b3ta.com user DonMorte
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A hairy Scotsman obsessed with drinking. Not that that separates me much from the rest of Scotland...

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» Tramps

I live near an area of Dundee that's affectionately known as "needle row"... pick a closie and you could wrap a christmas turkey with the amount of used tin foil in it. Between needle row and the town centre, there are plenty "interesting" people to meet. Many are the usual crazy/drugged up hobos you see all over Scotland, but there are a few who are true legends. Apologies now, this is not a funny story, it just kinda highlights that not all homeless people are junkies, some are the complete opposite.

Lisa was awesome. She used to sit in the overpass at the station in the winter, minding her own business and staying warm. She was quite possibly the sweetest girl i've ever met, so cheerful even though she'd had a horrible life.

The first time I met her, it was early December. She hadn't eaten in about 9 days, and was nearly unconscious. The pile of Big Issues she'd been trying to sell lay unsold beside her, no one buys them in Dundee. I took her to MacDonalds and she told me her story. Her parents were junkies in Glasgow, both heavily into heroin, and used to beat her, or worse, pretty much when the mood took them. She'd ran away when she was 15 after they'd tried to prostitute her to earn drug money. She didn't have a proper education, but was desperately trying to get a job. She'd go to the job centre nearly every day, looking for jobs and getting out of the cold for a bit. She'd applied for several jobs, but they all refused her as she didn't have an address. I got her a hotel room once, she insisted that she'd get a job in Tesco or something and pay me back. she ripped a corner off a Big Issue and wrote me an I.O.U. Everytime we met she told me how her job search was going, what she'd been up to, where she'd been. Sometimes she'd spend her day wandering about the parks, picking flowers. She loved them, she was amazed that something so pretty could grow from nothing but dirt. She told me once that it gave her hope in the spring when the daffodils came out, she knew that she would be ok.

For someone who'd lived on the street for nearly a decade, and had no more than a primary school education, she was incredibly warm and quick witted. Any time I was getting a train, or if I was bored in town, I'd sit and speak with her for ages, sharing cigarettes and cider and having a sly laugh at the businessmen who spent their whole day getting stressed over things that don't really matter. Someone gave her an old mobile phone once, the only numbers she had in it were me, a couple of my mates and the Samaritans hotline. I always felt a bit guilty when I went home to my warm house, knowing that she was still out there, huddled in the overpass trying to keep out of the rain. Whenever she saw me going for a train she made sure to give me a hug, and told me she prayed that I'd get there safe.

The council started to revamp the area around the station last year, and knocked down the overpass. Lisa had to move to the station doorway, with no shelter from the elements, but was still her chipper self, chattting to whoever would listen and sharing her last cigarette.

They found her on the 20th January this year, sat in her usual spot at the station doors. She'd died of pneumonia, and was frozen solid. She'd been ill for weeks, but refused to move in case someone stole her spot. She'd been grieving for one of her friends, another Big Issue seller who'd been stabbed outside M&S a week before. It was strange to think that Lisa and her flowers wouldn't be there anymore, and to see the impact she'd made on the lives of other Dundonians.

When spring came this year i made sure to leave a bunch of daffodils in her spot, along with a cigarette and the I.O.U. ripped in half. Next time someone asks you for change, please don't snub them and justify it with some druggie excuse... even if you only have 5 minutes, get to know them a little... they might just be another Lisa.

Apologies for lack of funnies. And length.

here's a link to the BBC site about her, any other Scumdonians on here might remember her and her awesomeness :)

(Sat 4th Jul 2009, 5:33, More)

» Too much information

restaurant tmi
one of my friends was dining out in a really, really posh restaurant near where i live. the kind where all the waiters are like royalty, and the chef is a deity. anyway, she was pretty young at the time, about 4. She went to the toilet, and being a pretty young and naive child, didn't know how to clean up afterwards. so she did the first sensible thing she could think- she wandered into the packed restaurant, and shouted to her mum that she needed wiping. I'm fairly sure the family was banned from the restaurant afterwards...
(Thu 6th Sep 2007, 12:43, More)

» Filth!

just plain sick
Not proud of this, but it's probably the worst thing I've ever done:

I mixed a pot of fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa — and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, this was horrible, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other.

