I hate master Jordan

Hellians. All of them. My students I mean. I guess they're only seven and I should cut them some slack. They do call me master Jordan. They have no idea how unqualified I am for what I do. Teaching five different subjects is taxing, to say the least. Thankfully, the Red Bull here, which is illegal in the states, actually has amphetamines in it. It also costs 10 baht, or roughly a quarter - one eight of what it costs in the states. It's carbonated though, and it's not as good. They drink instant coffee here. Sick. Thankfully starbucks is cheaper here, though there's not one anywhere close to my apartment.
I'm a teacher. I know this because I went to the mall the other day with the sole purpose of buying a stapler, staples, paperclips, markers, and posterboard.
One of my students yesterday said, "I hate master Jordan." She's a sweet little devil. I told her she was entitled to her perogative. She asked what a perogative is, because she is seven and English is not her native tongue. She was back in love with me 10 minutes later. Kids are quick to forgive, for only markers and a blank sheet of paper. What happened to us as we got older? Massacre of innocence. I'm off to work out, but I'll be back with the thunder after dinner, which will be wonderful and is the best part of my day. Tout a l'heure yall. I think I misspelled that.