Tuesdays are Death

I'm not a big fan of Tuesdays. I consider Tuesday the Red Sox of the days of the week. Unfortunate scheduling mixed with unfortunate student combinations makes for a homerun of misery, if you'll allow me to continue with baseball analogies. I don't have a first class on Tuesday, which I hate. The silent wait. It's like being sent to your room to think about what you've done, but all you can think about is how you've done nothing and are still about to get beat down by a miserable day. Sometimes I tell myself that I'll just come in late. Sleep in a bit. Strafe my way into my office at 9am unnoticed. I never do it, though. I'm what the Koreans would call a pussy.

I do stop by the Paris Baguette on Tuesdays, though. It makes me slightly late. Just enough to feel like a real rebel risking deportation on the grounds of teaching incompetence. I get a muffin or sandwich, depending on my mood, and more often than not a coffee. I've noticed that when I get the muffin, which is wrapped in plastic, they will not offer me a bag. However, when I get the sandwich, which is in a clear plastic box, the clerk will begin to bag it. Regardless of my purchase I decline the bag because it will go into the one I'm already carrying anyway.

The first time I bought a sandwich, and only a sandwich, she began to bag it. I told her "Gwenchanayo," which means "That's OK," or more contextually "Don't worry about it." She gave me the same look she would probably give a dog that just said hello to her and immediately gave me a free coffee.

I still say gwenchanayo but I get no more coffee.