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This is a question School Naughtiness

The B3ta Confessional is open. What was the naughtiest thing you ever did at school?

(, Thu 8 Sep 2011, 12:55)
Pages: Popular, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Not me, but a friend.....
dared someone to go into the girls toilets after school, strip off and
touch every coat hook in there (about 50) before getting dressed again.
He had also arranged for his sister (2 years below us) to hide in there
with a friend and a Polaroid (remember them??) camera.
So when the victim was halfway through the girls popped out and got a
picture of everything!!
The picture was passed around some of her friends and eventually
Face and all the important parts were on view, but he wasn't smiling.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 16:17, Reply)
They fingered me for a crime
Bit excessive, I thought.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 16:09, Reply)
First post from a disgusting little boy.
This is not classically naughty behaviour per se, but the incident was sufficiently shame filled enough to ruin my last year at Secondary School, so here goes.

The year is 1984. I am 15, and bumbling along at school, suitably aided by my best friend/shadow Dominic. We were both fairly intelligent kids, but quite breathtakingly unfocused, and so had made it to fourth year without anything remotely resembling an academic achievement between us.

By this time, most of the teachers had pegged us as a bad influence on each other, and had separated us in any classes we took together. Only one teacher, our student English teacher, had allowed us to remain seated together during her lessons. It was during this period that our creative naughtiness was allowed its oxygen.

I can’t remember who had thought of it first, but at some point during one of these lessons we had decided that what we really needed, what our lives would not be complete without, was a chart detailing every female teachers vagina, as imagined in our fevered adolescent minds. It was a silly throwaway idea that gathered momentum as soon as we started writing things down.

The basic idea was that we would compile a full list of female teachers. Alongside each name there would be a description of said fanny, what it might feel like, etc. Furthermore, there would be an accompanying drawing. This would provide visual evidence of neatness, and hair mass. The problem for me was that this was all being done in the back of an exercise book I had for rough work. In itself, this is not that much of an issue, the book was never handed in for marking, and we only ever work on it during that one lesson we’re together. A lesson being conducted by the only teacher who had never separated us, and who was far more tolerant of us being dicks in the classroom.

My downfall came during another lesson. Not any other lesson either, but the only lesson on my timetable whereby I was the only boy. Somehow, the book had managed to find it’s way out of my bag and onto the floor. It was subsequently picked up by one of the girls in the class who proceeded to flick through it. It was one of those exquisite moments whereby reality itself seems to be shattering into a billion pieces, right before your own disbelieving eyes.

We’ve all seen the textbook with the big spunking cock in it, but Dominic and I had elevated that into another dimension with our Encyclopaedia Flangica. Eventually the giggling started followed by the passing of the book from one girl to another. By this time my mind had almost snapped. The reality of the situation had to my mind long since slipped out of the back door and fucked off.

The book eventually found its way into the hands of my teacher. She looked at the offending pages and put the book back on my desk.
‘You really are a disgusting little boy’, she says, and walks back to her desk at the front. I’d have preferred a major league bollocking to be honest. This kind of withering dismissal was not what I’d wanted or expected. It had made me the laughing stock of the school, and due to Dominic moving away had made me endure the Fifth year entirely alone. Needless to say, the female teachers were a little reluctant to deal with me as well. Whether that was because I’d hit the nail on the head or not I’ll never know.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 15:43, 5 replies)
Not really something I did, but I was the cause...
Back in 1984 I was 17 and studying for Highers (Scottish version of A-levels), at a private boarding school in Scotland. Class sizes were generally small, and there were only three of us in the class studying German. The teacher (let's call him Mr M) was not dissimilar in his manner to a mild version of Kenneth Williams. Yes, he was rather camp. He was also living with the Geography teacher. But that's not for me to judge!

Anyway... as my dad was in the British Army at the time, I was actually living in Germany, and had been since about 1973 when I was 6. So my German was generally pretty good (conversationally at least). Which, of course, made me kinda bored in German class.

So I was constantly messing about with stuff in class... paper planes, Game & Watch (remember them?), silly putty, etc. Just about every other class I'd end up having something confiscated.

Anyway, on this particular day I had in my possession a mini Rubik's cube, and a new Casio digital watch. I was messing with the watch and Mr M spotted it, sauntered over to my desk and said "Another toy? Right - hand it over!" which I did. Back he went and continued the class. Then I took out the Rubik's cube. It wasn't long before he spotted that too. He was furious by now. He STOMPED over to me, GRABBED the cube, and said in an exasperated voice :

"HONESTLY! I'm sure that if I stripped you naked and stood you on the desk, you'd STILL find something to play with!"

