Trouble you got into at school

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Got a 'pink slip' for writing abuse leveled at the worst IT teacher ever (must be one of the worst teachers overall, too) on Microsoft Excel. What saved me was that half the print out chopped off the most offensive bits, and the photocopy made it even milder.

Got sent out a fair few times.

Got suspended for a week, and then later I got an apology from the head for overreacting.

Overall I was quite well behaved, just prone to hyperactivity, trying too hard to impress and being led astray by outside influence.

[Garam]

My English teacher in the last two years of school was a really hateful character. Her literature/media taste was terribly conservative and dull, she was always spouting out painfully trite received opinion which she had memorised from a magazine article, she never had anything insightful to say about anything, and always seemed to demonstrate things in the most dull way possible, without fail. I remember once she made us watch The Sixth Sense TWICE so that she could use it as an example of symbolism ("Now class, the red doorknob symbolises death. Do you see!?") Pronounced her S's like a snake, too.

She was also a cunt, generally. In one lesson, my friend had trouble writing as he had hurt his hand earlier in the day during a Drama lesson. After a while, it really started aching, so he told her he was going to go and get it checked with the nurse. He was telling her rather than asking, but what he got from her was "Oh! How con-veeeeeeeeenient!! You break your hand...on the SAME DAY we have an English test!! Oh, how very con-veeeeeeeeeeenient!! I don't believe a second of it, sit down."

I was sat at the front swapping incredulous faces with my friend about how pathetic the stupid bitch was. She told him to sit down but he told her to piss off and left. She still kept up the skeptical shit over the next few days when he had a sling round his neck just because she couldn't admit to be wrong. Anyway - she was a bitch, and so me and a few other friends gave her shit. When we got seperated, we still gave her shit from across the room, but after a while it got to the point where some of us would have to be in isolation some lessons, in order to cut down the disruption by half. So we started getting our heads down and writing stupid shit in place of work, instead. Every time we had to write something, we'd deliberately spell every single word wrong in order to deplete her red ink supply and hopefully put her under some financial strain. I've got a copy of one I did just before I got fed up and left the lesson for good*, a Curriculum Vitae that was to be sent out to various companies.

* "If you want to go, leave!"
  "Fine!"

Derrr sur/miss

I iz got all da kwofilikashun's dat is nessaceri for da workplaic.
I could prolly even be da US prez if ah wanted as I iz been to
disneetown floreda at leest twice so av propa got a feal for
da plaic an all that, yeah

av got a keen brane that is always ungree for more nolledge
like sum sort ov ungree monsta

i avent got none ov that tolerunce fer crime an ther aint no excusin
factor in it, as far as am a concern. I ant got a krim-rec* as i
use me osbervent eyes 2 clacoolate wen to scarpa - very usefil for
estayt agencey work

the futur iz in tha here and now and u iz lookin at his Curicilim Vitty

am alwayz usin me anishativ, me. When Teach made way for da bog's after i
put shit powder in his brew, I snatched the annser sheet off his desk and
sorted mesen out wiv a tasty 18/20 (alwayz make shore u av a cupple kwestyuns
wrong to avoyd supcisiopcion)

wotch out for me world cos i'm comin to knock fuk out ov ya (in a suseccfil sens),
ya doss cunt


wel! at this poynt it almost seams as tho we kno 1 anutha! frends alike
and birds of a fetha, like. Help a mate out and sort us out wiv a shit-hot job
sharpish. I wanna decent 1 coz i want me 1st car to be a beemer. me mam says
i can't aford it but dont lissen to her cos she knows fuck all about nowt.
Iv got ambishun, me


gis a ring


yurs, Rob 'Cosy Rayf' Raithby



* krimnul rekord

abbriviaysh across the naysh** - propa afishent and tym-savin an all
that tidy bolleks

**abbriviashun acros tha naytion


PS - get fukked if ya think im workin weekends. saturday nites R go mental nites OI OI

A copy of it was sent home with an accompaning letter saying that 'Robert seems to be of the opinion that everything will be alright on the day of the exam," which remains one of the best summations of my character i've read/heard. I always preferred the snide, sarcastic getting into trouble than the more obvious calling-the-teacher-a-fat-cunt type. Although that was good too.

[buttgammon]

You utter cunt TC.

I didn't get into bother with a teacher for it but I nicked Steve Coogan's joke about Stephen Hawking and told it in school once. So I was sitting by my friend in RE and told him the whole thing (Some people say David Beckham's not very bright but I think that's unfair. They don't say Stephen Hawking's shit at football! I saw him score a goal once but I think it took a deflection) only for some girls sitting in front to overhear me. To complicate the situation, I really fancied one of them. I ended up getting lectured about Hawking! "Oh, that's so cruel! Don't you know the man is in a wheelchair? It's not his fault! And he's so clever as well. He's much cleverer than you could ever be in spite of being a poor bloke in a wheelchair." I just said I actually have a huge amount of respect for the man and it's just a joke.

