I’ve never been one to subscribe to the theory of “everything happens for a reason,” or “God has a plan” as it’s understood in the less secular translations. A bit too optimistic for my taste; just a white lie designed to keep people from putting a gun in their mouth during those times when non-existence doesn’t seem so bad. Even for the omniscient, there are way too many people to keep track of, let alone give a frothy shit about. If God ever really did have a plan for all of us, I’m pretty sure he gave up about 6 billion people ago. 

Having said that, it does seem as though being hung out to dry by my first boss may have been the most ideal outcome.*  Not only did I find another job long before my savings ran dry, but I also had a couple weeks to kill, giving me plenty of time to explore the city, interact with the locals, and absorb some culture. Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Andy, you literally did none of those things.”  That’s not the point. The point is I found an employer whose professional expectations were far more suitable to my skill set. By which, I mean, lower…much, much lower.

Not that my new school is any less reputable of an institution; but they’ve been having some issues with their white people of late. Some honky hassles, if you will. For example, the “man” that I replaced was so out there that to simply call our interactions awkward, would be a compliment. This dude was so socially illiterate that it was impossible not to feel bad for him; that is, until you realize he has all the redeeming qualities of a diaper rash. As a result they’ve been forced to drop their standards. 

Enter Andy Mac, galloping into town astride a glorious mythical steed. Is that a suit of armor I see sparkling on the horizon? Or just the blinding glare from his nearly translucent skin? IT MAKES NO MATTER! For this man will be hired not by the color of his skin, but by his lack of a severe, yet undefined social disorder. Unlike my predecessor, I had not made a habit of invading everyone’s personal space with a crippling ignorance of social norms. I’m honestly not exaggerating when I say that my number one qualification for this job was that I was not him. Which is great, because I had unknowingly gained over twenty years of experience in not being him. I had been not being him for pretty much my entire life. 

Of course, it didn’t take long for that new toy novelty to wear off. Now, I’m expected to “contribute” and shit. Still, not a bad gig though.  These days, my leading qualifications are my fluency in English (which, on my list of reflexive talents, is just above wiping), and never having been arrested for child abuse. Admittedly, the second one is considerably more difficult than the first…but still, pretty fuckin’ easy. Certainly better than closing down a bar 3 nights a week. At least here, I’m not surprised when the clientele piss themselves.

Footnotes

* Actually, the most ideal outcome would have involved one of my fellow trainees, whom I will call Lorie, and myself being invited to vent our frustrations in a consensual, yet highly aggressive threesome with our sadistic Korean trainer. But that’s just me being a stickler for semantics. I digress.