My two classmates pissed themselves laughing, and it slowly dawned on Mr M what he'd just said, and he turned a bright shade of pink (which really suited him).

Innuendo? Kenneth Williams eat your heart out.

Mr M was never able to look me in the eye again after that.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 14:16, 2 replies)
Not me, but everyone thought it was...
Way back in the mists of time, a new maths teacher started at my school - Mr Gilbert. Over time we found he was a really nice bloke, but he'd obviously decided to make sure he was the boss, for in his first term he was a terror. Everyone behaved in Mr Gilbert's lessons.

One day, the class was quiet, everyone puzzling over a fiendish maths test Mr Gilbert had set. Suddenly, the peace was shattered by one of the best farts I've ever heard. It was short, sharp, deep, authoritative... and LOUD*. The sort of fart that would usually have me and my mates rolling around on the floor in fits of laughter, with one of us also clutching at an agonised ringpiece.

Today though, it was as if I was the only person who'd heard it. No-one even raised an eyebrow, let alone whimpered in pain or suppressed mirth.

"Who was that?!" I asked, the ghost of a smile playing over my lips. Again, no-one paid any heed. Mr Gilbert looked up. "Kerry, was that you?" he asked.
"No!" I replied indignantly. Mr Gilbert wasn't convinced.
"I think it was. If it happens again, you're out of the room"
"It wasn't me!"

At this point my friend Tony looked up. "It could have been me, I'm not sure" he told Mr Gilbert. This was the straw that broke my back - there was no way you could have let one off like that and not realised. I guffawed, repeating "It could have been him, hahaha".

Mr Gilbert glared at me and we all resumed our maths, my cheeks now burning with the shame of my unfair accusation.

Finally, the bell rang signalling the end of the lesson. As we all filed out Tony turned round and grinned over his shoulder "It was me!".


*I've since coined a term for these farts - Asso Profundo

/length (less than a second, but you couldn't miss it)
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 14:09, 5 replies)
Shot, in class, with my own gun.
We were having German lessons, and I discovered that a friend of mine had been through my pencil-case, and had stolen my .22 calibre gun.
OK, perhaps a bit of explaining is needed: I made a single shot gun, out of a piece of steel-pipe with threads in one end, the pipe was about 6-7 cm long. The inside of the pipe was roughly the right size to push a .22 round into. The .22 ammo was stolen from various sources and some of it bought through people who had a licence. So: Insert round into threaded end of pipe, screw the pipe-end into a signal-pen. A signal-pen is a device for sending up signal-flares with. You buy one pen, and several refils, you were supposed to have one of these if you go hiking, or have a boat and stuff like that. Why I had my signal-pen/gun in my pencil-case is lost to me, probably was planning to go practicing with some mates after school. Because it was loaded, I had wisely UNSCREWED the barrel a little, so it wouldn't go off if it got dropped or anything. So my mate had found it, and was pointing it around the room, clicking the mechanism. I froze, whispered (I was at the back, by the windows, I had my mate Eric in front of me, and the guy with the gun in front of him) at him:" hey!!!!! Itsssss loadedddd!!!!" He whispers back "No, it isn't"
I took that to mean, he had removed the cartridge. What it really meant, was that he din't believe I would carry a loaded gun in my pencil-case. I had a paper-cup full of hot chocolate, and leant back against the wall to watch him. He pointed the gun at the teacher and whispered:"and YOU'RE dead 'click!'" Then he pointed it at me "your dead 'click!'" Then he took careful aim, and blew the cup of hot chocloate out of my hand. (I had loaded with 22. long-rifle hollowpoint) He stared at me, and at the hole in the wall, and started shaking, the gun just dropped out of his hand, he was basically in shock. I was pretty shaken up myself, but not like him. The rest of the class jumped about a foot straight up, and looked over at us. I was covered in (very) hot chocolate. Finally our German teacher lowers his newspaper and says "Put that toy AWAY!" and raises his newspaper again, carries on reading. And that was the end of it.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 13:39, Reply)
Giant paper aeroplanes
Back in the early 90s (god im old), a group of friends and I decided to use a giant sheet of graph paper for the best thing 13 year old boys can think of, making a giant paper plane. We waited until the teacher left the room and began the process of carefully folding the sheet. Once it was complete, we emblazoned it with many logos (such as Punjab Airways), one of my "chums" decided to write my name on one of the wings.

We launched the plane out of the large pivotting window and at the same time, the teacher returned and caught us looking rather shiftily out of the window.

"What are you up to?" he asked

"Nothing" came our innocent reply in worried unison.

