Spring break is here.
Like a clown bearing empty cans of Pringles, this year’s spring break arrives like a cruel taunt from Old Man Winter. The words “spring break” usually bring with them images of thumping MTV beachhouses where greased-up, writhing neanderthals grope young women with oversized sunglasses and an undersized sense of their own self-worth. This year, however, spring break looks to feature space heaters and seasonal affective disorder. Now I know what the Bataan Death March must have felt like.
Some people might say that I shouldn’t complain so loudly about this. After all, most professions don’t get to enjoy a week off in the middle of March, so whining about this makes me sound crass and entitled. However, those people are wrong. My complaints are merited because it’s really dumb that it’s still cold outside.
You hadn’t thought about it that way yet, had you? Yeah, I guess that’s why you shouldn’t get into an argument with a guy who coaches debate.
In lieu of enjoying any warm, sunny weather, I will instead use my spring break to retreat further into a sullen isolation. I will reside in dank corner of my basement, comfortated solely by the cats I loathe and nourished only by the bile that fills my mouth when the anger comes. When classes resume, I will show up looking like Ray Liotta at the end of Goodfellas and mutter to my students about what it’s like to be in your thirties and drive a 2002 Hyundai Sonata. Then I will eat a bag of Gummi Worms for lunch and hate myself.
Spring break is a lie, everybody. Just like Santa Claus and movies where teenagers switch bodies with their parents. I’ll endure it by sleeping in, spending time with my wife and son and visiting family, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still an atrocity.