Alas, A Name

     I can’t remember what I was doing – maybe hanging up laundry or cleaning the backyard – when it hit me. The new name for my blog! No longer would I be undecided, but rather a work in progress. It seemed like a great fit, and it definitely has a lot to do with my move to Louisiana. As I hope to be here for the next 2 years, I’m pretty positive that this experience will lay the foundation for my career and serve to propel growth for the rest of my life.

     I’ve always had it in my mind that we are all just works in progress. Since people are dynamic, I figured it was an appropriate way to view them. However, it  hit me one day that this view isn’t necessarily true. While people might be forever changing, many people stop progressing. A work in progress sounds like …well, a work in progress. Something that isn’t finished, but is on its way towards completion or fulfillment. Like a project running over budget, however, a work in progress can stall. Or even be ruined by poor design (wiki the Tacoma Washington Bridge, my fav. and definitely my most-referenced example of poor design). Along those lines, I realized that not all people are works in progress.

     Though we may change, that isn’t inherently good or bad. Change doesn’t have any moral value by itself. For instance, a change I could make tomorrow is to pick up a meth habit. Sure, I’ve changed – but I don’t consider it a step in the right direction, so I definitely wouldn’t classify it as progress. Thus, changes need to be evaluated before they can be rightly termed as progress.

     So that’s what I thought about when I first considered changing my blog name to “A Work in Progress.” I hope to make this period a valuable one as far as making progress in many areas of my life by doing a few things:

•   Becoming familiarized with the worldviews and perspectives of a group of people I never thought I’d surround myself with.
• Broadening my own horizons by doing the above ^.
•  Exploring a side of food I’ve rarely (if ever) encountered.
•  Learning an absolute ton when it comes to teaching technique (as far as figuring out all the approaches  I will need to help all students succeed).
• Resurrecting some fitness goals I’ve let go of these past few months.
• And I’m sure a ton of other things I haven’t even considered but will change in me.

     In summary, the name of this blog is drawn from my decision to commit myself to being a work in progress. I’m not finished trying to make myself better. I hope anybody reading this hasn’t quit yet either.

     

Being Laid Off Blows Balls

     When I first moved back home, I didn't really have a plan except that I'd be taking the year off. After the year was up, I'd probably head to grad school for my teaching credential. Until then, no plans for anything.
     Just a few hours after getting home, I was hanging out with some friends when one of them asked if I wanted a part-time job. I figured it'd be better than sitting on my ass all day; I gladly accepted.
     So for the past ~10 months, I've spent 4 hours a day helping people get home from work. It's basically just answering people's questions about the shuttles (what time their bus leaves, where x bus has stops, if & for how long a bus is late, etc. etc.). It's a pretty sweet gig - I get this great opportunity to meet and talk to people while helping them out. I learned about 2 weeks ago that the company that was contracted to fill the position would, unfortunately, be losing that responsibility at the end of the month - leaving me jobless.
     Fortunately for me, I've been accepted to Teach for America and will land in Louisiana in ~2 weeks. Although being laid off won't have any effect on my plans, I realized that I'd be much more distressed if the layoff was more serious.
     I'll start with a timeline of events:

• On May 4, my boss gave me a call to let me know that my replacement had been hired. Sounds shitty right off the bat, but he said I'd be working 'til the end of the month; I didn't mind because I'd be leaving then anyways.
• Friday the 8th, he texted me not to come into work and that we'd talk on Monday. This is more than writing on the wall, as he's expressly told me not to come into work. 
• Come Monday, he calls me in the morning to tell me I'm laid off and that I just need to come in to pick up my last check. 

     In the space of a week, I'd gone from having what amounted to a 4-week notice to not having a job at all. As I said, this wasn't so painful because I already had plans in place. However, it still gave me a ton of insight as to how such an experience could be devastating. 

     Some things to consider about being laid off if this were a job that I had been dependent on:

• I might not have had money for rent/food/other necessities.
• Needless to say, I would have had to find another job ASAP - which could realistically take as little as a couple weeks all the way up to a few months.
• The mental stress of knowing that I'm a fully capable adult willing to work and yet unable to.