I didn't really get into much trouble at school with the teachers. I never did anything realy outrageous or even memorable - I was just quite quiet and did my work. I do remember being kicked out of lessons for a day in primary school when I was laughing too much. My teacher in the first year of juniour school was a bitch. Aside from that she also went mad with me for quietly whispering "Oh my God" to my friend. I did cause damage to a wall in my secondary school when it was newly built and I was about 14. I was in trouble with some kids for reasons I can't remember and they surrounded me in the science corridor. I started kicking my feet as though I was about to charge forward and accidentally swung one foot back smashing through the wall and into a pipe! I just got a telling off and that was it. The fact that I ended up just lying flat on the top of the stairs as people walked past me afterwards probably convinced them that I was just mad and possibly disturbed (kind of true) so I got off lightly. It can't have been too well built for me to cause such damage, anyway.

[ziggy starbucks]

I was reading my old school diaries and found something I'd prefer to have forgotten. Its about some 'trouble' I got into with a boy. My hormones were crazy in those days. Hey ho.

This is a question about what to do when you fancy The Popular Guy. You know the one I mean: he's funny, intelligent, sporty AND incredibly good looking. Every guy wants to be him, and every girl revels in the fantasy of being the one to change his cocky, arrogant ways. He knows his power, as is clear from his unbelievable swagger, and yet still insists on flirting with everyone, making them think they have a chance. As he enters a room, every female turns, all smiles and enthusiastic "Hi!"s , their eyes wide open, eyebrows hitting the roof, and eyelashes afluttering. The big question in everybody's mind is "Who is he going to talk to first?" Probably the one he can make use of most effectively, the one that's just finished the homework he's meant to do - meaning that its sometimes you... As he approaches your table, you're bowled over by The Gorgeous Smile, and the "Hi, how's it going?" While you're totally entranced by the ridiculous notion that he might actually know your name (yes! - you're that lucky!!!), he asks if you've done last night's homework and if he can have a look. Still, completely bedazzled by his smouldering smile, you hand over your work without a shadow of a doubt. Hey -who cares whether you spent hours and hours researching last night, the obviously really likes you - YOUR DAY HAS ARRIVED. Moments later though, after carefully copying your notes, you realise he's making his way back to the table filled with The Popular Girls, being greeted with giggles and hair flicks. Sinkingly, you understand that you've just been used. NEVER, you tell yourself, will you let that happen again.
Two days later, he approaches you again. Wow!! He knows my name, you think, as you hand over your Physics paper... Ok, this is rather long winded, but you get the gist. It defies all logic why I fancy him-I haven't got a snowball's chance in hell, but I just can't get over him. I know this is a basic problem, but please, please, please tell me what to do. Thanks so much, lots of love, Vess


i wake up thinking about him and i fall asleep thinking about him, i cry everytime i see red skittles as they were his favourite

[Hank_Kingsley]

You crack me up like an egg ziggy starbucks. Which terrible teen angst forum did you steal that off?

[ziggy starbucks]

please do not belittle my pain and suffering

[Hank_Kingsley]

You will never be the popular girl! You wear glasses and slouch! You are the fourteen year old virgin, you have never been kissed!
I hate you I hate you I hate you

[Cack Hen]

Ziggy's pain and suffering is so wee

Almost too wee

[alan nagsworth]

Shaddap the pair o' ye or I'll turn this fucking car around and so 'elp me god there'll be no Disneyland fer anyone.

[buttgammon]

i wake up thinking about him and i fall asleep thinking about him, i cry everytime i see red skittles as they were his favourite

How does anyone know what anyone else's favourite flavour of Skittles is anyway? I don't know what my own favourite was!

Actually, I'm glad nobody would actually think that (presumably - if not then I hope you aren't offended, Ziggy). At 14 I had a particularly intense case of lust in a Skittles-fueled environment and had no idea what kind of Skittles the object of my affection liked. She ate them all.

[The Boston Crab]

Garam and ziggy really made me hoot, great stuff.

I think the key troubles I got into at school were all during my most formative years. One of my earliest memories is of kissing a girl in kindergarten and getting bollocked into oblivion - despite the fact that a) it was my best friend and b) she'd just kissed me too! She gleefully put her hand up and told the teacher, obviously unable to contain her innocent happiness. The overbearing fishwife banished me to the kindergarten playground area outside, a small fenced-off space jutting into the big kids' playground. It was there I made my first older friend, a predilection which continues, he was a nice chap who gave me some of his contraband sweets - those small silver balls of pure sugar and metallic paint.

