Just to let you know what I’m up against, here is brief rundown of my day:
First, I had three-year olds make cake, juice, grapes, and ice cream out of play-doh.
Then, as I was teaching some four-year olds words about the playground, one of them peed her pants. On the floor and everything. Yes, I probably could have done something to clean it. Instead, I asked someone else for help, and made the little girl stay completely still (in her pee and clothes) for 15 minutes until help arrived.
At lunch, I had to go to the bank. I lost this card they gave me that had all these secret codes on it, and I can’t do anything without it (didn’t realize that until recently.) I emailed them asking what I should do, and they said if I still knew the codes, then I could just call and ask for a new card (if I knew the codes, I wouldn’t need a new card) but if I didn’t, I could go to my branch and they would give me one.
Lucky for me, I didn’t really believe them. But I went all the way to my branch (it’s by where I used to live, so not so convenient anymore) and the lady said she couldn’t give me a new card, that I had to call the number. So, in the branch they have a phone to call the number. So I call it. He says I need to go to the branch. I say, “I’m in the branch, they told me to call you.” So finally he says he’ll send me a new card, but to my old address (I never changed it). I tell him I don’t live there anymore, he says I have to change my address in the branch. Luckily for me, I’m in the branch so I hang up and tell the lady I need to change my address. She says I need to call telephone banking. I say, “He said I had to go to the branch.” She lets me change my address. I call telephone banking. I have a new card on the way in a few days. Phew!
I go back to work. One of the interns (we have these cute little interns around now, little do they know that technically I am an intern) asks if she can come to my five-year old class with me. I enthusiastically agree because five-year olds are really sweet individually, but as a group they often revolt and it makes me fear for my life should they ever decided to turn on me. Two adults are better than one. We get to the class, and we’re about to get started when a boy asks me if he can use the bathroom. I tell him sure, but then he turns around and starts walking the other way. I try to tell him, “Hey, I said yes…” but he proceeds to vomit. Over and over and over. Right there on the floor. The intern is talking to other five-year olds and has not noticed. I get her attention, point to the vomit and say, “I’m going to get help.” I leave the room to find someone who can help, and right then all the kids think it would be great to play in some vomit. Luckily the intern is there and stops them. The person I got to help calls the cleaning ladies. We all sit in a room full of vomit (and five-year olds who would like to play in the vomit) for about 20 minutes until someone comes to clean it. I end up teaching about 10 minutes of English. I feel bad for the intern, but thank god she was there.
I get home and am so excited to make spaghetti. So, so excited because all I’ve been eating lately are sandwiches, eggs, and soup. Really. All. Finally, I’m going to have some meat! Some sauce! Some whole-what noodles! I start cooking the meat and it smells funny. It was the only meat I could find that wasn’t fatty mcfatfat filled. I take a closer look and realize it’s….veal. I’m sadly really grossed out no matter how hard I try not to be.
So, I drowned my sorrows in some wine that I bought to put in the spaghetti sauce. It’s been a looooooong day, and I deserve it. So what if I still have to do my homework for tomorrow and I’m slightly drunk?