I simply have had it! I can't take one more day ... NO! not one more hour in that damned pesthole of a school where I've been much too long employed. Believe me, I've tried so many times to bid them a not-so-fond fare-thee-well, but I need only take a brief gander at my pathetic bank balance and the current month's time payments to activate my overly-taxed sense of obligation and a sharp halt to any rash action. This time, however, I feel it's quite another story.

From the first day I entered that ESL school, I've known it to be operated by crooks and attended by so-call "students" who have been cheating their parents by pretending to be interested in learning the English language. From day one, I've never noticed any sense of organization to speak of -- that is, other than that which we few serious-minded foreign instructors have fruitlessly attempted to inspire. Then, too, the office staff has evidently been prompted to show the least amount of courtesy and offer a similar degree of assistance to the foreign staff, of which I am one. Therefore, the teachers have the responsibility of accomplishing a good 95% of all required tasks from the very outset via their own ingenuity ... and that includes having to remind the bookkeeper when our monthly paychecks are at least ten days overdue! To get the "honor" of addressing the owner of the school is tantamount to acquiring an audience with His Holiness The Pope! Following his initial address of welcome to all foreign staff at the commencement of the term, the man has been a total stranger by appointing native representatives -- most with extremely limited English language ability -- to handle each and every problem that crops up in conjunction with his "imported specialists." You should have witnessed some of the royal screwups committed by his staff: errors in resolving apartment difficulties, visa problems, reimbursement of airfares ... in one case, even fouling up the intended date of a wedding between one of the US instructors and a beautiful local damsel -- not once, but TWICE! This is truly the case of an "absentee landlord" ... "the man who wasn't there," or whichever term you'd consider appropriate.

The so-called "students," a plentiful enough batch of monsters, is where I have encountered my most serious difficulties. From day one, they have disobeyed me, mocked me, made jokes (behind my back) related to my age (60s) and my round-shouldered posture. They have made me feel like the lowest, most insignificant refugee to ever step off the banana boat onto their sacred soil, instead of the foreign specialist I was hired to represent via my education and extensive teaching experience. Doubtless this is my "Waterloo," and believe me when I say that Napoleon himself couldn't have felt anywhere near as berated as I in this, my unhappiest of circumstances.

As the months have slowly passed, I've realized more and more that I am only one teeny step from the poverty level. Christ! This job doesn't offer at least a financial benefit. Due to my extreme limitation, I've had to remain in this insignificant little apartment on an insignificant little street in an even more insignificant part of this city -- one that has, nonetheless, achieved popularity with a "select quorum" -- the #@*& COCKROACHES! Believe me, I have struggled to endure this tragedy. On the other hand, the realization of the poor house's being my only alternative has given me what little impetus I've had to go on. But, as I said, this has steadfast come to a timely finale. I feel trapped as my thoughts -- even my dreams -- have centered about my failure to have pursued a productive career when I had the chance. I have always taken the easy route to satisfaction -- and how temporary that has been on each and every occasion. My thoughts now shift to my failed marriage, my voluntary abandonment of my only child, and total estrangement from all family ties. I realize now that I have continually dodged my responsibilities by always using my own odd brand of rationale to justify even the most undignified of deeds. HA! Look at me now. I could kick myself squarely in the prostate for having been a horse's ass all my tormented life.

All at once, I pick up this pistol that I acquired from one of the locals quite recently. B-U-T ... do I actually have the courage to pull the trigger -- to finally put a long-awaited end to this misery? I don't know. I doubt it. It's one thing to render lip service about such a dire deed, but to take this desired but feared route of escape is quite a different matter. On the other hand, as I feel hopelessly plagued by the thought of a truly negative future, I look at the gun more fervently that ever. Now I am conscious of the clock on the wall and the cracks on the ceiling as my thoughts shift to my youth -- my sixth birthday party ... the smile of contentment on my parents' faces ... even the expression of love on my brother's face. I want desperately to return to that happier time ... please dear God -- NOW!

SUDDENLY the alarm clock rings! It is 5:30 AM ... time to prepare for another day in the coal pits ... another occasion to bitch about impossible conditions, impossible management, and truly impossible students! Once again, I stand ready to battle the world ... my disenchantment ... my ill fortune ... my own bizarre ESL fantasia!

And so it goes: the portrait of another malcontented ESL instructor ... another lost soul trapped in an activity which he should never have entered and from which, obviously, there is no escape ... not even bloody suicide!