January12. After ten long long years. Yeah. Now my remaining occupation is as a government agent. I wish I could say I were the stealthy Miss double Oh-7 working for the British Secret Service. Alas, merely an agent that helps generate online 20-peso tickets to gambling freaks is everything I currently am.
Several considerations led to the decision. The dominant factor, however, was the impending off-peak season (which is start of February), when my bosses’ preschool and gradeschool children will be back. And all of us teachers will be forced to serve as their nannies again.That was what had been tormenting me. I’m talking about those four bratty small children whose ages range from 4 to 8 years old. Heaven save mister macaroons.
Two of them is a four year old girl who screams at the top of her lungs out of the blue to elicit attention, plus the seven year old boy who’d swiftly touch his teacher’s boobs all of a sudden (#%!& grrr… seven year olds…). We, six properly educated permanent winsome teachers, would report promptly for work in our lovely dresses and shoes and accessories wearing pretty makeup – only to be each assigned to any of the four little rascals who’d make us look like Hilda the Beast by the end of the day.
Have I forgotten to mention I am not that into children? (except for my own child I raised, of course)
I used to handle only adult or university students. But my boss has become frustratingly more and more detached as our manager that his fellowmen from the entire nation of unremorseful canine-eaters have come to learn how he literally sits in front of his computer watching k-soap operas all day long. So for the last two years, no worthy students had been turning up following the return of bunch and bunch of indolent middleschoolers to their homecountry every end of peak season.
At least I’ve proven to myself that once in my life I was able to hold a job that long. Ten years. Wow. To think about the dear people to me that got sacrificed within that period. Three beloved casualties. The third one I might not have talked of before was the best female friend I’ve ever had who began suffering from health ailments and for whom I couldn’t be there because I was constantly preoccupied with the low-paying teaching job of mine. My bad. Our 20-year friendship, as a result, went down the drain.
Plus my job situation was making me more and more unhappy I would console myself by eating at pricey buffet restaurants on the weekends; not to mention the many instances I’d go down to 7-11 during school breaktime to snatch an unhealthy delicious snack to make up for my miserable condition.
My booth operator also had asked me a few months ago,“What are you still working so hard for? You have long finished sending your son to college and he now has a fine job.” Good good point.
It was an intention I had expressed late last year to my family –my mom, my sister and my brother: the aim to quit my 9 to 6 livelihood soon, which periodically changed whenever I told myself “just one more year” so I’d be able to save a bit more to finance my future objective to go back to Europe for another brief recreational voyage.
But I came to figure the amount I had managed to save could already be enough. My sister even asked, “Why not Japan or the U.S. the next time?” to which I replied, “No more Asian countries for me and there are too many Latinos and Asians in America. I want to see mass and mass of blonde hair with matching ultra delicate fair skin. Why would I want to see what’s in profusion here in our country?” Besides, my trip in Europe had been a magical one which I look forward to undergo again. Wait, I think I just digressed right there. 🙂
Anyway, perhaps this time there’ll be ample opportunity for me to definitively study advanced grammar, read outstanding literature, take up yoga seriously, get around to watching the much-talked-about Game of Thrones series, habitually entertain myself with young pretty pole dancers and sundry other stuff on You Tube, kick off doing charcoal-pencil art again, stay relentless at my pathetic attempts composing cheesy juvenile romantic poetry, hook up in passionate abandon with the hottest-looking, brawny rum drinker available around the neighborhood (just kidding), and sign up -before it gets too late- as FHM’s next cover model representing the sultriest lady approaching her 50s (kidding again).
A lifelong nightowl that I am, staying up late and not getting up early have been the sweetest payoff so far. I’ve stopped popping the low-dose doctor prescribed anti-allergy pill to fall asleep at weeknights. I admit, though, of two or three mornings when I woke up feeling mild panic realizing I am not bound to get up for work anymore. Nice thing about holding a job is it gives your day a sense of structure. But, ultimately, I just can’t have it all.
I haven’t told my family yet because they might soon ask me to run errands for them. I realize I haven’t taken pleasure having the apartment all to myself since my son moved out more than a year ago. I worked steadily like a robot, soldiered on my daily affairs like a zombie. I’m taking things precious and easy now. Plus there’s lots to do and, er, clean.
At least, too, there’ll be no more furtive pinching of my nose whenever “those peeps” (at work) are around, them keemchee-eating species….
And if ever I’d feel regret about giving up the job I’d held for 10 long years, I’d simply remind myself this: The ewoks are comiiing!