You've got my back, right?

When I walked into the teacher's lounge today, I saw the golf coach. He was flat on his back, in the middle of the room, releasing this rhythmic agony sigh.

UUUuuggh, UUUuuggh, UUUuuggh...

He's had this back pain for the last six month and can't get surgery. Or should I say he can't get it anymore? A new back surgery would be his third and our school's insurance denied his claim. They say that he doesn't need it.

What? Has the insurance company adopted a "Fool me once" policy that I didn't know about? Did his rejection notice say, "Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater"? Besides, it's back surgery. Who wants back surgery? It's not like he's asking for collagen.

I guess that's what you get after twenty years of hauling papers back and forth, so you can get six hours of grading in after you finish a second full-time job of being a coach and getting paid an amount similar to an allowance for a twelve year old.

If anyone says that I should be quiet because we get summers off, I'll punch you in the face. I wonder if I'm covered for that?