Nature is a bastard, as a freak gust of wind caught the plane and sent it back up to our floor and caused it to bank smoothly across all the classroom windows, my name clearly printed on the wing for all to see.

Apologies for length and aerodynamics.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 12:57, Reply)
I knew I was failing maths
although I was in the top set, so I stopped trying. Nothing downright evil, just fun little distractions to get me through the lessons.

I was the "bad influence" in the class. When we were supposed to be doing problem solving using counters or blocks I encouraged my classmates to play poker and bet with them. The teacher failed to appreciate that it was still maths...

I made ramps using all our books and files to see how far the sellotape would fly when launched from the top.

My favourite though - on the day the teacher wore an angora cardigan, I stuck double-sided sticky tape all around the edge of the table and kept putting my hand up for her to come and look at my work so she got stuck to it.

It's probably little wonder that after getting stoned one lunchtime and throwing an almighty whitey which lasted throughout double maths she was unsympathetic as I sat there wishing for death.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 10:10, Reply)
Not me but...
Someone saw fit to spend their weekend breaking into the school, circumventing the intricate alarm system of sensors and infra-red beams mission impossible style, picking some locks, making their way through various corridors and finally making their way to the headmasters office. They then left a large steaming turd on his desk before making an exit from his window and over the quad wall. This nugget of information was leaked by my Geography teacher. As far as I know nobody was ever prosecuted for this act of heroism. Top pooing I say.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 10:10, 3 replies)
The OI Boys
Mid 80's. Secondary school. Aged 16 and it's leave or stay - and most left. The year of 70+ kids reduced to 9 people, 6 boys and 3 girls. The boys decided to form a 'club' called the Oi Boys. Which was basically an excuse to be bad. Ultimately, we were all intelligent people, all went to Uni and got good degrees or good jobs, so it was perhaps this radical sense of impending good behaviour that caused us to leave the 'rails' behind. We went off in a big way. Now, I have no idea if any of my fellow Oi Boys subscribe, but if they do, they will know of these games. The school is still going and thus remain anonymous. Such highlights included:

Bottle Snooker - buying 10p bottles of fizz in all colours, using a stick as a cue and playing snooker with the aim of spinning the bottles to fizz them up before smashing the crap out them hoping they would explode. They did.

Crazy darts - fluorescent tubes are fun. And we'd just learnt they contained carcinogens, so that was a challenge too. Ours in the 6th form were unguarded but mounted on a metal bracket that extends from the ceiling by about an inch - the challenge was to hit our 'bullseye', this being the lump of metal. You either missed, hit the metal or, shockingly, hit the tube which would spark and shatter. Your challenge was then to pick up the pieces, tidy up, then find an unused classroom and smuggle a replacement back. You see, a blown bulb is sooo much easier top get away with than one that appears (on a consistent basis) to explode.

Screwdriver darts - different tot he game above. Soft backed chairs respond favourably to a well-thrown screwdriver. Based on numerous ninja star movies (I thin), you had to throw the screwdriver, making it spin end on end, embedding itself in the seat. Mega fun. Until you miss. Dumpy, for that was his name, missed and hit the glass behind that cracked quite badly. Dumpy, being smart, sat in front of it at assembly (or whatever our motley collection was called) to hide it. Forgetting that glass can be seen from both sides, through its very nature. He got in shit for that one.

Car crash museum - we were all learning to drive so some nice parents gave, or loaned cars. Which, being 17, we tended to physically alter through accidents. Every time it happened you had to bring a piece in to show the class and put it on display. A hidden rule was that these pieces could be used for...

WWIII - or whatever we called it. Classroom changed to feature desks (with those tall backs facing inwards). No mans land in the middle. The aim was to split up and throw whatever came to hand at the opposition . Your classmates since no on else would join in. I remember the time when one poor chap had to go to hospital having been hit by a well thrown air filter from a Fiat 500. The full housing too, since it weighed a bit. He needed stitches and still refused to say what hit him, as the air filter was unlikely to be allowed to stay. And it would have given the game away.

Smashing things up - anything really. Mainly a desk or cupboard would be pummelled to within an inch of its life (if it were alive) but rendering it hundreds of broken pieces of wood. These were then scoped up and taken to the nearest car before we drove to the nearby woods and flung the bits into them as we went past. I kid you not that at least 15 desks and chairs lay there. No doubt ramblers would have a concerned look as they inspect their bluebells to be confronted by a lump of wood, in its natural habitat, with the words 'Sean sucks cock' staring at them.

