― John Green
Faults in Our Stars
It's not great starting your career and then having it taking a nosedive.
It was my stupidity, I admit, but I spent a lot of time and money getting a teaching certificate and wasn't about to sit back and watch it all go down the drain.
Mind you, you can't fix being young and stupid and sometimes you screw up before you even get started. I know this story very well, because it happened to me.
It was my first teaching position working for a big metropolitan school board. The high schools aren't so much communities as factories and they are massive. The school I was in had three thousand students and six vice principals.
I often wondered why they called assistant principals, 'vice' principals, but now I have some idea.
I was fresh out of university, used to the frat boy mentality of boozing and partying and to tell the truth, never really paid attention to my one course on the structural and legal basis of the school system, because if I had, things might have turned out differently.
But then again, probably not.
It's a big transition from sitting in front of a teaching podium to standing behind one. Some people are naturals and take to it easily. I wasn't one of them.
Acting like a professional was an art where I was seriously challenged. I admit I told the odd raunchy joke in the staff lunch room and could have kept a lower profile, but hell, there's a learning curve involved and not everyone masters it flawlessly.
I was used to the give and take of university where everything could be debated and people freely expressed their opinions. I wasn't prepared for the politics of high school and its unspoken rules of dress and decorum, not to mention the taboo of disagreeing with your superiors.
I soon learned, but too late for it to be of any use to me.
It turns out there's two contracts―a green one for beginners and a white one for tenured staff members. I was definitely green in more ways than one.
There are certain guard rails and I blew through a few of them―for example, having a rancorous argument with one of the guidance counsellors who turned out to be the wife of the superintendent.
Who knew? Well, just about everyone else on staff but me. And who paid the price? Yeah, well I think that was pretty evident.
After a brief but fiery first semester, I was not invited back for a second one. I was devastated, but It was my own fault.
"It's on you, bro―hate to say it, but you screwed up big time."
Phil Fernsby was doing what he does best―stating the obvious. Sometimes friends are closer to frenemies.
"Thanks for not having my back, Guy," I mutter morosely, tipping my draft to the light to scry its contents.
"There's no veritas in vino, my friend," he declaims sagely.
"Yeah, well you're no Pliny the Elder and this is cheap draft not wine. And if you must know the Latin phrase is in vino, veritas which is a lie, because it should be, in vivo, oblivio, because that's what I intend to do―end up getting blotto."
"Drowning in a sea of self-pity," he tsks.
"More like drowning my sorrows in a glass of Coors Light," I add cynically.
Phil's eyes suddenly lightt up. "Bolo, Bolo," he whispers hoarsely, "one bandit approaching at six o'clock."
I swivel to my right, a complete half-turn and just manage to glimpse Sylvia Fisher her hips swaying in her low rise skirt and baby tee as she sashays toward me.
"Sexy Sadie," Phil adds, his glassy eyes gleaming.
Syl's eyes are gleaming too, but for a different reason. "Hi boys, out for the night?"
"We are," Phil jumps right in, again, stating the obvious.
"Do you mind if I join you?" she purrs.
"No, actually Matt can use some cheering up―he just got fired."
If looks could kill, Phil would now be dead.
Sadie, I mean, Sylvia, pulls out a chair and sits down all concerned and being nice to me.
I hate nice.
"I'm so sorry to hear you lost your job, Matt―what are you going to do now?"
Her eyes are huge and dark and I could easily fall in...and never get out again.
I tilt my glass to the light, not so much seeking truth or oblivion, so much as avoiding staring at her lovely assets.
I'm on a slippery slope I've slid down before and believe me, it's no fun when you hit bottom.
"You know Syl, I have no friggin' idea what I'm gonna do―tonight, tomorrow or the rest of my pitiful life. I'm a goddam loser and you should consider the many alternatives in this bar tonight and not waste your time with a man going nowhere."
She arches an eyebrow. "Kinda being hard on yourself, aren't you?"
She tilts her head so her long blonde hair swings loose and squints at me as if staring into the sun.
It's a reprise of the first day we met on her daddy's Muskoka dock―his yacht moored and gleaming white in the sun and water dripping off the tendrils of her hair, hypnotizing me.
I should have walked away then like I'm attempting to walk away now, except I'm a little unsteady on my feet.
"Hey, hold on sailor," she giggles, and grabs my arm and leans in to steady me.
I kiss her hard on the lips. Why? Because I can. Hey, if it was good enough for Clinton, so it's good enough for me, but we all know where grand gestures end.
"You're coming home with me," she says, and Phil lifts his glass to toast me and ambles off to join our other friends.
I'd like to say it will be a night to remember but I'd be lying like sin. I won't remember a damn thing.
Maybe in vino is oblivio, or maybe I'm just surrendering to my instincts. Any way you look at it nobody wins and we're both going to regret another night.
O bla di bla da, oblivion be damned.