A Master of Arts Takes a Phone Call

By December of 1996 I finished my grad school course work, and I wrote and defended my Thesis. Pretty easy really. Straight A grades (except for a B in a course called "Women Writers"). Basically only took me two drafts to get the Thesis written. The only real drag about the program was the grading of freshman composition papers. Agony.

Not surprisingly, I found myself in no great rush to get a job. I was also realistic (cynical?) enough to know I couldn't make a PhD in literature work. Sure I was still living in my parents' basement and working part-time selling sporting goods, but I had very little money and even less motivation. Out of the clear blue, JT called me. Long time no hear. The last time I saw my old college drinking buddy was right after he had written a goodbye note for his wife, endorsed over his last paycheck to her, and left her--for good.

He came to visit me then, a little sad but a lot free. He told me he was heading out on the road. "OTR" he called it. I doubt he coined the term, but he loved saying it so I let him. Since then, friends had caught random tidbits of rumors that JT had "turned gay," he was living in Brazil, Mexico, the Philippines. I had heard nothing first-hand until now. Turns out JT is in Seoul, Korea, of all places, teaching English with his little brother. Life is great, the cash is good, but his brother is leaving for L.A. for three weeks to get married and he needs a substitute to teach his classes for him while he is gone. That's where I come in. No rent, low cost-of-living, plenty of income. Sounded good to me…