Dorinda Fox's Open Salon Blog

Scenes from the Surprisingly Inexpensive Nassau Cruise

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 16:11:28 -0500

Scenes from the Surprisingly Inexpensive Cruise to Nassau on Halloween Weekend

$212 for a three day cruise to Nassau for two over Halloween weekend? When you see a situation you do not understand look for the financial incentive. My older daughter and I discovered that shortly after boarding when we were presented with a time share pitch by E.B. while we ate pizza and hot dogs.

E.B. is chatty and trying to bond with the possible customer. She discovers quickly that I am divorced and my last vacation was to Vegas. E.B. is an attractive and athletic looking woman in her late 60s who attempts to bond with me by noting our similarities. She is also divorced. Aren’t you happier now dear? My daughter is next to me so that is awkward. I tell her there are no happy divorces only necessary ones. My daughter volunteers that we are ALL happier to quell the divorce discussion. E.B. was divorced 25 years ago and used to go to Vegas twice a year but not any more since her ex moved there with his new wife. She has a similar educational background and work history to mine. She earned an M.A. in communications from the University of Miami and worked for a national cancer group. She asks the name of my oncologist. I tell her I am not interested in a time share, could not afford one if I was or why this $212 cruise, and excuse myself to make dinner reservations for the next three days before the good spots are taken. E.B. says I ate the hot dog so I have to stay with her for the next few hours and I might change my mind. I tell her there are few things I have to do in life and that is not one of them and I will not change my mind. I go to make reservations and come back to retrieve my daughter.

E.B. sucks her teeth and says, “It won’t change my life at all whatever you decide. You never know what can happen to you. I thought I WAS retired.” I wonder if E.B. was one of those people who knew Bernie Madoff through his Florida country club because she fits that demographic and it is sad. My daughter and I escape to go to our room and check out the ship.

It is cute little cruise ship if one can call a cruise ship little. It has obviously been refurbished since it was built in 1981 as the ship model in the lobby indicates. There are only three floors with guest rooms. Our room has been redecorated with a boutique hotel feel and most fixtures have German instructions. All the other informative signs and labels on the doors throughout the ship are also in German and look intimidating. There are three small dining rooms furnished in 1) blonde wood/chrome with many windows, 2) with small round tables and heavy curtains, and 3) with many tables a la fancy steakhouse. We like the menus and my daughter insists on lobster one night we are there. There is no pool but a large Jacuzzi with glass sides that allow one to see the bodies of the guests underwater – generally not a flattering view and I vow not to get in it. There are many comfortable padded chaise longues on the upper deck and we get comfortable looking out over the Port of the Everglades.

My older daughter has decided to journal this trip since we both knew something odd was gonna happen. She makes a final call to the boyfriend of the month saying she will miss him.

We go to our room to get the life jacket for the boat drill. We are behind a tall, thin, and rather effeminate man named “Leslie” who is followed by two women identical except for a 30 year age difference. Both women are about four feet tall and four feet wide with short hair and heavy New York accents. Leslie has done something to irritate them as the older woman who is about 70 calls him a “shit for brains, motherfucking, cock sucking bag of shit” and then shakes her drink in Leslie’s face. They are our neighbors in the room next to us and my daughter chastises me for breaking into a fit of laughter once we get in the room because they might hear me through the wall. I tell my daughter that I don’t know the differences among New York accents but I am guessing Brooklyn. We get the life jackets and head back into the hall where we run into young men in their twenties loading band equipment. They look at my daughter and announce, “Man she was a stone fox.” I reply that “fox” is her name and realize I am not going to let my 16-year-old daughter alone with these guys during the trip. Later we learn one of the young men is a minor West Palm radio celebrity for an alternative rock station fronting his band for the trip.

During the boat drill we all learn that Leslie and his companions are in 7413 as the older woman fond of the term “shit” loudly announces “7413” to any question asked by the boat drill captain who appears to be a shaved head muscular Nubian god in officers’ whites and he has a Bahamian accent to boot. That is my distinctly Lisa Lampanelli like thought and I feel bad about it. He calls roll and every time he calls someone’s name we hear “7413.”

