How my wife deals with teaching kindergarten at an inner-city school is beyond me.
She puts up with a lot, like:
2) Unintelligible conversations
4) Unrelenting verbal Abuse
And that's just when I call her cell phone.
Imagine what the kids who can't speak English do.
Crazy fucking shit, my friends.
But, she also gives me a lot of fodder for this blog.
One of the parents had to fill out some form that the school required.
I believe that conversation went like this:
Wife: "You have to fill out this form."
Wife: "YOU. HAVE. TO. FILL. OUT. THIS. FORM."
(it works better if you speak loud and slow to immigrants)
Parent: "Que?...Eh...er...potato potato potato potato."
(I believe all Spanish I've ever heard sounds just like the word 'potato' over and over again...TRY IT AT HOME, KIDS!)
Somehow, my wife got them to sign the form.
Or, as they say in Spanish, "Goya de Cerveza."
Regardless...here's the form.
Nothing worthy to note here, really.
Except the "Occupation" section.
(click to enlarge (that's what she said))
Is this actually a position?!
And, if so...
Why the fuck am I working here?!
No zits and I can afford to buy gas.
Can I be a McDonald's AssMan?!
I'm really more of a boob guy, but if this is all that's open...
Wife: "I think he meant 'Assistant Manager.'"
I'm still calling Kentucky Fried Chicken, anyway.
They HAVE to have someone in charge of breasts.
Clear skin is overrated anyway.