None of these things were concerns for me. I bunk in my parents' house, I can work in a tax office or on a food truck, and I'm already looking forward to working as a teacher. However, I can still say I've been laid off and got a glimpse as to the devastating effects it might have on a person. I'm sure there's a lot more to being laid off that I will (hopefully) never encounter, but it's a shitty experience that makes me really relieved to have 1) parents who support me and 2) plans for my future in place. 

Episodes in Bullying #3

     Back in 8th grade, someone introduced deadlegging (alternatively known as giving someone a charlie horse) into the social sphere. You just throw your knee into the side of someone's leg (generally with a lot of force, because dumbass kids don't know about restraint [or at least I didn't]), resulting in a great amount of pain. I also think the only way you ever found out about it was through firsthand experience. Nobody ever walked around telling others what a deadleg/charlie horse was; kids just walked around giving 'em out like it was Christmas and they were some kind of Santa whose only gift is pain.
     I don't remember specifically how it happened to me, but it's not like there were a great variety of ways people went around kneeing someone in the leg. I was probably just standing around at break and was caught unawares by a friend who thought it was time to initiate me. It was probably painful - it pretty much has to be, unless you happen to stand around in a suit of armor (which... I didn't). So, there you have it. I'm standing around probably just talking to my friends when someone comes up and knees me in the side of my leg. It hurts a lot and my leg aches, so of course I clutch my leg. If it helps, you can imagine the scene with Peter Griffin where he sits there on the sidewalk clutching his leg as he hisses in pain.
     So anyways, some idiot thought it was a good idea to do that to me, like I really wasn't capable of going waaayyy overboard with it. Can you guess what my first thought was, after the pain subsided? "I gotta show this to someone!" (What a vicious goddamn cycle it would be, if everyone who had pain inflicted on them made the executive decision to subsequently inflict the pain on someone else). Of course, the first people you wanna show some cool shit to is your friends, and I immediately knew I had to go to Alan with this.
     Alan's name doesn't have to be changed because this might not even be an incident of bullying (because I didn't go out with the express intention to whoop his ass or anything - doesn't bullying have to have some malicious intent behind it??). Furthermore, he's one of my all time very best friends anyways, so I've already recounted this story (with and without his presence) a buncha times. So to make it very clear who I am talking about, I am referring to Alan Chen. The one who, as a SIXTH GRADER, already grew more facial hair than I am able to more than a decade later. The one who currently studies Structural Engineering at UCSD. THAT Alan Chen.
     So anyways, I now have it in my head that I've gotta share this with Alan. I know where he hangs out at lunch, so it's easy enough. I think I even waited midway through lunch to let him think that he wasn't gonna see me. Don't forget:  to do this thing right, you've gotta have a great element of surprise. So I let the time pass, hangin' out or whatever 'til I decide it's time. I stake out the area he's hanging out in, between Ms. Mah's class and the locker room. I make sure his back is turned, so that my approach goes unnoticed. I slowly walk up to him, gesturing to whoever he's talking to to remain quiet, lest they tip him off. By the time I close to within ~10 feet, I start to smile in glee at my imminent success. And as I draw closer, I start to speed up - probably a combination of excitement and nerves. Whatever the case, the resulting momentum ensures that I'll be able to give him a good, hard knee. Which is exactly what I did.
     Don't get me wrong now - I didn't run up to the guy and soar through the air to deliver a flying kick or some shit like that. I just went at a quick pace to his side, cocked my leg back, and really let fly with pretty much all my strength. Just like I said, I went waaaayy overboard with it. To add insult to injury, I probably even shouted "Dead leg!" as I did it, like it was entirely appropriate to shout out whatever you inflict on someone. (Could you imagine? "AIDS!" "Bitch slap!" Hahahah)
     Anyways, after my swift knee to the leg, he just... crumpled. As in, his leg gave out from under him and he pretty much folded to the ground. I immediately knew I'd gone too far. He shouted something like "What the fuck was that?!" (I guess he didn't listen to my obnoxious shout, lol).
     I helped him up (or maybe I tried and he refused 'cause he was pissed. That's probably what happened), and fortunately he wasn't actually injured. He definitely had a limp for more than a few seconds though, and I'm pretty sure his leg ached for awhile.
     I titled this making it look like an incident of bullying because when I first thought about it, it seemed pretty damn mean. It still does, but after taking into account the fact that I was just being a dumbass kid, I'm not so sure it fits into anyone's idea of bullying (you can even ask Alan. Just because I hurt him didn't mean I really MEANT it, y'know?). It's still funny to me because I can't really fathom what was going on in my head at the time. Why did I think it was a good idea to knee my best friend and not my worst enemy? And why on earth didn't I give any consideration to restraint?? Some questions will never go answered, I guess...