My daughter and I go back up top and watch Fort Lauderdale recede from view as we head out into the ocean. The music is good and I lie down to sleep on a chaise longue until dinner which is excellent but takes awhile. We get to know the waiter who is from a country in the west of what used to the Soviet Union and meet not one but two sommeliers. The female sommelier is from Indonesia and the male sommelier is from India. I love writing the word “sommelier” and want to be one someday. The sommeliers pretend to be fascinated as I discuss my love of oaky chardonnay. The iced tea sucks as it does on all cruise ships because they just make hot Earl Gray tea and pour it over ice. Gag me.

We go to see a comedy show after dinner and discover the main theater could not really be refurbished but they made a good attempt at redecorating with tasteful club chairs and toile accessories. Unfortunately said chairs and toile clash as they should with all the metal on the ceiling painted in primary colors and apparently designed to resemble the bottom of spaceships that land in Spielberg movies. There are many many jets that release steam as if the ceiling is lifting off into space.

The comedian is named Carltoid and he resembles the boat drill captain and I am again ashamed of turning into Lisa Lampanelli in my interior dialogue and hope my daughter is not picking up on it. Of course she is and she says, “He is handsome and you can tell he was a dancer.” Indeed he was a member of an international dance troupe who travelled all over the world and he breaks into fluent Spanish and Italian throughout the act. He proceeds to perform a dozen interpretations of black men throughout the world with super quick costume and accent changes including some “oh no he didn’t” moments in which he portrays a Zulu prince, a British gangster, and a South Central huckster selling stolen televisions and car bumpers. The younger version of four foot tall and four foot wide is sitting across from us wearing a regrettable halter jumpsuit made of shiny silver material. She interrupts Carltoid’s act when he portrays an Italian lothario and says something in Italian. He makes his way over to her table, presses his crotch forward, and says, “Is that what you wanted to see?” Apparently her Italian is on par with her mother’s English. It is a small ship and we run into Carltoid the next day and I compliment him on his quick costume changes and language ability being careful not to compliment the “oh no he didn’t” moments. He says he lived in LA for a long time and used to go the Improv on Sunset to learn from Robin Williams. My daughter tells here about seeing Williams perform the week before and that we had real concerns about his health.

The comedian the next night is also a dancer/comedian but his specialty is tap and his resume as announced seems to cover every Broadway play or movie in the last 20 years that involves tap dancing. He also drums and throws in jokes during the activity. Unfortunately I heard all the jokes two months before when I saw Earthquake in West Palm or perhaps this guy and Earthquake hang out at the same Chinese restaurant where the proprietor is friendly to guests and real hard on the help. I vow to tell him this but do not because he and his wife are very friendly during karaoke in the piano lounge later so I don’t want to be mean. He tells a fascinating story about tap dancing with Sammie Davis Jr. in a movie.

We also meet up with the guys from the rock band at the piano bar and they sing Beatles songs for my daughter who loves every minute of it. Thinking I might feel left out the piano player sings a jazzy/schmaltzy version of “You Are So Beautiful To Me” and I realize there is no way to sing that song and not be schmaltzy. The piano player is wearing a purple velvet dinner jacket, white pants, and black shoes so that adds to the schmaltz factor. And he has an electric keyboard rather than a real piano.

The next day we go to Cable Beach in Nassau which is achingly beautiful in the white sand, turquoise water, pristine view way and there is a Starbucks in the casino next door. I alternate between iced tea and pina coladas while we relax on the beach. I do NOTHING strenuous other than lift my arm but the three hours in the sun cause my lymphadema to kick in and both my arms swell and turn hot pink. Really annoying. I have a hot pink wrap over my sundress and the rest of the day as we shop in downtown Nassau at the straw market concerned Bahamian women tell me dye from the wrap is on my arms. Nope. They just look that way if I sweat even just a little tiny bit.

We go back on board since we only have an hour left and have learned on previous trips that downtown Nassau can be creepy around 5 p.m. when merchants board up windows with hurricane shutters and the many many taxis and women wanting braid hair just disappear. Nassau seems to be one large stage set that shuts down when the tourist play is over. My daughter wants my arms to cool down. So we go to the theater to see Twilight on a screen strategically placed in front of a bank of windows overlooking the Atlantis resort. It is a strange background for a vampire movie about abstinence set in the Pacific Northwest.