Taping Hippy to the pole - just what it says really. Copious amounts of duck tape, or sellotape were sufficient to hold Hippy to the central classroom support pole. Which was nice. I'm sure Hippy sees the funny side of it now.

Adidas bags do not burn - they smoulder. We all had them - those sort-of-lookalike-doctors bags with the three leaves on the side. Did you know if you lit one end of the zip, it would smoulder continually, releasing a fine wisp of smoke? It's mega and quite hypnotising to watch.

Waterproof Pencil cases - so many times we discovered that pencil cases can be waterproof. Not the zip, but it was incredibly amusing to grab some ones while they were otherwise engaged (in school work), fill it up with water, close the zip and lean it against the gas pipe or something. Que much laughter when they grab it and tend to open the zip quickly before checking to ensure they've not been caught, as water floods the desk.

There are many more, but as mature immature teenagers, with the world at our feet and a class of 9, we had a lot of fun. Way more than in any other year. We're all grown up and family men now, and live around the world. But for a good few months, we were one. Long may the memories of the Oi Boys continue...
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 4:24, 3 replies)
I was never naughty but I can imagine the maths teacher was a bit miffed...
... when we started calling him Jesus as we knew the initial of his first name was J, but he wouldn't fill us in on the rest. We spent all his classes colouring in the graphs we were to study and even got him Easter gifts to celebrate his crucifixion. We liked him, really, but after we started teasing him about how he wore nail polish (he didn't, I think he found the bottle left in the classroom and idly sat it on his window ledge) I get the feeling we weren't as welcome. At least he wasn't there to see why all the cardboard boxes in the room suddenly got squashed. We had a great afternoon dragging each other round the classroom pretending we were in really tiny cars. Somehow we passed our exams.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 1:10, Reply)
I was boring
at school and never got in much trouble. One of my older brothers hated school right from the get go though, and continued to cause trouble right through his school days, culminating in him getting caught phoning in a bomb threat to our secondary school, from a phone box (remember them!) and forgetting that his reputation and his voice would make him easy to recognize.
ANYWAY...His naughtiness started in primary, as my dear old lovely mum has just reminded me.
He hated school dinners, so much so that he got my 'mum' to write a letter to the then head teacher Mr.Fishwick to excuse him from at least the awful dessert.
It read... (on Paddington Bear note paper)
Dear Mr.Fishwuck,
I do not want custid anymore
Daves mum.

She swears she has it safe somewhere, and has just been in tears of laughter telling me about having to go to the school to talk to Mr.Fishwuck about it. I want to frame it and give it to him for his 50th.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2011, 0:20, Reply)
Our head of physics
could be a real moody old bint. Not all the time, mind you, but when a certain time of month rolled round, none of us tried our usual tricks. One particular afternoon, our usually punctual teacher was late, and so we let ourselves into the lecture theatre and began to celebrate.

Lunches were eaten, one lad had a trumpet that he started playing and a friend of mine was using the lecture-computer to play microsoft pinball, broadcast via a projector onto the wall behind him. The room was new-ish and had been converted from one which had, many years previously, contained a darkroom for film development. This was now used as a large cupboard at the back of the room, and two of the crazier students - Daniel and Michael - decided to explore it.

No sooner had they entered the cupboard than the teacher burst in, red-faced, eyes bulging, and immediately started screaming bloody murder at how we weren't studying already. The food disappeared, as did the trumpet and 9 foot high pinball projection - thankfully she seemed to stressed to have noticed those - but as we began to copy down what she now wrote on the computer, it became quite obvious that 2 of our number were missing. Minutes passed slowly, and as we all wondered what their plan of escape was, Daniel casually opened the door and walked out.

The teacher flipped her lid. He began to give an explanation about his pen rolling under the door, but was drowned out by her swearing and threats of castration. Eventually she calmed down enough to demand he see her afterwards so she could remove most of his internal organs, or words to that effect. As she said this, she went over to the cupboard door, didn't see Michael about to leave, and slammed it shut.

We had been intrigued before, but now the tension was almost too much to bear. He couldn't possibly leave, that would be suicide, sh'd rip his heart out of his chest! There is no excuse he could say, nothing that could make the situation any better or worse. And - just after we had, in hushed whispers, agreed he was probably going to stay in there for the whole lesson, the door flew open. Michael launched himself out of the cupboard, and - addressing the class at the top of his lungs - cried "YOU LIED! THERES NO SECRET DOOR TO NARNIA!" We all laughed and burst into applause, before turning to see how well our teacher had taken it.