Episodes in Bullying #2

     Remember that one story I already shared from 5th grade? The time I threw that kid's shoe across the playground and into the sandbox? I don't know if you consider that bullying. If you do, then that's the story that would go here. But I don't think giving a kid what he deserves counts as bullying, so I don't count it myself. Although I may not have realized it at the time, though, this next case has gotta be considered bullying (... I think).

     In my 5th grade class, the general punishment was writing lines. Y'know like in the intro. to the Simpsons, how Bart is standing at the chalkboard writing the same sentence, over and over again? It was like that, except on paper (lol thank God, 'cause our arms would have been damn exhausted if we had to raise 'em up all the time to write). I can't remember what I had done that day to deserve it, but I did something or other that got me lines. The worst part about the punishment wasn't really the punishment itself - anybody with an ounce of patience and a motivated attitude could bang out a couple hundred lines no problem, even if it took awhile. The issue was the timing; writing didn't take place after school. 

     It took place during your breaks and lunch, and you weren't free until you finished 'em. Even if you were a great student and finished up your work early, you couldn't even start on those damn lines 'til break/lunch started.

     Do something stupid in the morning? Miss your break. 

     Write slowly? There goes your lunch too. 

     And if you thought you could only be punished for one day per transgression? Wrong. Instead of having some sort of amnesty policy that would let students off the hook after a full day's worth of missed fun, you were just responsible for taking care of those lines. Sooner or later didn't really matter to the teacher, because if you wanted to dick around, you were just screwing yourself at that point. I guess that also prevented kids from being assholes at the end of the day - who the hell wants to end their day with the knowledge that they've got to waste time the following day with lines?

     So one morning, I was looking at missing recess to write lines. Fortunately, I had a loyal group (or was it just a pair? I don't remember) of friends that would have enjoyed recess much more with my presence. Another thing going for me was that these dudes could write fast. So, what did we do? As soon as break started, we whipped out the papers and pencils and got down to business. We scrawled those lines as fast as we could. The number of lines originally meant for just me was taken care of in a matter of minutes by the 3 (or more) of us, and soon I gathered all our papers and turned in my lines. Cue our exit from that prison-like atmosphere and into 10-15 minutes of great, childish fun.

     After recess, we went back to class to a stunning announcement: from now on, people had to write their own lines.