There is a costume contest on board the ship that evening preceded by a performance by the rock band. First we to go to dinner in the small formal dining room where they serve lobster so my daughter dresses up in a slinky red dress I did not know she owned that makes her look about 25. This was intentional ;0) After dinner when we go to the spaceship theater to hear the rock band we sit at a table by the stage eye level with the band. I am worried but find it amusing that the lead singer announces they aren’t allowed to say the F word in their music so they will just sing the next song that has no profanity. The chorus of the song is “she likes to take it from behind” and I have never heard it before. My daughter tells me it is a popular song. About 30 ship guests line up after their performance for the costume contest dressed as a witch doctor, German peasants, and oddly a naked chef wearing only a chef’s hat, culinary school apron, and jock strap. We are eye level with the stage and when they line up the contestant the chef’s rear end is planted one foot from our faces. It is awkward and I don’t know what to say and finally laugh and tell my daughter, “Good thing the dude works out – this could be more awkward.” His jock strap is made of green elastic.

Attel.Leguizamo. Stanhope. Oddly Angelou. And I shoot a rat.

Sun, 22 Nov 2009 18:11:35 -0500

In interviews conducted shortly after President Bill Clinton’s first inauguration Maya Angelou described an honest and perhaps worrisome writing process. In order to write an important poem on demand she checked into a hotel room free of a television and her home’s distractions with a bottle of booze, a pen, and some paper. Apparently she does this often for inspiration and to avoid writer’s block.

I am the very poor man’s white Maya Angelou as I type this from an inexpensive La Quinta motel room a stone’s throw from the Turnpike exit with only a Denny’s to go cup of unsweet iced tea for company. Starbucks was closed after midnight and girl does what she has to do. I was the only heterosexual woman in Denny’s who did not appear to be a prostitute. I had chicken wings while I discussed the Attel performance on the phone with my friend the minister who writes his sermons late on Saturday nights. My life is weird.

My Own Personal Comedy Palooza

This weekend was my own personal comedy palooza tour. On Thursday I saw Doug Stanhope at a small college bar in Orlando called Back Booth. On Friday I saw John Leguizamo at the Times Union Terry Theater in Jacksonville. On Saturday I saw Dave Attel at the West Palm Improv. How can I do this? Well I have not slept much and living near Orlando means I am a three hour drive from most places in Florida. On the third day I rested and decided to stay in this La Quinta rather than driving home in the wee hours again.

Why do I do this? Who would find comedians that interesting? Blame the blue laws in place in Arkansas 20 years ago. I was dating an underwear model handsome recently transplanted Yankee from Indianapolis who missed hockey and being able to drink on Sundays in public. That could only be done in private clubs. His preferred private club was the comedy club in the shopping center near my apartment where he woke up most Sunday mornings. After a leisurely morning we good times and fond memories would head off for the 2 p.m. Sunday comedy show. I don’t remember the names of most of the comedians we saw and most often met on those Sunday afternoons note the reason we were there but there was one hilarious improv riffed off the job title of an audience member called We Don’t Give a Shit About the Traveling Oatmeal Salesman. We also took my parents to see Pat Paulsen perform once. Paulson seemed mortified to have fallen from Smothers Brothers fame to headlining at a Little Rock comedy club in a strip mall. I remember my father being embarrassed for Paulson as well and think Paulson skipped town and his second billed performance the next day.

Florida – November 19^th through 21st

Stanhope, Leguizamo, and Attel have all been in the business of making people laugh and cry for a good two decades or more. They are not overnight sensations.

DOUG STANHOPE

Doug Stanhope is frequently cited as the favorite comedian or other famous comedians. If Lewis Black and George Carlin have noted him as one of their favorite comedians then he must be doing something right. Like the legendary Bill Hicks before him to whom he has often been compared he is not a rich man or really well-known in the entertainment mainstream. He does not travel the comedy club circuit preferring to manage his own career marketing through social networks. It means nothing in the bff department but he is my facebook friend. He contracts with small bars in the towns he chooses to visit. Methinks his shows are purposefully billed as starting an hour or so more before they actually do so the bar sells more drinks during his appearances. Or that was the case when I saw him Thursday with a crowd of firemen, frat boys, and nerdy academic looking Ron Paul supporters -- that is me except for the Ron Paul part. However I do find Paul entertaining to listen to at times since his comments jump from common sense to racist to batshit crazy and back again. Stanhope may be one of the more visible members of the Libertarian party. He briefly considered running for president until he learned election rules would cut into his comedy income.

