At the request of my dude Patrick Braxton-Andrew, aka Pibba aka Dookie Monster, aka Stringer Bell, I've decided to pick up the proverbial pen and lay down some tracks (words) to ye ole blog.
What will I write about, you ask? Best believe it'll be up to the nonsensical and utterly random standard I've set for myself in the past. I cannot disappoint the loyal readership I've managed to gather thus far. To all 5 of you... Thank you.
So what's going on in my life? On Tuesday I began my new job as Grassroots Marketing Coordinator for Eurosport and Soccer.com. In what is basically a job tailor-made for me, I will travel about the country attending various soccer events, spreading the good word about how tight Eurosport is, and why everyone and their mother should exclusively buy their life from the company.
As tight as my new job is, that's not what I'll focus on in this post. I'm going to talk about a little incident from my previous job as a tutor. In short? I dog whispered a child.
Yes, you read that correctly.
It had been a long day of sitting around my house surfing the internet, and I was in no mood for the shenanigans of loud children when I arrived at work promptly at 3:17 PM for my 3:00 start time. The kids filed in (read: ran in screaming) at around 3:35, and my day began in earnest. After first shaking down a child for some bubble gum, I proceeded to do absolutely no work for the next 45 minutes aside from advising one munchkin that 4 + 4 was probably not 17.
I had a slight headache, and the vocal emanations from one 10-year-old began to grate on my nerves like 9-inch nails on an amplified chalkboard. He ran up to me and began yelling, and my calm insistence that he lower his tone went unheeded. In a moment of pure inspiration, I quickly reached out, tapped his shoulder with a claw-like hand and firmly uttered the patented "SST" sound of the dog whisperer. The completely befuddled little boy immediately drew up and shut his mouth, unable to process what had happened.
Full of joy, I jumped on a table and crowed with delight, proclaming myself to be THE CHILD WHISPERER (read: I quietly smiled and sat back down, texting everyone I knew about what took place). The rest of my day was happily spent playing football with the kids and generally acting as if an 11-year-old was trapped in a 22-year-old's body. My duty was done, and another child was rehabilitated, properly socialized and able to return to its owners (parents).