Not away from home, but very much away
Despite being a sweet and innocent looking young girl, fresh faced and blonde, for some reason old people always hate me. You know how in horror films, dogs start barking at the approach of evil? It's much the same with me. All I have to do is walk past a Nursing Home and you can hear the inmates wailing and pissing themselves in sheer outrage at my presence. Fortunately, I don't like old people much either, so this generally doesn't bother me.

A few years back, when I was still attending Sixth Form College, we had free periods, during which we were allowed to roam the local town in our school uniforms, being model members of society, etc. So I was taking advantage of this, and had wandered out to get a sandwich and enjoy the sunshine and a brief respite from Organic Chemistry. A little old lady appears out of nowhere, her hunchback casting a shadow of gloom on the pavement before her, glaring up at me through NHS specs and a cloud of fluffy white hair.

'Shouldn't you be in school?'

'I have a free period at the moment,' I replied, very pleasantly, and attempted to sidestep her.

'DON'T LIE!' she screeched, and started hitting me wildly with her handbag, still wailing like a wrinkly siren. This left me with a dilemma. I could fight back, and be an out of control teenage granny-beater or I could try and reason with her. Except she was hitting me pretty hard, and I didn't like it. So I ran. I ran as fast as possible.

These days, I cross the road when I see an old person coming.
(That's Just Not Funny, Sat 12 Aug 2006, 0:41, Reply)