To this day I have never seen a human being turn such a deep shade of purple in such a short space of time.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 22:52, 3 replies)
One morning assembly the large, stern man that was our headmaster addressed the whole school, telling us the disgusting graffiti had to stop. The filthy language, unkind words, salacious rumours; it was not becoming of young gentlemen. They were simply NOT going to stand for it any more.
Later that very day I snuck up to the deputy head's office door, drew my symbol of defiance and wrote,

'GRAFFITI: nuff said fatty.'

Despite a massively over-dramatic 'inquisition' where they told us 'the perpetrator of this act WILL be punished', thinking back it was a pretty lame, inconsequential challenge on authority but at the time I felt invincible because I was never caught. Even though they tracked it down to someone who did art within the week, I guess I just have an honest face for a lying bastard.
Still, it was probably the finest cock and balls I have ever drawn.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 22:29, Reply)
Hardly earth-shattering, but a handful of reminisces...
I was a pretty studious, boring sod during my time at school - a bit of a teacher's pet basically. So when it came to picking a pupil to be responsible for the tuck shop in primary 5 (Tangy Toms, 5p per wee bag) I was the obvious choice. Unfortunately the temptation was there and I gave into it. Put simply, I was skimming off a pretty hefty amount into my own pocket, because I thought I'd get away with it. How naive... I was fine for several days, until both the head AND the parish priest (this being a Catholic school) turned up at the door one evening and a right royal bollocking from the parentals followed.

My enterprising younger self then, in primary 7 banded a small group of pupils together to make and sell Teenage Mutant Hero Turtle bookmarks. For 12 year olds we'd made quite a decent amount before we were herded into the head's office for an introduction to something called "copyright infringement". Using the school office photocopier to produce our bookmarks without chipping in for the costs probably didn't help matters. Cue a run-in with the folks when I got home, too.

On the plus side, I should be grateful that with the whole Catholic school thing and my compulsory Sunday job as an altar boy (where I spent my time eating communion wafers, glugging the blood of Christ on the sly and making dripped wax sculptures) the only sore arse I ended up with was due to my old man's belt.

I'll leave it to my good friend chinaman to tell you about our "underground" magazine in secondary school...
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 20:46, 5 replies)
Last day of term
I was then, and and still am now, an incorrigable fidgeter. I can't function properly unless I'm rolling something about between my fingers. This explains 25 plus years of heavy smoking.

The last day of term of which I speak was in Mr Calvert's woodwork class. We had nothing to do and were sitting about on the benches. I think, arranged left to right, were me, Sandy, Burnsy and Buzz.

This, I think, was 1983 and it was already shaping up to be the long, hot summer that 1983 was in the UK - we were probably talking about Clare, Lisa and Steph and what our chances were (none - that's another story.)

Another teacher came in to chat to Mr Calvert - possibly about what chances they had with Miss Shoebridge the hot English teacher (none - that's another story.)

And I was fidgetting - as usual - this time with a 9" bit of wooden beading that I'd idly picked up.

Mr Calvert - possibly in mid-lustful discussion - backed towards me. I can still see his flabby grey polyester stay-prest clad arse approaching slowly and I did what I had to do.

I whacked his arse as hard as I possibly could with my bit of beading then thrust it into the hands of the nonplussed Buzz.

Mr Calvert turned round, gazed at his possible assailants and saw Buzz, slack-jawed with a 9" bit of beading in his hand and gave him a mighty whack.

I believe that Buzz is now a very senior police officer. Sorry mate.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 19:58, 1 reply)
Aged about 16, messing with a mate in the science lab one afternoon, mixing beakers of random fuming ingredients while cackling like a demented mad scientist.

Set off a cracker of a reaction in one jar that hilariously filled the entire science lab with poisonous gas. Fortunately our chemistry was good enough that when we saw the dramatically red gas coming off it we reckoned it was time to scarper. We thoughtfully locked the door after us, but I reckon it must have cleared by the time classes were held there the following day as no one died or anything.

I blame our science teacher who was a bad influence, he was constantly lifting materials out of the lab in order to build electric fences and worm his cows and shit on his farm.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 19:43, Reply)
Pity it coagulates in warm water
In the 6th Form we didn't have to go to games, and if we did, we could do what we liked. Including using the school swimming pool. They used to give us the keys and let us use it unsupervised (oh, happy days before Elfin Safety). On one occasion there was only me and my girlfriend so we started off skinny dipping, then had sex in the shallow end.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 18:30, 11 replies)
Absolutely terrifying moment..
I was never particularly "bad" but I certainly had fun when I was younger in school. It was a great time for me and I got into some bother at times, but nothing major. Until one day in Year 10 English Lit (or just after).

