I work at a local aquarium on weekends. You know who goes to aquariums? Fats. Okay, okay, shitpeople do too, aquariums are great. I work at the local one on weekends, with a more boring part-time job and grad school during the week, but aquarium work actually relates to my field of study and most tourists I can put up with. But Easter weekend mixed with spring breaks left us swamped and I hit a goddamn wall today. So what kind of shit do fats pull in an aquarium? Let me tell you: Blocking walkways. Fucking everywhere. Blocking walkways especially by the elevators, because why walk your 300-lb ass down one flight of stairs when you can wait seven minutes behind everyone else for your turn at the elevator? It’s not like there’s an old lady in a wheelchair waiting to get down, we can make her wait. Failing to discipline their kids. We’ve got touch pools, like lots of aquariums, where folks can gently touch things like sea stars and cucumbers. Normal parents are always right there with their kids, backing me up when I ask them to be gentle, engaging right alongside their kids, asking questions. Fat parents? Ohhhhhh no. They’ll stand off to the side, not paying attention, not the least bit aware that I’m getting testy as hell with their little brats because I’m scared as hell they’re gonna hurt something. And they’ve got no problem letting those same brats sprint through the halls, and heaven forbid I’m carrying a tray of something to move from one exhibit to another that’s just begging to be dropped everywhere. Expecting us to babysit their kids. Fats love leaving their kids at those same touch pools, or in front of a display that I’m trying to give a teaching moment at. And I’ve noticed something: these kids are always so demanding of attention, pushing in front of other kids, trying to take all my energy, like they’re used to being ignored by their parents but latch onto anyone else they can. Asking stupid questions. I mean, obviously they’re stupid, but the stupidest questions I get? Always from fats. Exhibit A: “How often do most fish come up to breathe? I don’t see any of them coming to the surface.” Finally, a couple examples from this past weekend that pushed me to the brink: the first was a family of four. Three 300-lb-ders, gross but average. But the fourth was what I assumed to be a son, and it was immediately apparent that he was severely autistic or the like, totally non-verbal. But what fucked me up was that he was easily pushing 450, 500 and absolutely reeked, like he hadn’t been washed in a month, and was wearing nasty old clothes, even as the rest of the family was tacky but seemingly decently-maintained. I know it’s hard living with and caring for someone with disabilities, I did it for years growing up with my niece. But here was a kid who had no control of himself, who relied completely on those around him, and they’d fed him to the point where he was near impossible to keep clean and decent. The second was at my beloved touch pool. A mini-moon, maybe 7 or 8 years old, was a foot and change shorter than me (5’4”) and had to have been heavier than me (120 lbs). She was actually really inquisitive, not obnoxious, and I got the feeling she wasn’t used to having someone actually work with her on something. I was doing everything I could to bring things to her, but there was something she couldn’t reach her stubby arms to. She turned to her Death Star of a mother, and asked for help. And you know what this gaseous planet did to her daughter? She laughed, and said, “I sure can’t pick you up, you’re too chubby!” First of all, she’s not chubby, she’s morbidly obese. And you made her that way, you bitch. And you’re stunting her learning now, just like you’ve stunted everything else for her in life. Fuck you. I’m so tired. I hate people.