Story 3

"Who are you to judge whether I am fit to succeed or not? You have no idea, no insight, into the truth. A little, determined fourth grader, with prodigal academic capacity, could pass through puberty feeling as bewildered as first-time solicitors of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. First everything is all easy and cool with these little, weak-but-exhilerating-to-young-people turns; but the next thing you know you've gone through this passway and find someone has simultaneously and devilishly turned up the heater. Everything around you is bright red and you're scared as shit! That little, oh-so-prodigal kid will undoubtedly become a slacker teenager that gives up when shit gets difficult (unless he/she is Asian). Assuming the for-now innocent child is not a descendant of the Orient, he or she will before long become no different from his or her peers. Therefore, i urgently stress that you reevaluate your evaluation of the probabilty of my lifelong success. Gimme a second, my tea is ready." I rose from my seat in the moment following my excusing myself and retrieved a can of Nestea from the fridge, cracking it open after returning to my ultra-plush living room seat opposite the stunned little man. "Don't you see? You really have no idea where i am going to go in life, just as you had no idea you were going to be in the meager position you were going to be in. And if you hd no idea, then i have no idea, and therefore it is all due to chance and i could even land myself in a lower position than you currently hold yourself in. I've already fucked the first decade and a half of my life up, and as everyone seems to say these days, your youth is most important."

At that, the social worker poorly disguised as shrink hired by my mother gathered his empty, wanting-to-be-a-business-suitcase suitcase, and left.