(My poor, almost broken nose. Sad face.)
I seem to attract rough weeks, and this might have been one of the roughest and toughest of them all. Let me tell you a little bit about it.
I nearly had an ear torn off and my nose broken. I lost count of how many times I've been slapped in the face. Some girl kicked me so hard in the balls I nearly blacked out. This is on top of the other three times I was popped in the "goods." Even KC Jr. (my penis) got punched.
One of these jokers even tickled the back of my knees to get me to fall over. After that a crowd rolled me over and then took turns stomping on me. Someone jumped on my back and tried choking me unconscious.
(Black eye, again.)
A few guns were pulled on me. I survived a stabbing.
I've been spit on, almost barfed on and almost pissed on. Drinks thrown on me. Food tossed at me.
I've been called every name in the book, and then some more creative inventions. Mostly, I've been yelled at for the entirety of shifts.
Patrons running up to me begging me to tell the deejay to play the same effing song for the tenth time today. Nothing, and I mean nothing compares to the hilarity of these people dancing. Off beat, off kilter and off their rockers. All of them.
Then there were the criers, screamers and complainers. I even saw a tooth fly out of somebody's mouth. It wasn't my fault. I swear.
A few contraband "goodies" were slipped to me when nobody was looking. Since I'm supposed to be an adult, I kindly refused and handed them back, not mentioning anything to anybody. Except you guys, I guess.
The cutest girls threw themselves at me. Some of the females even offered to take me to the bathroom for some soapy "playtime." Every guy wanted to hang out with me, even though moments earlier I'd laid some of them flat on their backs.
I needed a constant flow of caffeine to carry on through my shifts and probably should have been issued a morphine drip.
For all this I won't earn a wage, but paid strictly under the table.
If you think I rejoined the ranks of the Bouncer Elite, you're dead wrong. I've never had weeks like this bouncing. Not even years.
No, I haven't joined up with the Korean Army, or even a mixed-martial arts academy. But I did throw my hat into a different type of school.
As a favor to a friend and for a little extra cash, I put on my happy face and helped out with an English-language camp – at a kindergarten. I experienced. The madness. The brutality. The utter overdose of cuteness of 60 five-, six- and seven-year-old Korean children.
(Good morning children!)
If my testes ever grow back, I will seriously consider not having children. Borrowing them for six hours a day is definitely more than I can handle.
I need to give props to kindergarten teachers everywhere. I thought my friends teaching in the hood owned the harshest and hardcorest stories. No way. Every kindergarten teacher in the world can tell tales of violence and cruelty to rival any death row inmate.
Would I do it again?
In a heartbeat. These kids were ridiculously cute. Also, instead of coming up with new jokes every class like I do with my usual students, I get to re-hash the same crappy jokes over and over again. And these little ween kids love every second of it.
So kiddies, Casey Songsang-nim (Teacher) may return to the bloody institution we call kindergarten. But next time, I'm wearing a mouthguard and a nut cup.
(Smile through the pain. This is my ultra-corny kindergarten getup.)