I never felt so bad in my entire life.
(Sat 4th Feb 2012, 16:46, More)

» School Days

I really didn't fit in at my school, as is probably the case with many on here. Not that I was smarter than average, just a prime target.

As is to be expected in a modern British school, the disruptive children were given utmost attention, to the point where they got holidays, trips to Alton Towers and so on. The kids with real problems, such as depression, self-harm, bulemia etc were pretty much ignored by the staff, as were most of the best teachers.

Mr Kiddie, for example. Bob Dylan lookalike, taught history. All the kids loved him, and therefore most of the teachers hated him. All apart from Mr Sutherland, his only mate. Made it harder when Sutherland found him hung in his classroom one Monday morning. The one decent teacher in the school was driven to suicide by the other teachers constantly trying to get him suspended, although the others were horrid (yes, the typical PE teacher perving on young girls in showers sort of thing.)

So we subtly got our own back. Most of the people who knew Mr Kiddie well were in my year, and proceeded to drive as many of the teachers who were mean to him to tears, as they had done him. They made him insane, now it was our turn.

As we were second years there wasn't much we could do that was drastic, so we did little things. Got the whole class to sway till the teacher felt seasick, switching keys and so on.

By 5th year we were smarter and more malicious. Successfully made quite a few teachers take early retirement. I think one got sectioned after we stole her shoes, house keys and car keys and deposited them on top of the portakabins. She didn't notice till school was done, apparently she was found in her room weeping. Didn't come back after that.

Some teachers sorted themselves for us. The pervy PE teacher came in pissed, had to be escorted off the premises and was suspended for a year. sadly he's now back and perving on my sister, none too happy about that. The best was one of the geography teachers who'd treated Kiddie like scum, because she was all middle class and he was a hippie who lived in a caravan. She moved schools, and has since been suspended when her phone was stolen, and all her dirty videos of her vag were texted and bluetoothed to every school rector and most of the pupils in Dundee.

Apologies for the rant, and lack of funnies, just needed to show that some teachers are worth a lot more than just what they can teach, and are worth respect in a system where pretty much everyone is against them.

On the plus side, my 4th year maths teacher was amazing. Imagine a jeordie version of Hulk Hogan, who without fail will be wearing tartan trousers and mismatched neon socks, with an insistance that maths without Zky, Judas Priest or Black Sabbath belting out of his homebuilt sound system was not maths at all. Most maths lessons consisted of a bellowed "get ya booooks owt" followed by "ahm off for a bit... if there's a mess when ahm back, it's East 17 for the lot oh yas"
(Mon 2nd Feb 2009, 4:24, More)

» Biggest Sexual Regret

About 4 years ago, I had the good fortune of being severely drunk at a new year's do in some random stranger's house. I spent most of the evening chatting to two girls, who were also incredibly smashed. One was an amazing blonde bombshell, very clever, good conversation, beautiful body, the list goes on. The other... well, put it this way, she wouldn't be out of place in a certain novel involving a man called Ahab with a harpoon gun and a penchant for seafaring. After a while, I managed to convince the blonde goddess to join me in one of the bedrooms upstairs. The effects of spending all night drinking suddenly hit me, and I decided to pop to the toilet rather than accidentally introduce this lovely woman to watersports.

On returning to the room, however, I discovered that not only had the girl passed out due to alcohol abuse, but also that her friend had decided that the bed was the new place to be. I, of course, took the only chivalrous option, and switched my attention to the rather unattractive but surprisingly available new woman. Having managed to vaguely achieve my goal of bedding a lady, I made my excuses (namely I was too drunk to stand straight) and left.

A few days into the new year, I encountered the first woman, now sober, in a pub, without her voluminous friend. I went over to apologise, but rather than being upset she decided that the best way to make up for my less than stellar choice was to leave me with this analogy -

"It's like you walked into a restaurant, looked at the menu, and ordered the tastiest, most amazing, beautiful aperitif they had, then got served lukewarm kedgerie."

(Sat 10th Dec 2011, 22:14, More)
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