A friend of mine somehow managed to steal Potassium from the Chemistry store room, yet I have no idea how or why! This is the stuff that is kept in oil as it oxidises in the air as it is so reactive. This absolute moron was carrying around a lump the size of an average dice or a cube with the dimensions of a postage stamp, wrapped up in paper. Brilliant.
He decided to show me and my friend in English of his finds when the teacher had left the room. He happily handled it and cut some off (approx 1/2 to 1/3) with a ruler as it's a lovely soft metal and wrapped it in a page of A4 and flung it towards me. I had to do something as the teacher had just walked back in, so I handled it carefully and laid in on the (lino) floor and remember realising it was a little to warm. The other "friend" who I shared a table with had handled it with his hands, and the tiny pieces of metal which had stuck to the sweat on his fingers were sparking and making tiny pockets of smoke appear and was, apparently, painless.

As soon as the bell chimed informing us that it was the last day lesson of the day, I picked up the bit of paper and marched out the door. Like a twat I placed it loosely in my coat pocket and shielded it with my hand and bumped into a friend who had just come out of an adjacent class. I got my head down and asked him to march with me in a serious tone and he obliged knowing something was up. Typically we hit the wall of students all in a frenzy to head out of the the exits and my heart sunk as I felt the warmth of the paper and saw a teacher directly across from me. She was a PE teacher and didn't really know me (as she only taught girls).

It happened in a second. The paper began to burst into flames violently as I instinctively flung it from my pocket into a makeshift firework and watched the reaction get evermore violent and all attention turn on me (obviously). A few shrieks and me stamping like a wild man on it, I look around to see a few dozen students all staring at me and the smokey mass on the floor which I have stamped into oblivion. The teacher obviously came over towards me, and I felt faint. I was pale as a ghost. I was more worried about being blown up as I have seen the capabilities of such a dangerous metal in a controlled experiment the size of a grain of rice and I had a much larger chunk. I was also worried as this was easily an "expellable" situation as well as fire alarms and fines for calling out the Fire Service.

I was terrified and the teacher could see this. HOWEVER, she marched up to me with a quizzical expression and asked plainly "What is going on?!" I wouldn't consider myself a natural liar, but I insisted I saw the piece of paper fall from the stairs from above and it landed on my shoulder and I merely threw it off me and stamped it out. I played up to being scared and burbled "It scared the life out of me! I thought someone had set my bag on fire!". She paused for a second and unbelievably lapped it up! She even asked me if I wanted to see the nurse as I looked pale! I declined gracefully and insisted I could walk it off. Nobody said anything else about it and she had a quick look around by the stairs for any signs of this phantom arsonist.

I almost vomited from the masses of emotions I felt about 5 minutes later on my walk home. And I think the thing that topped it off for me was the fact she saw me the next day and kindly asked me how I was. I smiled and said fine, and explained how it caught me off guard and "shook me up".

Please remember people! I didn't want it! It was thrust upon me and I had to deal with it. And all things considered, I thought I handled it really well!
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 16:25, 6 replies)
This one time
This kid was telling a story, none too well, so I leapt in and took the piss, summarising his story for him and deftly taking the wind out of his sails. That showed him. Everyone gazed at me in admiration, or so I seem to remember.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 15:52, 15 replies)
Hem lines
Until well into the eighties, Hutchesons' Grammar School in Glasgow stuck to traditional gym slips for girls' games. You know the things - navy blue, square neck, box pleats. On PE days, girls were allowed to wear these horrors instead of normal school uniform. It therefore became a tradition to wear the same gymslip throughout the school, and what started as a burkha without the face covering at age 12 could be really rather intriguing five or six years of hormone driven growth - upwards and outwards - later.

The culmination (and, in the case of many observers, the climax) came when the school hockey captain, an athletic amazon over six feet tall, appeared in a gym slip so short that her knickers were on display even without her bending over. That was that, and decency standards were introduced before too many boys walked into walls, leaving waist level dents in the plaster.

This is not, I realise, technically something naughty which I did, being a chap. It did distract me a tad from lessons, though, and the drooling can't have been nice to watch.

Pics? Well, if you look for Hutchesons' Grammar School on Friends Reunited she's on there ...
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 12:16, 4 replies)
Our secondary school had a problem which I'm sure many of you are familiar with - the school playing fields were out of bounds for many months across the winter, depriving us hyperactive schoolkids of our favourite way to let off some steam, football. Signs were placed around the school, forbidding us to use the playing fields on pain of death. Thus, a plot was formed...