Shortly after, we moved house and to a new school. It was here that I frist realised how much I was at the mercy of these dreadful crones. I remember my first day at infant school, I was told to stand in the corner for 'playing' with some pencil crayons, i.e. mixing colours - I was 5 years old and the system was already trying to crush my curious spirit. I told the teacher outright that I could hardly for my mother to arrive, my loyal protector and champion. I waited, seething for what felt like the whole afternoon, goaded by snot-nosed stunted urchins who couldn't even hold a pencil crayon for two seconds without piercing their doughy flesh or glassy embryonic eyes, never mind experiment with an assortment of them! I was stunned and bitterly hurt when my mother finally arrived on the scene and, unbelievably, didn't even consider my version of events, siding with the teacher like some fair-weather Liverpool fan from the Home Counties. They even had a good laugh about my story 'My daddy is a bus driver' because my dad wasn't a bus driver really. I just wasn't sure how intriguing the required pictorial conclusion would've been if I'd written about my dad's small double glazing business. Those chuckling chickens, those giggling geese, those craven crows! From that point, I knew I was on my own and I was determined to lie my way to the top.

Weeks later, I corrected my teacher's spelling of 'xylaphone' (sic) and we had an argument about it. When the headmaster came in and confirmed that I, a 5 year-old boy, had trumped the teacher, I knew that a good memory, self-conviction and a shit-eating grin would get you extremely far in school. A pattern of self-discovery emerged soon after - I enjoyed school immensely but the majority of it was so stultifyingly wasteful, in my eyes. You were given so many creative limits, the only true outlet was swearing.

[Al Tha Funkee Homosapien]

I think the key to getting away with stuff in High School is to be relatively intelligent and act maturely whilst around certain teachers which means that you can then go off and smoke bongs on the school field, get into mass brawls and mitch off to go and sit around outside school with ease. Nobody expects the clever boffs and even if they do they don't want to harm their overall GCSE results by expelling some of the school's best chances of someone getting half-decent results. Ohh I'm such a rebel.

[alan nagsworth]

That's true. I was never a "school boff" but I was never a "jock" either, I was somewhere in the middle with my Cradle Of Filth hoodie and metal studs on my bag. We just used to arse about. Every time a teacher couldn't reach the top of the whiteboard due being a short-arse, I'd laugh. Every time they spelt words wrong, I'd point it out before they had a chance to continue. Every time they tripped over (which in my maths teacher's case was very often) I would burst out laughing almost deliberately. I remember while we were doing our GCSEs, the fat bastard was walking up the aisle of wooden tables, room in silence, kids doing exams. He tripped over a bag someone had left out in the aisle and hit the deck like a fucking great oak tree. This happened not once but twice during my GCSEs, and on another occasion there was a spare unused table at the edge of the room. He sat on it and it collapsed under his weight. On all three occasions, he was applauded and laughed at raucously.

Once, we were in class and he was giving my mate a bollocking, telling him to move to the front of the class where he could keep an eye on him. While he was doing so, I put a chair behind him so that when he turned to walk away, he went flying over this chair all gracefully like a real fat man does, steadying himself on a table and almost going right on his arse. I remember slamming my hand on the table and going for some serious point-and-laugh action in his face. He didn't even suspect the chair was placed there to trip him up, told me to shut up and walked off. I wish I was still at school!

[samadriel]

Definitely; I thumped some rotten little wannabe-bully in my senior year, and had naught but a bit of a chuckle with the principal about it (when will the greater school system realise that vigilante justice works?).

My favourite (albeit rubbish, but sort of cute, what with its peripheral infant violence and so on) incident of trouble in school is from the first grade, when, at lunch, I was falsely accused of kicking some poor girl in the head (buggered if I know who actually did it); being about 5 or 6 at the time, I lacked the social experience to understand that the proper way to claim my innocence was to say, "I didn't do it, what girl are we even talking about?", etc etc, and not to assume that I must have done it because my accusers seemed so certain, thusly responding with "It was an accident".  Some rotten crone of a teacher interrogated me on the subject long after lunch had been and gone, and at one point, I responded to a question with 'Okay'.
"Don't say 'okay'!" she squawked -- perhaps feeling that the use of pre-war slang by the children of 1988 was eroding society's moral fabric.  Mystified, I responded in assent: 'Okay'.
"Don't say 'okay!'"
"OKAY!"
"DON'T SAY 'OKAY'!"
"OKAY!"
I swear that this continued for at least six iterations, until I finally happened to respond with "ALL RIGHT!", which satisfied her peculiar linguistic ethics.  This doesn't reflect well on my fleetness of thought as a youth, but I think it reflects even worse upon the teacher.  Because she was a twat.

