the only way to never hate the bridge is to never skate there, and if you choose that, i can respect it

unlike last time, I didn't faceplant into the tiles on teh way to the bridge because i forgot about a vicious lurking crack. I got out of class at noon. I never knew that my teachers were zoned out just as much as I was until I started teaching. Actually, I usually love this class; teaching upper level adults is awesome. It's like being paid to be worshipped by people who are afraid to not laugh at your shitty jokes. I'm a scam artist, in the bad way. One day, I'll be skating in hell for it, where the surface is always rough and someone sneaks in and waxes the rails behind your back. Which brings me to why I'm whinging about the bridge again. On the love-hate spectrum, my pendulum has swung towards disgust and rage. This time, my adolescent temper tantrum was because I didn't get hired to a job that I'm not qualified for, but I read the email just before class and was busy feeling sorry for myself while I tried to teach. Anyway, I soldiered through it and was warmed up at the bridge by 13:00. Then a sawty came up and waxed the ever loving shit out of every single metal surface he could find. He was pushing down with both hands on the wax, crumbling it into the rails so thick that there were pink crumbly chunks left over, like sandwhich crumbs in a fat guy's beard after he takes a big bite. Then he methodically waxed things that he never even ended up skating. A real man would tell him, hey dude, don't do that, you're going to murder someone, but I just quite skating it all and focusing on *** ******* ** over a little thing, but it was the world record for me. Because I didnt' get the job, I was in a bad mood, and I put a hex on that maniac waxer. It's one thing for some kid to wax everything without knowing, but this dude was old enough, and good enough to know that it was a dickmove.

My hex worked and he zipped out and busted himself on the flatrail. I felt sorry for blowing out the candles on my cake and wishing for that exact outcome, because noone deserves that, but at least it wasn't an innocent bystander. To my astonishment, he hobbled over to his bag, took out the wax, and reapplied it to the rail for something like a solid 60 seconds. Apparently, you gotta really press hard to get that wax down into the micro chasms of the metal.

In the end, I can only blame myself for being in a shitty mood. I didn't get the job because I didn't deserve it, and I didn't take it well, so I was already pissed, then I didn't stop taht kid from continuing to wax everything in sight. I can't honestly complain about anything. Good thing I never do. It's one of my best qualities, after humility.