A Life Lesson, With Tragic Consequences
I learned a valuable lesson on betrayal in primary school, as well as a deep insight into the inner workings of democracy (sort of). I ask you to cast your wavy lines back to the summer of 1995. I was a sprightly, naive 10 year old, and for the first time in my life, I was winning 'sports'.

I was a scrawny child. I combined a lack of confidence with a lack of stamina, strength, endurance and technique to be one of the kids who got picked last for everything. However, this sports day, everything was going to change. I would be racing against fatties, and I was going to fucking win.

We had a ‘houses’ system at primary school, and ours was Saxons. And we were shit. The Normans, appropriately*, would trounce us every year. Each house was split between boys and girls. The Romans had half a dozen of the finest sportsmen available. We had 2 fat kids and me. I don’t know why the teachers would do this to us.

However, the upside, as I alluded to earlier, was that the qualifying phase for each race was purely ‘in-house’. The top 2 finishers then went through to the inter-house final. I ran my approval-seeking little heart out in every single event to embarrass those fatties, and it felt fucking great. I’d burst triumphantly through the tape, hardly out of breath, and turn around to see them barely past 10 metres, panting, red-faced and jiggling along, each desperate to beat the other.

The crux of this story is that before sports day, a vote would take place between the houses. This was to decide who the Captain, and Vice-Captain of the respective teams would be. Once again, bewilderingly, this was divided between boys and girls, so our vote was once again between me and the fatties, again with only one loser. The winners got badges. Not plastic, round ‘Happy Birthday’ badges. Real fucking metal badges, colour-coded to your house, with actual metal pins and everything. The only other way of getting one of these badges was to have ‘Librarian’ written on it, and fuck that for a game of soldiers. Needless to say, I wanted that Captain’s badge.

We only had 1 vote to cast between the 3 of us. If we all voted for a different person, it would be a tie and a re-vote. In the pre-vote planning session (break time) one of the fat kids approached me with a golden proposition. If I voted for him, he would in turn, guarantee me his vote. As you couldn’t vote for yourself, that would ensure that the final kid’s vote would make one of us Captain, the other Vice-Captain. Sure, it wasn’t a guaranteed Captain’s badge, (which for some reason I felt I deserved), but it was a guaranteed mother fucking badge, and that was better than nothing. So, I agreed. He would get my vote.

Results day finally came in, after all the votes had been counted, and re-counted. I could barely contain my excitement. Was it to be Captain, or Vice-Captain? Which side of my chest would I pin it to?

‘And the Captain of the Saxon team is..... Fatty#1!’

Shit. Oh well. I knew this was a possibility. Life goes on.

‘And the Vice-Captain is..... Fatty #2!’

You fucking what.

He told me to my face, that vote was mine. But.. what if he told fatty #2 the same thing? Oh my God... I’ve been done like a fucking kipper. How could I not have seen this coming? How could I be so naive? I trusted him, and now my life was effectively, over.

And that’s how I became a librarian.

*I've changed the name of that house to hopefully make it seem like I know what i'm talking about historically, according to a quick google search, which might be wrong. It was actually the Romans. I can't be arsed to look it up.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 15:29, 13 replies)

Share or shaft?
Shaft, in your case.

Never trust a fatty.
( 100% Cock Raw like carrots., Fri 3 Dec 2010, 15:49, closed)

A lesson well learned!

( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 17:04, closed)

Yeah, but...
Had you voted differently, Fatty #2 would have been Captain, and Fatty #1 Vice-Captain.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 16:26, closed)

Sounds a bit like
the world cup fiasco.
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 16:40, closed)

Which school was this?
I ask because my school had the same system of houses: Saxons, Normans, Romans and Vikings (if memory serves).
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 16:42, closed)

Northgate
Bishop's Stortford
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 17:03, closed)

Ah, OK
Completely different, then. Still, interesting to know mine wasn't unique in its pseudo-tribal classifications.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Sat 4 Dec 2010, 8:29, closed)

Likewise,
I can still remember that I was in Saxon House.
( The magic of chutney Shakes it like an Instagram filter!, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 17:34, closed)

We had

(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 21:28, closed)

I'm jealous!
I'd have loved to have been in Vikings. Ours were named after hills. HILLS! Who wants to be in Malvern or Clent? Wreakin was good though.
( Ungersven would support SpankyHanky's patreon, Sat 4 Dec 2010, 17:59, closed)

Pfft!
Ours were fucking poets. POETS! And not legendary poets, LOCAL poets.

How gay is that?
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Sun 5 Dec 2010, 1:24, closed)

Welsh catholic saints

no word of a lie. Good job there was only 4 houses as the subset is probably tiny....
(TheFlyingOnion. looking forward to, Sun 5 Dec 2010, 21:11, closed)

We had local rivers...
.. which must be pretty much as bad, although I think they abolished houses as divisive shortly after I joined. Never did quite understand why.
( Ugi , it's a game of give and cake, Tue 7 Dec 2010, 18:43, closed)