But I Am Le Tired

I just got home, more or less, from one of the most frustrating 90 minutes of my life. No, I didn't watch the Singapore football team lose to a bunch of schoolgirls. And no, I wasn't chained to a wall just out of reach of a sashaying Jessica Alba. Neither did I miss out on finding a free PS3 randomly hidden in the trunk of my scratched car.

Some of the more regular readers may remember the kid I used to teach. Since then I did move on to another boy with an identical name, though tutoring him was an infinitely more pleasant experience, and something that I would take up in a flash should the price and timing be right. Unfortunately though, I fear that his single mother is finding hard to make ends meet, and I wish them all the best. I'll miss that funny skinny kid.

But now, I'm close to receiving my first payment after a gruelling month of tutoring the new kid. A long-running saga, I had the distinct feeling that the kid's dad actually wanted my sister to try and improve his youngling, but she spurned his advances. Several times. So he came to me, and gave me the most irritating text message conversations I've ever had the misfortune to be a part of.

"Hello uncle, Nazreen here. Do you still want me to teach your son? English, Maths, Science right? Please reply to confirm."

Nothing for a week. Then he calls me one Monday evening asking if I'm on the way. Double you tee eff? I don't even know where your frickin son is and you want me to tutor him? I tell him I don't have his address or any other details for the matter, and ask him to text it to me as soon as he can.

Day goes by, still nothing. And I ask him again.

"Uncle, if you still want me to teach him I need your address and phone number. And what time do you want me to come over?"

"ok"

Yeah. That's a great answer, mister. When I finally, three hours and six messages later, receive a coherant and semi-useful response, I make plans to meander my way to the hidden plot of land in Tampines where his kid hibernates. Oh shit.

I don't know where to begin.

His math, surprisingly, is actually more than decent. other than a less-than-firm grasp of model-drawing, he's able to do most other things with little supervision. That was fine. And he figured out models after an hour of me imparting my infinite wisdom into his kickable head. And then...

I know someone who is jokingly told that her ingerlish is bowderful. This one can't spell "both". It's not that he spells if B-O-F which would be somewhat understandable. Instead, he struggles though every other letter of the alphabet after the T, even sounding out some of them rather than saying the actual letter names.

"Uhhh.... B-O-T-... L?"

"No..."

"B-O-T-... Y?"

"Do it slowly."

"B... O... T... fffff...?"

"FFFuuuck!"

I am driven to the edge of a homocidal frenzy whenever he looks at me with those eyes that stare expressionlessly like a beached fish that just got trampled on by a drooling lecturer. It seems the only thing smart about him is his haircut, but then his dad is a barber. The fact he supports Man Utd, Arsenal and Chelsea makes me even more twitchy, and he likes "Lonaldo". I think he needs to see a newogist to check his brain matter is fully functional.

And Science... I won't even get started. What pains me the most, is not that he can be dafter than a plank, but that he is either incredibly forgetful or has the ability to bring levels of laziness to new depths.

"OK, for this question, fill in the blanks with the name of the animal group that the animal in the other box belongs to. See, Lion is a Mammal. Eagle is a bird. OK?"

"OK... How to spell mammal?"

"Try and sound it and spell it slowly."

"M... A... L...."

"No, Ma-MMMMMM-mal."

"M... A... S..."

"OK, here. Like this, see? M-A-M-M-A-L."

"OK. This one is cow right? How to spell mammal?"

OhmygodIwanttokillthislittlespawnofdumb.

The fact that I have to explain (and I kid you not...) "reproduce", "yeast", "stem", "birth", "gills", "respond" and "feeler" every single fucking god -damn time it appears anywhere in sight doesn't help matters either, and I don't even get a frickin DRINK while doing this?

Fark.