........................................forREALS? This was no coincidence (obviously), and I was absolutely seething. Sure, all my teacher did was close a loophole I had exploited, but try explaining that to my 5th-grade self. All I felt at the time was that something I had used to beat the system was taken away from me - and I was furious. Before lunch, someone in class told me that I had been snitched on. And by who? Well... let's just call him Derek.
     He was probably the tallest kid in class, pretty lanky. Really strong values (...obviously). Not Mr. Congeniality, but he wasn't an outcast, or picked his nose all the time, or smelled like poop (and before you ask. Yes. I did go to school with a kid who smelled like shit on a regular basis). He just happened to set me off.
     With my information, I finally had a target for my frustration (and trust me, there was a lot). Looking back at it, whoever the hell told me it was Derek could have been giving me false information, but I guess because of my rage (or, more likely, youth), I never even considered it. Sucks for that guy, but I was out for blood (...not literally).
     When lunch rolled around, I gathered a group of friends and we went in search of Derek. Y'know how people are very tribal?? The mob we formed was very reflective of that - all that was missing were some pitchforks and torches, lol. Anyways, we found him on the kickball diamond, just hanging out by himself. My memory isn't the clearest on this (maybe part of me wants to forget that I could be so mean...), so the following might not be completely accurate.
     As we approached Derek, he didn't make any attempt to get away from us. We circled him anyways. I'm positive we engaged in some sort of conversation, but I can't remember what was said. I probably said something really cliche for a childhood bully. "You know why I'm here?" "You think it was a good idea to snitch on me? Does that still seem like a good idea to you??" Probably something brief and really just a formality - I don't think anything we said was going to change what happened next.
     I end up having 2 of my friends pin his arms behind his back. After our brief conversation, I punched Derek in the stomach. He doubled over, and that was that. We let him go and just walked away. And... that was that. I got a visit to the principal's office and a call home for it, but that was all.
     So there you have it - my 2nd experience in a bullying scenario, and 1st as the bully. It's really interesting to reflect on it, for a couple reasons. One because I don't remember it too well, two because I feel like time and experience has really detached me from it.
     I guess the detachment is the most interesting part about it. I don't think I'd ever do such a thing again, obviously (and besides... I'd also need 2 accomplices, lol). Not only that, but I can't even imagine the mindset I would have to be in to want to lay my hands on someone. Over the past few years, I've noticed that my tendency when I'm upset is to be really sad and disappointed - it's kind of hard for violence to make its way into that. Although I think it's worth mentioning that detachment also applies to many of my past experiences, so maybe it's just part of something greater going on.
     Whatever the case, I hope you enjoyed reading!

Episodes in Bullying #1

     Y'know, without really realizing it until after a good number of years, I've been involved in a LOT of bullying - both as bully and bullied. The first time I was ever bullied happened so long ago that this blog is going to come out really short (because I don't remember it very well). That's okay, though, because I haven't written in a while and I just want to try and get back into it.
     Whenever I tell someone I used to be a bully, they're typically nonplussed. I'm not certain why, because I consider myself a pretty nice guy. And wouldn't you be surprised if a pretty nice guy used to be a bully? I guess it's because I tease/make fun of people a lot... but still. I guess I'm still coming to terms with people's perception of me.
     Anyways, my first participation in an act of bullying was on the wrong end. If you're part of the school of thought that bullies are bullies because they've been bullied...well, then, this must've been the start to my bullying future.
     I was just hanging out after school one day, waiting for my parents to pick me up. One by one, my classmates began to leave me. My parents must've been awfully busy that day, because even after my classmates' departure, I was left standing around and kickin rocks while the rest of the kids at school left too. After what felt like forever (but was probably just 15-20 minutes, y'know how that can feel like forever to a kid), it was just me.
     But this wouldn't be a story without anyone else in it, right? While the number of kids around me dwindled, I noticed Jay in my periphery. I didn't really get along with the guy, so even as the rest of my classmates left I kept a good distance between the two of us. By the time everyone else was gone, though, there was just the two of us.
     I'm not really certain how it happened, but before I know it, Jay's standing next to me and we're making some small talk. Basically he was trying to engage me and I was being curt with him. At some point, he got his hands on my backpack. I can't remember if he had asked for it and I had (foolishly) given it to him, or if I just had it off and he picked it up from the ground. Whatever the case, he now had possession of my backpack.
     In Kindergarten, I had a 101 Dalmatians-themed backpack. Y'know, buncha puppies are captured to be made into dog-skin fur coats and a bunch of other dogs team up to find them and bring them home. Lovely movie - and I certainly loved that little red and white backpack with a few of the dogs from the movie on it. It was precious, honestly.
     So he's got my cherished backpack in hand at this point, and I don't remember what happens next. Did I go the "Hey! Give that back!" route? Did he tease me while playing keep away? Violence never occurred to me, and even if it did Jay was about 3 times my size (...like, literally. He was probably triple my width.) and could have whooped my ass. What I DO remember is that he tossed my backpack in the middle of the street. Like, without any type of provocation. Just because he could. Dick move, right?
     Anyways, he starts hooting and guffawing at my expense while I walk out on the street to go get my backpack. I didn't cry then, and I'm pretty sure I didn't cry when I told my mom what happened. I just had a great sense of exasperation - like why the FUCK would someone do that?? I didn't even do anything! I didn't even wanna TALK to the fuckin' guy! He walked over to ME.
     Anyways, you could see why this would frustrate a 5 year old without a strong grasp on the (un)fairness of life at the time. Heck, I still don't quite get it now. But to stop myself from going off the topic, there you have it: my first encounter as the victim of a bully. It sucked ass, I didn't like it, and it definitely left me feeling like Jackie.