I printed 15 notices in large black font, completed by initialling them in the style of the deputy head and posting them around the school, re-opening the playing fields; children rushed outside as if they had been released from many years of captivity, some playing football, some just rolling around in the mud, enjoying the freedom. The supervising teachers accepted the notice without question, patrolling the mayhem like red cross workers in a warzone. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed, fury eminating from the approaching deputy head, his face older and more wizened than an elephant's scrotum. Swiftly, we were removed from the fields, and almost immediately notices countering my command were issued.

The bar had been raised, his signature featured prominently; the fool, signature forgery is an art that I was well accustomed to. Two contraband days of football left the school corridors in the same state as most festival toilets, all surfaces sprayed with filth. I won the battle, but he later won the war.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 10:17, 1 reply)
I have a few stories, some interesting some not. I'll post a couple here and maybe a few more when I am home from work :)

One time my friends Ross, Nick, and I couldn't be bothered to do PE..it was football and it was pissing wet outside and muddy too..so we all claimed to have left our PE kit at home.
The teacher, Mr Gill (I think it was him) decided to make us tidy the PE departments storeroom as punishment. Said store room was a lost above the Gym, which also had a sort of balcony above the gym.
He then locked us in so we couldn't get out while he was supervisign the football lesson outside.
Of course, the climbing bars in the gym were alongside the balcony part and we would have escaped anytime we wanted to, but we just played around with some of the sports gear up there instead :)

Eventually the lesson finished, but Mr Gill never came to let us out..so we stayed put, and messed around by playing dodgeball or something (can't really remember) anyway we missed a lesson or two and we were getting bored and of course it'd soon be time to go home. So when a class (last one of the day) started below in the gym we called down and were eventually let out.
Apparently Mr Gill had forgotten we were up there, and his face was a picture when we called down asking to be let out.

Not that funny I guess but it was an easy skive as we could blame the teacher!

A friend of mine stuck a condom on one of the external doors, and we all stood watching as people went to the door, grasped the handle and 'EEEEEK!' backed away rapidly when they realised it had a condom on.
Eventually there was a whole crowd of kids watching the door and laughing at people's reactions.
Eventually Mr Denison came along and removed the condom from the handle and walked away...
Some of the girls reactions were a classic though...

More to come later when I remember..I must be getting old, my memory is going :(
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 8:36, 1 reply)
Reading about all the hard men & tough nuts at school got me to thinking.
Don't get me wrong I had my fair share of trouble, fisty-cuffs and grief at school. Most of which ended me up in Rouse's office (the deputy head).
Which almost leads me to my story. A little background first -
I left/got kicked out of home @ 16, me and my mum just could not get along. I lived in a shared house with 3 other blokes all in their 20-30's for my final couple of years at school - I had a job, paid my way, smoked abit got pissed occaisionally, had a couple of trips but was otherwise well behaved. Because I wasn't living @ "home" to the school I was 'one of the kids to watch'.
I did some really f*cking dumb things at school - got caught drunk, repeatedly got caught smoking (which entailed 2 weeks at a time of getting up early to go for a run with the headmaster), had a few fights (won some, lost some & I'm here to tell the tale...). You get the gist.
I also had an absolute ball - getting stoned alone on the astronomy tower (just the big tower in the old science block) having scaled the brick work to get there with my telescope, camera and motor on my back, getting pissed in Cervantes after a massive feed of fish & chips having spent 2 weeks walking 2/3rds of the Murchison Gorge . The list goes on.
I broke up with my girlfriend of about 2yrs. a couple of weeks before our school ball (formal, prom, dance, whatever), we decided to go together anyway since the tickets had cost $150, she'd hired a dress & I'd got a morning suit at a local op-shop. After the obligatory photos (If I can find them and cba to get the firmware for my scanner to work with debian again then definitely PCIDH) she fucked off to find her friends & there I was with some hash my house-mates had given me for my birthday, an empty dance card and a beautifully empty drinks card.
Enter Rouse (the vice-principal) who was there with his missus. We got to chatting & rather than our usual tête à tête, 1 thing led to another - we decided to get quietly pissed together (his missus was driving, I was over 18, had a lift home and we both had drink cards to fill up. That's how I ended up getting pissed with the man who had been my disciplinarian for the last few years, had a f*cking blast & managed to leave school with my head held high. Probably not the baddest thing I did at school but certainly 1 of the most memorable.
Length? Probably about 1/2 an hr. it took his missus and some other people to pour us into his car and a taxi for me.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 6:58, 4 replies)
My other half and her friends wore g-strings under their school dresses..
lined up against a window, lifted their skirts, and did their best impressions (ha!) of pressed ham under glass.
Apparently, that pretty much ended her time at THAT school
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 0:54, 9 replies)
I once wee'd at school..
Into an empty beer bottle.
And then handed said partially filled beer bottle to friends who added their own special brew into the bottle. Topped it up with water, gave it a good shaking to produce a beautiful, creamy, foamy head, and gave the bottle to my schoolyard nemesis who took a good long pull, thinking that since it was a beer bottle, had a foamy head, it MUST have been beer.
Oh how mistaken he was.
Having parents called to the school was such a small price to pay for sweet, sweet revenge.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 0:52, Reply)