Stanhope may be more famous in Western Europe where he delivered a well-received performance at the Edinburgh Comedy/Fringe festival shortly after 9/11/2001 during which he mocked the hero worship of police, firemen, and military personnel prevalent in the United States at the time. It is a testament to his comedic skill that he recalled this incident to appreciative applause from an audience full of firefighters. I also met some on-duty police officers in my suburban Orlando town a few weeks ago when I was wearing a “Doug Stanhope For President” t-shirt at a local Mexican restaurant. They gushed repeatedly over their love of Stanhope’s work. Go figure.

PAY THE FREAK!

I just friggin’ loved it when Doug Stanhope had a bar full of drunken firefighters and frat boys (and me) yelling that this evening during his stand-up performance. I was appalled as well this past week when Oprah interviewed the woman who was attacked and disfigured by the chimpanzee convincing a blind woman to show her horrific face on camera. My office mate at the university is a reporter for the paper and I asked her if this was truly newsworthy and justified. She said Oprah often irritated her but, “Did the chimp really tear her eyeballs out? That makes it a story.”

As Stanhope noted this evening in the past such people could make a small living as part of freak shows allowing yokels to ogle them through knotholes in fences earning perhaps 50 cents for the humiliation. At least they got the 50 cents. Now that money goes to Oprah who turns the big reveal into a inspirational moment scored with harpsichord music while earning money off the ratings created by seeing a woman whose face and hands were torn apart by an enraged animal.

PAY THE FREAK!

Anyway I did not see Oprah’s interview but heard it on Oprah radio on the way into work and was glad not have seen the big reveal as I found it obscene. I had no way to voice what I felt but Stanhope did not fail me as he repeated this evening what he noted on facebook earlier this week, “I eat pussy like a chimpanzee eats your face. Who wants to be on Oprah?’

That is what Stanhope does. He manages to combine absolute irrefutable logic with total filth. Rarely can this be distilled to one punchline. It is a wonder to watch. I went to hear the logic although he bemoaned on stage that he wonders why he tries because no one listens. No one listens to the point that he was booed off the stage by environmentalist teenagers at the Leeds Music Festival who pelted him with recycables -- but he refused to leave the stage until he had stayed as many minutes as required by contract. Tough business in which to make a living.

JOHN LEGUIZAMO

John Leguizamo is not a stand-up comedian but a grew-up-poor-and-ethnic actor from Queens who studied at NYU and with Lee Strasberg. He has appeared in venues ranging from Madonna videos and Joseph Papp’s Shakespeare festival in A Midsummer Night’s Dream to To Wong Foo . . .

I found all this out during his one man show perhaps performance art two hour show that perhaps was meant to recall the format of his Tony nominated Freak and Sexaholic performances in years past. An ancient slideshow projector with a wheel (I heard the click-click sounds) and two portable screens were involved. In those previous shows he discussed his awful ethnic childhood (to paraphrase Frank McCourt) and sexual adventures/lessons learned. In this show he presented a retrospective of his career recounting on-the-set incidents with directors and co-stars.

I will give Leguizamo this. I found it interesting that he and the now sainted-due-to-death-from-cancer Swayze had a fistfight while dressed in drag on the set of To Wong Foo during which the crew placed bets on who would be the winner. Swayze was wearing red high heels and Leguizamo was wearing hot pants.

It is telling that Leguizamo’s early TV and movie career was built on being the Hispanic criminal who shot leading A-list actors on screen. One of these was as Edward Caldron Jr. who shot Sonny Crockett who then almost bought the farm in the later Miami Vice episodes. This was after the show jumped the shark and there was an awful miniseries within a series where Crockett had amnesia and became a Godfather like Sonny Corleone Christ figure for 20 something shows. A young Julia Roberts portrayed the elder Caldron’s girlfriend. Add my intricate knowledge of old Miami Vice episodes to my geek quotient and your realization on “now I know why Dorinda remains single.” Another example of Leguizamo’s portrayal of murderous Hispanic criminal was as the convenience store robber who shot Harrison Ford in the head making Ford’s character a nicer person and a possible Oscar candidate for “not-full-on-retard” performance see the hilarious and politically incorrect Tropic Thunder for this reference. He was also Tibauld SPELLING? in Romeo and Juliet who was trying to kill Romeo. If I remember correctly Romeo killed himself before being murdered by a Leguizamo’s character who was a walking oily-haired preening stereotype proficient in gunplay at gas stations. More geek points for me. I liked Moulin Rouge as well.