   

The Race

     In high school, I played on the football team. My position was as a lineman - for those of you unfamiliar, they're generally the biggest (read: tallest & heaviest) dudes on the field at any given time. Not that I was very tall (I can't say the same about not being heavy, lol), I just got lumped into the position. Anyways, linemen are typically (read: always) the slowest guys on the team. Any receiver, quarterback, and your average turtle could outrun a lineman.

     Slow as we are, though, even within the positional group there is differentiation. I.e. there are the slow, the slower, and the slowest linemen. I was definitely in the "slow" group (read: faster than the rest of the fatties). On the other end of the spectrum was a fellow named Derek. His real name is a lot more distinct (it's an ethnic name), but I think Derek will be my go-to cover-up name for the antagonists in my stories. I hate that guy (LOL jk...kind of...) Anyways, the closest animal I could relate Derek to is an ox. This guy was huge (especially at my high school full of Asians, where there weren't that many people taller than 6'). Anywhere from 6'-6'2", at least 230 pounds (and it wasn't all fat, either). I remember standing on the sidelines at one of our games against Independence where he picked up and body slammed this running back that looked like a child compared to him. It was pretty rad, to be honest.

     Anyways, there's more to the ox comparison than just his awesome strength: the dude is slow. I'm not talking just ox slow. I'm talking tortoise slow. I'm talking snail slow. By the time I took my baby steps I probably could have beat him (at the age of 18) in a race. It didn't help his sluggish reputation that his reflexes were awful as well; Derek was slow as hell already without giving everyone else a head start. Needless to say, he was easily the slowest guy on the team.
     Moving on, I happened to be the TA for Derek's physics class. As I strolled through the class one morning, I said something about his speed (or lack thereof) and how he was the slowest guy on the team. I'm not sure if he believed it or not, but y'know what this guy says?
     "No I'm not."
     I don't usually open my mouth about something unless I'm pretty confident, so before I could even give it any thought I shot back (albeit somewhat hesitantly):
     "Uhhh... yes you are."
     "No I'm not. There's someone else that's slower than me."
     The weird part of this conversation is that, for a very short period of time, my mind actually ran through the possibilities. It was senior year, and I'd been on the team since I was a freshman (Derek had only joined the team recently). I knew everyone pretty well after 4 years, and could name the slowest guys in a heartbeat. No one came close to Derek, in terms of slowness. Not one single guy, I was certain of it (or at least, I thought I was certain). But if I were to believe Derek, he was making the claim that somewhere on our roster lay someone that moved so glacially that even Derek could outpace him?? ...
     "Well, who is??"
     I mean, if the guy had a feasible answer, maybe I'd end up feeling the fool after all. I didn't really know what to expect. How could he know the team better than me?
     "You are."
     His response was literally jaw-dropping. As in, I stared at him with an open mouth and this dumb look on my face (y'know, the one where you squint at someone in disbelief?). But my surprise was brief. I asked, "Are you kidding me?" while I guffawed at his dumbass response. Was he joking? Was he serious? Did he even believe himself? Now, anybody who knows me knows my laugh. It is rather hearty, to say the least. Amidst my booming laughter, he chips in:
     "Nope. You're slower than me."
     If he was a funny guy, I would've thought he was just deadpanning, playing it real well. But he wasn't being funny - he was being dead serious. That snapped me out of my laughter and into a pretty aggressive mode.
     "Derek. Do you even know what you're talking about? I might be literally 2 times as fast as you."
     "No you're not, man. I'm faster than you."
     So, being teenage males of the prideful sort, we made a bet to race a hundred meters (the straight part of a track). Since I felt in my heart that he was the underdog by a long shot, I offered to let him set the stakes.
     "Alright, loser has to shave their head."
     If you didn't already know this about me, I have a strong affinity for my hair. I've never styled it in a particular way or even looked at it in the mirror much. It's pretty distinct, it grows in a funny way, but mostly I just like it. and I hate cutting it. At this point it was probably 4-6 inches long (which is short compared to now, but that was still longer than most men's hair and I was loathe to part with it).