Teachers' birthdays generally aren't publicised to their kids, and for good reason. However one time a couple of lads in my form found out when our form tutor's birthday was and decided to give him a surprise present. During the lunch break they got a load of silly string, toilet roll, tin cans and the like and decorated his car with them. When it came to afternoon registration our tutor took us all up to the staff car park and showed us what they'd done so we could have a good laugh. It was only then that he pointed out they'd got the wrong car.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2011, 0:29, Reply)
The naughtiest thing a builder ever did at our school
This is all a bit second-hand, but it's my favourite story since I started this miserable teaching job. Sadly, I wasn't there, but it's too good not to be true.

A couple of years ago our school let go a ginger kid. We'll call him Shaun. I'd had the unfortunate luck to have to teach him for all five years of his school career, and thanked all known Gods that he'd actually managed to get a C at GCSE Science, thereby making me look reasonably competent. He was a cocky little so-and-so, full of bullshit, mouth like the Mersey Tunnel; a likeable lad for all that, but still a royal pain in the arse.

My best mate Gavin, head of History, also got saddled with him for GCSEs, and took his class on a trip, ostensibly to see the history of a nearby town. This trip started in the corner of a car park, and being the prudent teacher, Gavin asked if any of the kids needed to use the public toilets before setting off on their little walking tour.

Of course Shaun was the only one who wanted to go. So after he'd strutted off flicking oblique winks at his friend in acknowledgement of his wasting class time, Gavin made sure to prep the rest of the class to wind him up a bit. So he encourages everyone to give Shaun a round of applause and a cheer when he emerges from the Gents.

What he hadn't banked upon was the small crowd of builders who entered the Gents just after Shaun.

Shaun exits the toilets.

Gavin and the rest of the class applaud enthusiastically.

Very large builder with muscles like ham hocks exits right behind Shaun

Builder realises the applause is directed towards Shaun (thankfully) and bellows at the top of his voice: "He's got a tiny dick, you know!"

Shaun's face turns redder than his absurd hair and he remains remarkably quiet for the rest of the trip. Gavin has five minutes of private hysterics on the minibus under the guise of 'looking for his wallet'.

Length? Not terribly much, apparently...
(, Sat 10 Sep 2011, 23:36, 2 replies)
It's a pearoast but.....
It has to be the naughtiest thing I've ever done in school.

Not last winter but the one before I was teaching year 1 (5-6 year olds) My classroom was right by the playground and we has our own door out on to it.

Halfway through the afternoon's lesson the sky started to turn grey and eventually it quietly started to snow. The children we so busy working that they didn't notice. It had actually got quite thick on the ground before one boy looked up and shouted 'it's snowing'.
We stopped for a minute and looked at the snow before I encouraged them to carry on.
But now they were distracted, this was the first time we had had snow since the previous year and when you are 5 a year is a lifetime ago. There were general mutterings of snowball fights and toboggans.

I knew it was over, I was fighting a losing battle.

"Right, everyone put their pencils down" I said sounding angry, "this is not good enough there is too much talking going on. You are excited by the snow and so am I. Get your coats on we are going outside."

We came back in about 45 minutes later when it was home time.
(, Sat 10 Sep 2011, 23:32, 6 replies)
I might've killed a dinner lady
Sorry to post twice but I'd forgotten about the time I might've killed a dinner lady. It's a short story luckily.
We'd been playing footy with jumpers for goalposts at junior school. I leathered the ball as hard as I could just inside the post to score. Unfortunately, the plastic pocketed lady in question had been overseeing a game of "elastics" behind the goal. The ball struck her anus like a rebel alliance proton torpedo not going in and impacting on the surface. She had to go home immediately afterwards. Two days later it was announced in assembly that she would not come back as she was dead. Obviously I don't know if my actions played a part in her death, it could be that my ill fated strike had shifted some kind of arse clot causing a fatal embolus. I've had to live with the guilt so long I'd pretty much forgotten it. Still, one less dinnerlady for my mate Pete to pull.
(, Sat 10 Sep 2011, 21:52, 2 replies)

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