Back in the day…
As a lot of you know, but for those that don’t, Wednesday afternoons at English Universities are reserved for sporting activities for those inclined to that sort of things.

Although I have been known to kick a football about with a reasonable amount of skill, I was never likely to become a pro and, anyway, have inherited dodgy knees from my Dad so can’t play for too long without ending up in agony (hell, I can’t even drive a car long distances without being in pain).

So, instead of partaking, I took the chance to spend sometime with my unrequited crush by signing up as a CSV (that’s what I think they are called anyway, Community Services Volunteer) to do some classroom assistance – at the time I was planning to be a teacher, but the experience put me off.

Anyway, to get to the point, after a few Wednesdays of helping out in the (what was then called) special needs classes in a really rough school in Openshawe, I was asked to go and step in to a third or fourth year (or whatever the equivalent t is these days) Maths lesson.

OK, I thought, this is a bit scary, but I’m sure it will be fine.
And well it may have been had the teacher not taken the opportunity to nip out for a crafty fag/whiskey/wank/whatever while the class was supposed to be silently studying.

Well, really, what did he expect to happen when you leave a bottom level Maths class under the control of a nervous 19 year old?
All hell broke loose, play fights, paper fights, swearing, bullying.

I tried, I really did.

‘Um….excuse me, Mr Whateverhisname was will be back in a minute, so could you…’

‘Fuck off, cunt’

‘Um…well…um’

‘Yeah, well, what are you gonna do “sir”’

‘Um…please could you…’

‘Yeah, right make me’

And I snapped

‘Fuck you, you bunch of little bastards, I’ve got better things to do than be treated like this by you little fucking ungrateful pieces of shit, I’m fucking off’ (or some such expletive laden outburst) and I stormed out back to my lovely, appreciative special needs kids.

Come hometime, I’m waiting for the bus to pull away, when a group of the bastards jumped on and saw me.

Oh shit, thinks I…this is not going to be pleasant.

And they head my way.

And I think I am about to get the beating of my life, in front of the object of my affection, by a bunch of 15 year olds.

Instead, I hear ‘We’ve never made anyone swear like that before, that was great, you’re all right, smart!’

And they go and sit at the back.


(Sorry I didn’t actually get beaten to a pulp by a bunch of kids, that would have made a better story)
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 13:04, Reply)