Chapter 1 #2
He started staying in at lunch more often.
He was nervous because there was a big test coming up and he was struggling to remember the finer differences between the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.
I created flash cards and we ran through them daily.
He memorized all of them and scored a 97 percent, the highest score in the class, even higher than Tentacruel.
I was so proud of him, and even better, he was proud of himself. I thought, THIS is why I love teaching.
Then one day as I entered the room, I saw him gesturing to a couple of his classmates, inflating his cheeks and cupping imaginary breasts. They went silent as soon as they saw me but kept laughing behind their hands. Was Oddish making fun of me?
I let it go; I was already at my wit’s end after Tentacruel and his friends had upped the ante on their cruelty.
Like their classmates, they were each given a Chromebook to work on, which it was my job to monitor.
I could see what the kids were searching in Google, and Tentacruel apparently thought that was a great way to send veiled messages directly to me.
Why is Mr. Truesdale so fat?
Did Mr. Truesdale eat his last class and that’s why he’s such a blimp?
Why is Mr. Truesdale so bad at teaching?
When is Mr. Truesdale going to give up already?
On top of that, the stress of my life outside the classroom was starting to get to me.
I was working close to seventy hours a week, not including the time I spent grading assignments and lesson planning.
I was barely surviving financially, even before my car decided it needed a new transmission and brakes.
I was gaining weight like crazy because of the stress of it all, and the worst part was that no one seemed to be happy with me.
The kids hated me. The store resented my lack of daytime availability.
And I kept receiving weird feedback from the administration about my “lack of energy in the classroom” and “untidy appearance.”
By this point, I was seriously beginning to doubt my career choice, and Oddish was the only thing making any of it bearable. So I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Then one day as I was monitoring the class’s Chromebook activity, I saw something I wasn’t supposed to.
Banned from using their phones, some students thought they were being clever by using a shared Google Doc to chat back and forth.
I thought I’d be clever back by opening the document and messaging them to start paying attention, and that’s when I saw it.
I fucking hate Titty Truesdale, someone had written. He’s so fat and gross.
We need to get him fired. Quick, say he touched your junk
“Miss, can I be excused from class? Titty Truesdale tickled my big ol tiddies!”
Say he stole and ate your lunch. That’s more believable.
Titty Truesdale, I can’t believe he admitted that was his nickname!!!
It’s true! He told me during lunch. He always wants me to stay in and hang out with him. It’s so weird.
God, he’s such a disgusting pig.
Of course, I did what any self-respecting professional would do: I quietly closed the Chromebook, retreated to the staff bathroom, and burst into tears—not my finest moment, I admit.
Believe it or not, I don’t blame Oddish.
He was probably just trying to fit in. But his betrayal, on top of everything else, broke me.
I couldn’t fathom doing this every day for the rest of my life, standing up in front of a roomful of preteens, opening myself up to their judgment and ridicule.
It had taken me years to get over the bullying I experienced in middle school, on campus and at home, and I didn’t see how I could go on without sacrificing my mental health.
I decided it wasn’t worth it for the crappy pay and long hours I knew awaited me.
The only dream I’d ever had—at least, the only one I might realistically be able to achieve—was over.
The owner of a useless advanced degree and $20,000 in debt, I called the school and told them I wasn’t coming back.
It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, one I still feel guilty about to this day.
If I were thin, would I feel so ashamed of calling it quits? Or would I just chalk it up as a learning experience, count myself lucky for not wasting years of my life doing something I hated?
Either way, my goal now is to find a different path into education.
For the last four years I’ve volunteered with various groups, and six months ago I found my perfect fit with Future Makers, a local organization that provides tutoring, mentorship, and college-application assistance to disadvantaged youth to help them become first-generation college students.
I LOVE it! As a volunteer tutor I get my fix of shaping young minds without the pressure of having to stand at the front of a classroom every day.
I’m more like a big brother to my tutees than a teacher.
They care what I think far more than how I look.
Ideally, I’d love to work somewhere like Future Makers full-time and get paid for it, but after years of searching and applying for jobs, nothing has worked out.
The only positions that pay a decent wage—manager and director roles mostly—require more experience than I can reasonably claim, and with rents rising something like 10 percent a year, I can’t afford to take a pay cut and make the jump.
And so here I am at Target five years later, watching my coworkers earn raises, awards, and promotions while the store manager rewards my loyalty by suggesting I “might enjoy a more back-of-house role—say, security, or nighttime stocking.”
Fuck off, Rick, I’m a people person, I don’t want to stock shelves!!!
No advancement. Shitty benefits. Not even a boyfriend to come home to at the end of the day. My life getting ever smaller while I only seem to get bigger.
But I still have hope. 2023 is going to be my year, I can feel it.
Until then, I’ll take a venti caramel iced latte with oat milk, extra whip.