     His hair, on the other hand? Maybe an inch long. He already kept his hair so short that shaving it wouldn't even mean a damn thing. whereas I would be losing many months of growth. Lame, right?
     Well, still thinking I had the advantage, I agreed. A feeling of trepidation began to creep into my psyche at the prospect of having to lose my hair, but whatever. We struck the bet and decided that the race would take place that very day after school let out.
     At break or lunch, whichever, I found my good friend Jordan to tell him about the race. Also, I'm not changing his name because I don't need to. He's the guy who has been commenting stickers on everything on Facebook for the past week or so.
     Anyways, I tell him about the race and he suggests we use the razor he's used to trim his pubes. Without any other options I kind of just went along with it without consulting Derek. I mean, I thought I was going to win the race anyways, why would it matter to me, right? And if I lost... well, that's karma for you. Or for me, rather. So throughout the rest of the day, word spread about the race (if I ever had a hype man, his name was Jordan Epperson).
     By the time we got out of class, my sense of anticipation was running pretty high - I was ready to run all over Derek, but the prospect of losing my hair to some pube trimmers played in my mind as well. An errant trip or other minor mishap could easily spell my doom. Whatever, though. Nothing I could do about it at this point.
     Quick aside: before making my way down to the track, I hit the locker room to change. Ran into the basketball coach/PE teacher in his office who says:
     "Oh cool, are you guys doing that right now? I gotta see this."
     After some walking "Hey, loser doesn't get kicked in the balls or anything, right? 'cause I can't be there for that." LOL (and I reassured him that no, no ball-kicking was happening that day).
     Moving on, we get down to the track and there's maybe 20-30 people gathered around to witness the spectacle. I don't really remember much at this time, I think my adrenaline was getting going and my mind was zoning. We probably went over the ground rules, maybe warmed up a little bit, but before you know it, there we were: side-by-side at one end of the track, waiting for the customary "Ready, set, go!", with someone manning a camera at the finish line.
     I already told you guys about his slow reflexes, so I was expecting to be ahead of Derek every step of the way. Whether it was because he wasn't as slow as I thought or because my nerves were shot, we got off to the same start. Not only that, but I distinctly remember being absolutely astonished as he matched me step for step. Alas, we were only to remain in sync for the first 3 steps.
     Whereas I continued to pick up steam, he did not (or at least, not nearly as fast). After those 3 steps, I took off like a rocket (well...relatively, of course) and could tell that I was leaving him in the dust. I ran into the finish line with my arms up, relieved that the result was exactly what I thought it would be (even though I was surprised at the outset of the race). & with that, the razor came out and the shaving commenced. and that's how I won the most thrilling race of my life.

Chicken? Not this guy

     This story's really short, but not short enough to fit into a status...so I opted to just share it here. 

     My whole life, I've been pretty athletic. I'm not talking award-winning, eye-popping feats of the body or anything like that, but just enough to not embarrass myself whenever I engaged in sporty endeavors. In elementary school, this included the game "Chicken." 

     For those of you who aren't familiar (where were you in elementary school? living under a rock?), 2 kids start out on opposite ends of the monkey bars. You go towards the middle, and when you reach the other kid, you kick them so that they drop to the tanbark before you do. I mean... I guess you could've also punched and or bit, but those aren't really tactically sound considering you'd have to take your hand off the bars or risk getting your face kicked in...

     Anyways, one day in either 4th or 5th grade (I think it was 5th grade), I was getting set to go across the monkey bars during recess. I noticed there was someone at the other end, let's just call him Derek (but that's not his real name, and no this is not about Derek Lui LOL). 