Leguizamo did not always kill people onscreen and co-starred in the uber turkey Mario Brothers movie to get earn enough money for a New York City brownstone that apparenty he lost in his first divorce. He is going through his second divorce now, has filed for bankruptcy due to the failure of a film production company most likely bankrolled by his ER money and he said nada about ER, is being sued by his lifelong best friend, and his family won’t talk to him. That was the last information Leguizamo revealed before he walked off the stage.

Are you horrified yet? I certainly was. I described this performance to Cartouche yesterday. We had teriyaki and dumplings at an Asian restaurant while I was on the way down to West Palm. Yes. She is fine and fabulous and doing a lot of writing although she misses you all. Cartouche’s on-the-spot comparison was to Burt Reynold’s reminiscences at his Jupiter dinner theater. Yes. It was just like that. And it depressed the hell out of me. So much so that I walked over to the Jacksonville landing for some caffeinated iced tea and a late night view of the river, city lights, and bridges before the long drive home. I was trying to save the evening with a pretty and inspiring image. Damned if Leguizamo did not spoil that. On the way back to my parked car I passed by the theater’s well lit windows and saw Leguizamo sitting behind a fold out table stacked high with unsold copies of his autobiography. I stood in the dark shadows outside and watched him converse with theater workers and a few stragglers from the very small audience in the hallway. None of them had books in their hands.

DAVE ATTEL

Dave Attel sold out four shows in two nights at the West Palm Beach Improv which seats 800 and curiously employs only two bartenders. That’s what the waitress told us anyway. His opening acts were two middle school teachers turned comedians who did not know each other. I am not making that up. What are we doing to our nation’s educators that makes them flee that occupation and become fascinated with stand-up comedy?

Dave Attel’s set ran for more than two hours and he is still skinny Dave but not frighteningly so as in his last special. I read last week that he is dating Sarah Silverman. He gives the audience its money’s worth and did not seem weary until late in the set after dealing with a drunken female fan in the front row for thirty minutes. His obsession with midgets continues. His misogyny is much toned down.

Attel thanked the audience for choosing to see him over the first night showing of the second Twilight installment which had drawn a huge crowd to Citywalk. He wondered aloud that if the Twilight movies are not soft core gay porn then he does not really understand the genre.

Attel hits many pop culture references at the beginning of his set. I have never seen one single episode of Jon and Kate but much appreciated Attel’s description of them as a pairing of a Filipino Lady Boy and a bull dyke. He also noted that Oprah’s recent retirement meant she could openly live her life as Tyler Perry since he thinks they are one and the same.

For some reason I thought it was hilarious when Attel explained that a Koala is not a bear but a small nervous Jewish dog. That one must have been due to the wine but I wrote it down like it was important. There were other jokes I found worthy of writing down but certainly not all of them since I don’t know shorthand. Attel is awesome and just rattles off funny references at a rapid pace. Of course he had a Starbucks reference since he hits pop culture hard and said it is what the University of Phoenix would look like if they actually had a campus. He said he went to the Kentucky Derby and it is really NASCAR for the Amish. The way to frighten the Irish is to throw a toothbrush and some sun on them. This is a sampling of say 100 that were available.

I went to the Holocaust museum in D.C. last summer as has Attel. He says he now knows the Holocaust really happened since he has a receipt and he found the idea of a gift shop at such a themed museum to be inappropriate.

Attel was on the top of his game and seems to be reaping the rewards of a long career. After seeing Stanhope and Leguizamo the previous two nights I was happy to see that. Somebody is finally living their dream.

I have loved Attel’s work ever since his Insomniac series that was on Comedy Central a few years ago for which he made mini documentaries of the cities he visited on his stand-up tour. Attel inspired me to want to shoot a swamp rat in New Orleans during that series when he rode along with sheriff’s deputies one night as they undertook rodent extermination. I actually made a request to do that on a date with a friend in New Orleans a few years back and his response was “well Dorinda I had been thinking about dinner and an intimate evening at a small jazz club . . . but we can do that too.” Let me tell you. I shot one big ass rat from a jeep while wearing an evening gown and heels.

