It's been almost 5 whole years since you worked with me in a piss-ant college cafeteria and you tried your best everyday to make my life a living hell. I seems like it's only been maybe 3. Time flies. I pray for that baby you had with your "not girlfriend" who you were talking shit about while he was still in the womb. It must be hard to be that bitter at the age of 20 that you called the "fucking baby" a leech, amongst other things. You called the mom a slut and a hoe constantly, and while she may have been obviously born into the same underprivileged white trash class we all were, she was a good girl. What I saw was a 17 year old doe eyed girl bringing a hog of a man with no goals in life besides pretenting he's gangster some good lunches and nothing else but her love. She always wore make up she hadn't yet learned to put on properly because she really thought you liked it and didn't see that it was your requirement for keeping her around.

Remember when you tried to turn everyone against me for no reason? The elderly lunch ladies? The new exchange students who barely knew English and were so polite before they started talking to you? I'm sure glad our boss was smart enough to see through your shit. You obviously thought I was deaf too. I don't know how many times I caught you pointing at me and saying shit like I looked like a man, trying to get co-workers to laugh. I remember every time another one of them graduated you got so bummed. I guess because you had such few friends that the people you saw on the clock and you could manipulate were all you had?

I thought about you today at work because the girl were talking about assholes they'd met at their old jobs. My mind immediately went to you because you were the last one. See, I completed school and now make enough to have a fancy house 200 miles away from you in a huge city. I own everything I have. And when there's an asshole at my job now I either have the authority to stand up for myself, report them to HR, supervisors or the police, or get another job at the next place down and make even more money for the extra experience. My job is stressful but I don't have to go hungry. I don't have to siphon gas. I have clothes that fit me and aren't turning to rags. I don't really lose money for my medical deterioration because I'm given FMLA. I'm doing better than ok for the first time in my life. I'm happy even.

I don't know where you ended up but it wouldn't shock me if you were still there with those sweet old lunch ladies just trying to get some money before you die.

I wish the best for the kid who's sire is you. God let him see what hole his father bore him into and help him crawl out of it onto solid ground.