| Clever Russians Steal Bag Boy Jobs! |
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Jack from Missouri (the “Show Me” State) … A Teacher’s Journal. Emerald City High is located in an area where the economy is seasonal. Over the last several years, many businesses have been hiring kids from Eastern bloc countries to work summer jobs. This has put a great deal of pressure upon our local youth, who now must compete for work that they used to take for granted. Just the other day, two of my best students, Star Winthrop and McKinley McCallister, rushed over to my café table in tears. It was early summer and I was enjoying my mocha latte and raspberry scone while studying the No Child Left Behind laws. “Why, what’s the matter, Star?” I asked, concerned. “And you, McKinley, why the long, sad face?” “The R-R-R-Russians!” sobbed Star. “They stole our bagger jobs!” “That’s right,” McKinley said. “And Mr. Larsen, we’re, like, born in the U.S.A. We pay taxes and shit.” “This is terrible,” I said. “Have you spoken to the manager about it?” Star appeared to choke, sob, and gasp in a gurgling medley of grief. “We did,” she finally said, “but he wouldn’t listen.” “He said we were unreliable,” McKinley muttered, his eyes growing dark with rage. “Did he say anything else?” I asked. Star cleared her throat. “Well, he said that we stole stuff.” “And that’s a bald man’s ass in your face lie!” McKinley shouted. “We left a couple of beers by the fruit salad to pay for those candy bars.” “I see,” I replied. “Yeah, and you know something else, Mr. Larsen?” Star said. “The manager said that we had poor people skills.” Star snorted with contempt. “I ain’t poor.” McKinley shrugged. “I ain’t poor, either.” “I’m not sure he meant that,” I said, gently. “What did he say exactly about your skills?” “Well, we’re baggers, Mr. Larsen,” Star said. “That means that we put stuff in bags.” I nodded. “And sometimes, customers act like such gay bitches, you know?” I nodded again. “And, you know, you don’t talk to me a certain way,” Star said, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah,” McKinley added, “cause if you fuck with us, we will fuck with you.” “Did someone speak harshly to you in the supermarket checkout line?” I asked. “This fat hog tells me to watch where I’m putting her eggs,” Star said. “And then what happened?” Star stared at me. “I told her to take her goddamn eggs and shove them right up her twat hole. I will not take that disrespect from no one. Nuh-uh.” “Yeah, we will go off on you,” McKinley said. I cleared my throat. “You mentioned something about being called unreliable. What was that about?” “We didn’t show up for work, like, twice last week,” Star said. “So the manager is, like, ‘you kids don’t have any work ethic, you’re all a bunch of losers,’ blah de blah de blah.” Star laughed. “I’m in high school, you know? And these are the best years of my life. So, you know, like, chill out, douche-bag.” McKinley added, “Yeah, like—sorry I’m not forty years old with no friends, you know? “And now the Russians have your jobs?” I said. “Yeah,” Star said. “And get this: you can hardly even understand them when they talk. They just stand there like drones, packing bags and working the cash registers.” “They sure sound dangerous,” I said. “Duhhh, Mr. Larsen,” Star said. “They’re, like, foreigners, you know?” “What are you going to do now?” Star and McKinley glanced at each other. “We’re going to be lifeguards,” McKinley said. I was silent. “I hear the training is real easy,” Star said. “If someone is drowning, you just punch them in the head a couple of times and they puke out all the water.” “I ain’t doing no mouth to mouth on fat bitches,” McKinley said. “That’s where I draw the line.” “Where did you say you’ll be working?” I asked. “We’re not sure yet,” Star said. “But we’ll let you know.” “I don’t swim,” I said hastily. “I never go to pools or lakes.” “Don’t worry,” McKinley laughed. “We’ll save you if you’re drowning. You’re our favorite teacher, Mr. Larsen.” I coughed. “Well, good luck, kids.” After they left, I went back to my No Child Left Behind pamphlet. Then I had an inspiration. Should I call the Russian Embassy? Maybe Stalingrad could spare a few lifeguards for the summer. My name is Jack, and I’m a teacher in a small town in Missouri—the “Show Me” state…. Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking websites               
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