     Before I continue, let me tell you a little bit about Derek. He's an alright guy, as far as kids go. He's actually fairly nondescript - nice and not noticeably smart or noticeably stupid. No major characteristics to make him very likable - not witty, or outgoing, or whatever else it is that kids like. But his one major failing was pretty significant - this kid was a goddamn crybaby. I mean, anything that could be even slightly construed as offensive would get him going. Basically, this kid was looking for any and every excuse to shed some tears. It certainly annoyed the hell outta me and definitely hurt his social standing. To make matters worse, he wasn't very athletic, so it's not like he spent much time playing tag or basketball with the rest of us. He was pretty much a loner.

     So I see him across from me on the monkey bars, and I make it clear that I'm not trying to play Chicken. I'm not really in the mood for such a confrontation, plus I know I'm much better at this game than he is. He should be grateful I'm not forcing him to play (read: lose) against me. I know it and he knows it, so he agrees that we'll just make our way across the monkey bars in peace. I start making my way out, bar after bar. When we meet at about the midpoint, I'm maneuvering to turn myself 90 degrees so I can get past him without any contact. It's at this point that he decides to wrap his legs around me and yank me off the bars, laughing his ass off as he does so.

My thoughts as I dropped to the ground:

•      ...are you kidding me? 
• Have you no sense of gratitude? 
• I mean jesus christ, Derek. I coulda kicked the crap outta you if I wanted to, but I didn't. 
• We even agreed BEFOREHAND not to engage. Why the shenanigans, buddy?? 
• Uggghhhh. 
• Why must you do this?!
•  I don't want to be an asshole, but you're making it really difficult on me right now. 

     ...and then I hit the tanbark. If you can't tell, I wasn't amused at all. What could I do? Pull him down? I mean there was no point, considering I'd already been dropped. Not to mention that he was fat, so it wasn't really worth the labor. Maybe treat him to a dick punch? Tempting, but not something that occurred to me at the time. 

     Fortunately for me, while I was standing there fuming, I noticed that one of his shoes had dropped from his foot in the course of his dastardly betrayal of our agreement. I picked it up, and he stopped laughing. This was, once again, my opportunity to act as the purveyor of karma's immediate retribution - and I wouldn't fail.

     "Hey, give that back!"

     I don't know if he meant it, or if we were already at the point where both of us knew what was going down, but there was no way in hell I was just going to hand this scumbag back his shoe. They say to treat others as you'd like to be treated, and this kid just treated me like a real asshole - so I treated him right back.

     "Go get it," I told him, chucking that shoe with all my might. It flew out of the tanbark box, across some dirt, and landed in the sandbox. If that's how he wanted to play at recess, he could hop his ass one-legged across the way to get his shoe back. I didn't really give a damn if he was capable of it, or if he had to get his sock dirty by walking across the tanbark, dirt, and sand. 

     Revenge firmly in hand, I stood in place to watch his pitiful reaction. He released his grip on the bars, landing on the foot still housed by a shoe. He slowly began to hop his way towards his shoe in a really dejected manner - shoulders slumped, downcast facial expression. But before he got there, he stopped at the edge of the tanbark box and sat down. And do you know what this motherfucker did next? Do you remember his one major failing??

     Yep. Instead of taking what he got like a man, he turned on the water works. Before you know it, a crowd of students have circled him and are asking him what's wrong. Without even saying a word - PROBABLY 'CAUSE HE WOULD'VE LAUGHED OR SMILED, GIVING AWAY HIS ACTING JOB AS A VICTIM - he pointed at me as his sobs continued. And this one girl - really nice girl, I've known her all my life and I can say she's got a heart of gold - goes "What's WRONG with you, Minh?!" Even filled by righteous anger, I felt pretty awful when she said that. But the deed was done, and I obviously couldn't explain away my actions, so I just walked away, really exasperated at how I kept getting the short end of the stick in the span of just a few minutes -_-. 

     I could say something about how being spiteful just ends up screwing you over, or how I would have been better off just taking the high road in that situation. But I'd be lying to you if I said that. Throwing that shoe gave me tons of satisfaction and a story I still enjoy. Don't get me wrong - I know it was wrong, but I mean... does that mean you and I can't get a kick out of it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯??