Oh God, the memories
Christ, this just unclogged some bad memories.

I used to work as a trainer in an IT training centre. Basically the punter paid their money, got a course that worked over a computer with earphones and a book, and I was there to help them if they ran into difficulties. One of our students was a girl who had just left high school. She was doing some sort of secretarial course because Mummy and Daddy didn't want her going to University.

I've forgotten her name now, but I remember that she was morbidly obese with a face like a slapped arse. She was the proverbial bulldog licking piss off a nettle. She was doing the typing course and the MS Word course, all that shit. I had to help her if she couldn't find the 'Q' key on the blank keyboard or if the printer didn't work. I think she took the attention a little bit personally, and got some ideas. Wrong, wrong - putting 2 and 2 together and getting 8 - ideas.

One day the phone rang and the company secretary called me to the phone. It was this girl. She was being really shy and awkward, asking if I had many friends, and telling me that she didn't have many friends herself, would I be her friend. It was like listening to a five year old. I told her that she was free to come to the pub with my mates and I, knowing full well that if she did go to the pub, I wouldn't be there. I then put a female friend on the line to be friends with her instead.

A few days later a guy at the reception called to say that a fat, ugly girl had come in and given him something for me. It was a card, and on the inside was something about trying to be my friend, but I threw her to the side. It was trying to be poetic, but it was the type of poetry that even emo wankers would laugh at.

I didn't see her for ages, but then she came back in for her training. Sometimes she'd sit at her computer, with her headphones on but with no sound, staring at me for the hour until her Mum came to pick her up. After a while, she started leaving really really bad - and long - poetry on my desk when leaving. That's when I started getting scared.

From then on my boss told me I wasn't allowed to be in the same room as her on my own. I thanked him greatly and avoided her for the rest of the time she did her course. The thought of that fat, ugly mare staring at me from across the training centre makes me shudder.

I still have the poetry somewhere. I was told to keep it in case she accused me of anything and I needed to prove she was a psycho. It's in a file folder in my bedroom under 'Stalker Poetry'.
(Fuiru Sting, where is thy death?, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 23:11, 3 replies)

well...
... you sound nice.
(haberman is singing in the changes, Sat 2 Feb 2008, 10:30, closed)

Keep those letters, whatever you do!
Seriously my friend, never throw those letters away.

A close family friend, also a teacher at the time, received a whole string of crazy letters about three years ago from a pupil. He eventually chucked them away.

About a year ago she came out of the woodwork and accused him of raping her.

In the absence of any substantial material evidence, it came to down to nothing more than one party's word against another's. So...

He's now doing a life sentence in prison, and can only be eligible for release if he accepts psychological treatment and admits to something he didn't do.

Meanwhile the nutty ugly cow (I know her too, and she was/is MAD) has her anonymity preserved for life by law, and is now eligible for a handsome payout in criminal compensation.
(A Nonny Mouse, Sat 2 Feb 2008, 14:40, closed)

"He's now doing a life sentence in prison"
I call bollocks.
(Musuko, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 16:44, closed)