My life is weird.

PAY THE FREAK! or One Reason to Love Stanhope

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 01:11:25 -0500

The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about:
Thrice to thine and thrice to mine
And thrice again, to make up nine. – from Shakespeare’s Macbeth

Just an homage to crazy OS. Party on sisters. Show that crazy love. Burn this place down in your righteous rage against the sane. Andy W. darling fifteen minutes is not enough.

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Back to the real world. That one out there that does not require filtering communication through a computer screen.

PAY THE FREAK!

Anyway I did not see Oprah’s interview but heard it on Oprah radio on the way into work and was glad not have seen the big reveal as I found it obscene. I had no way to voice what I felt but Stanhope did not fail me as he repeated this evening what he noted on facebook earlier this week, “I eat pussy like a chimpanzee eats your face. Who wants to be on Oprah?’

That is what Stanhope does. He manages to combine absolute irrefutable logic with total filth. Rarely can this be distilled to one punchline. It is a wonder to watch. I went to hear the logic although he bemoaned on stage that he wonders why he tries because no one listens. No one listens to the point that he was booed off the stage by environmentalist teenagers at the Leeds Music Festival who pelted him with recycables -- but he refused to leave the stage until he had stayed as many minutes as required by contract. Tough business in which to make a living.

Stanhope had delayed the show by at least an hour partying in the back of the bar with some of the firemen. I got tired of standing and there was one empty stool near some of the other firemen so I asked if I could have it. I sat quietly listening to their Iraq tales, stories of fires, and one particular fireman’s dead-on interpretation of Steve Perry’s Journey vocals which was strange thing to hear from a man with 200 pounds of muscle and a shaved head.

Even though Stanhope liked the firemen enough to leave us all waiting and waiting and waiting he slammed them with his first joke on stage since they had given him a t-shirt promoting the fire department. As in “real heroes don’t have merch. Sully did not land the plane on the Hudson and sell t-shirts from the wing.” Just love to watch the man’s mind work. It is amazing.

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Off to sleep now. I have to get Tyler to school in the morning, deal with midmorning calls during which I have to sound intelligent and professional, get bills paid, and then off to Jacksonville on the second leg of my pre-Thanksgiving comedy palooza. Tonight it was Stanhope in Orlando, Friday it is Leguizamo in Jacksonville, and Saturday it is Attel in West Palm. When I geek out I do it all the way.

School Daze

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 10:11:41 -0500

Gotta get to work. Yesterday was my long day and at 4:45 thirty minutes before the last class was over I came face-to-face with crazy and desperate. Not for the first time and likely not for the last.

We were having a "fascinating" discussion of the vagaries and wiles of Scholar Google in which I explain why all sources at the school library are not equal and some sources have more academic cred than others. As in when I wrote my dissertation Frank Snowdon trumped Martin Bernal on the subject of the connections among rhetoric as taught at the ancient university in Alexandria, Egypt and in Athens, Greece. That kind of fascinating.

A strange student I have never seen opened the back door and ran to the front of the room by my desk. I tend to sit while talking at the end of the day. I am a much more subdued person than at 9 a.m. Truth be told I can teach just fine but my feet sometimes start to swell by then (nasty chemo aftereffect) so I sit.

The student handed me what appeared to be a scrawled ransom note that said "Please help me. I must have my paper fixed by 5:00. You seem to know what you are talking about." She was blocking my view of the 25 students in class. I asked, "Do you see these people I am talking to? I am working with them and class is in session."

She replied, "I just need help and I thought you could help me. It was worth a try."

I told her to go to the Writing Center. A male student who noticed the student was behaving oddly (he manages a nightclub and can do crowd control) walked the student to the door. He said that if the student had physically attacked me he had already planned to fight her off by grabbing the pole with the American flag on it behind my head. Students remember Virginia Tech and school is not always a safe place.

My younger teacher self would have had more compassion and might have followed her out to the hall to get more details about the situation.

However, I was tired. I had an obligation to teach the 25 students enrolled in the class. I have also learned that there are times when I don't have the energy or expertise to deal with crazy behavior caused by desperation. I used to try.

Yesterday I just wanted that student to get out of my classroom, my face, and my life. And my feet hurt.

Sometimes other people's crazy is not my problem and I won't let them make it mine.