Yes, I am an English Major...

...No, I don't want to teach.

But for some reason, all my relatives and friends have decided that it is my destiny to teach. And that I will be an unfulfilled shell of a person until I decide to embrace that destiny. It doesn't matter that, for the past few years, I have successfully worked in a field completely unrelated to teaching.

So, once and for all, here is my rant about why I can't teach:

Elementary School: We had this extremely terrifying system at my elementary school called Lunch Monitoring. Basically, one 12-year-old (me) was left in charge of 25 8-year-olds for an hour every day. These 8-year-olds soon realized that I had no real authority over them, and immediately went Lord of the Flies. After several days of ineffectual threats and shouting, I left them to their brawling, closed the door, and hoped the principal wouldn't walk by. So really, if I can't even prevent kids from trashing the place, how am I supposed to teach them to read?

High School: Are you serious? You want me to go back to a place that 90% of adults are still traumatized by? A place where a kid's popularity is directly related to how little they study?

University: At least by now, you've weeded out the kids who think they're too cool for homework. You are left with former high school nerds who are excited to be finally accepted by their classmates. The Honours Society even sells t-shirts. Sounds like a perfect environment for a teacher, right? Wrong. Many of these nerds, drunk on their new-found power, go too far and attempt to overthrow the professors. No matter what class you are in, there will always be one.

"Does this relate to early Russian constructivism?"

"Can you compare that to the Foucauldian principle of Confusing-Everybody-With-Big-Words-For-No-Apparent-Reason-Just-Because-I'm-A-Jackass?"

Thanks but no thanks.

ESL: "It's so easy!" you say. "You just talk to people all day!" Um, yeah. Me and all the other awkward social misfits in the room just ran away to hide. You'll never find us.

"But," you may suggest, "what if you just tried teaching - maybe in 5 or 6 years you'd learn to enjoy it!" So you're saying that, out of all the thousands of careers in the world, I should pick the very one that I am determined not to pick, and spend the rest of my life trying to pound a square peg into a round hole?

Maybe a metaphor would help. Would you find a boyfriend or girlfriend by hitting on the person you find least attractive?

Anyways, I greatly admire those people that like teaching and are good at it. Why don't we help make the world a better place - leave the teaching to them, and leave me out of it!

Blondes have more fun?

If so, I feel really sorry for all the brunettes and redheads out there.

The truth is, at least in Canada , that the cult of the blonde has been dead for a very, very long time. Just ask any blonde who's ever tried to get a date in Vancouver. Before I met my gorgeous boyfriend, this was my typical interaction with men:

Guy: “Hi, my name's Guy.”
Me: “Hi, nice to meet you.”
Guy: “I should tell you right now, I don’t like blondes.”
Me: “Um…”
Guy: “I was just wondering – is your friend over there single?”

True story. Eventually I fell into the role of Designated Cockblocker for my girlfriends. Since I was usually unoccupied, it was up to me to rescue the brunettes from constant hordes of ravening, voracious men.

Anyways, happy ending, though. One day, I happened to run into a cute guy who offered to buy me a drink - and not in order to appease the Strange Guardian of Hot Brunettes!

So, brunettes, I'm telling you: RELAX. You don't need to buy any more custom t-shirts advertising your superiority. You don't need to go on rants about how guys only want those vapid cookie-cutter blondes, while ignoring your unique nonconformist edginess. Because look around you - you've already won!

No need to kick those poor blondes when they're down.

Way to go, Karma Police!

So I was buying a Subway sandwich on my way to class today, and there was a long line. This one girl in line was apparently late for an appointment, so she started yelling at the staff for working too slowly. Total bitch.

Then, suddenly, she broke off her tirade and ran out of the store. Turns out, a cop had just pulled up to her car and was writing her a ticket! Everybody in the store laughed at her. She never came back.

So perfect.

Finally, some justice! The phrase, "The customer is always right," has excused countless abuses over the years, and we need to start handing out tickets.

Publicly humiliate fast-food workers because YOU'RE disorganized and running late? Get a ticket, bitch!

Argue with and threaten 16-year-old cashiers over company policy that they have no control over? Get a ticket, asshole!

One day, when I rule the world...

Random observation

The first thing they teach you in every language class is how to ask for somebody's phone number. I've always wondered why, though. If you do get somebody's number, what do you say when you call them?

I imagine the call going like this:

"Hello?"

"Hello. What is your phone number?"

"Who is this?"

"Er...what is your phone number?"

*Click*

Insane.