[buttgammon]

Definitely; I thumped some rotten little wannabe-bully in my senior year, and had naught but a bit of a chuckle with the principal about it (when will the greater school system realise that vigilante justice works?).

I had a similar experience. When I was about 15 some lad jumped on me in the corridor when nobody else was around. I knocked the shit out of him and my head of year told me 'that was a great left hook' after seeing the CCTV footage of it!

[Jack Shaftoe]

Ziggy said:

i cry everytime i see red skittles as they were his favourite

Awwwwww!

[drberbatov]

I and a dozen others got kicked out of the chess club in middle school for choosing instead to play football rather then waste the hour of our lunchtime trying to become the next Kasparov. I'll never forget the humiliation of having the teacher who ran the club removing our names one by one from the league table whilst we sat stony faced on the pottery table

[buttgammon]

OK. I started college today and I'm in a red Skittles situation myself. The colour of her hair! Etc, etc. So there is actualy a plausible reason for it. I bet she hates Skittles. I don't think she ever stops talking to be able to eat Skittles anyway. Nice girl though. She retrieved a folder of mine from the bag of somebody I'd never met before and let me follow her into a chip shop so I decided to return the favour by mentioning her on a forum. I'm fucked if anyone I know is reading this but oh well. As long as it's her doing the fucking I don't care! (ooh, pardon)

[George Oscar Bluth II]

I got in trouble in the sixth form for being punched in the face by a little prick from three years below who'd been bullying my brother and thought I'd make a good target too. I was told that if I'd hit him back (which the smug little cunt would have richly deserved) I'd have been kicked out. Profuse and endless thanks to the mate who intervened and stopped my fist connecting with his face, then.

[Pogue Mahone]

Once our whole class got a week's worth of break-time detention after a teacher walked in on us and we were having a mass battle around the room involving elastic bands and paper pellets.

One of the few times I personally got into trouble was when I brought an exploding prank pen into school and tried it out on some lad in the corridor, asking him to write down a number for me to have a go at guessing it. It was loaded with a small red cap and when he pulled the lid off, the spring inside returned to its resting position and connected with the cap causing a small bang to reverberate up and down the corridor. A teacher from up the corridor came rushing to the scene as if a bomb had just exploded and snatched the pen from the lad. It was handed to my form teacher who decided to go a bit over-the-top and treat the incident as being very serious, going as far to refer to the cap as a "firework" and even ringing home to involve my parents.


The innocent-looking pen (dangerous firework not included).

Another time I got into trouble and had my locker key confiscated was whilst I was storing a few books inside it and came under a barrage of schoolbags being lobbed in from the first years in the row of lockers the other side of mine. Typically, just as I angrily returned fire with a thick geography text book, a teacher appeared at the top of the row and caught me. The little shower of cunts on the other side quietly scampered off.

I had one of those Casio watches that you could use to change TV channels in my youth, and we were once watching a programme in class, when I decided to persist with interfering with the volume, channel and whatever the watch was capable of interfering with really. Every time I did, the whole class would give a sarcastic tut and huff the name of a boy who wasn't the most popular as if he was to blame. After a while, the teacher began to join in, in the belief that it was actually him messing about with the TV.

Although these episodes don't actually involve me myself specifically getting into trouble, I'll give them a mention as I find them quite funny. Whilst on "prefect duty" at lunch-time, rather than actually carry out our roles, we'd all simply just loiter at a certain spot which was a sloping link corridor between our school's older building and the newer area. There was also a door leading outside there and it had a filthy, dusty mat resting on the lino floor in front of it. One of the lads decided that he would hold the carpet like a net and hide behind the corner in anticipation of a junior waltzing around for him to blanket. Indeed, an unwitting individual in black uniform (our school uniform was a black blazer and trousers) did appear from around the corner and was immediately shrouded in this mat. When he eventually uncovered his furious face it turned out to be the school's president; a priest.

The same lad later went on to trip up a junior who had previously broken his arm and was now sporting a cast covered in his mates' names and so forth. The chap, of course, fell on his arm and must have felt excrutiating pain demonstrated by his loud cry upon biting the dust. However, I had little sympathy as the little shit often got my bus and was a right pest, constantly acting the loud-mouth, shouting, throwing paper balls, throwing Blu Tack into my hair and generally partaking in whatever other annoying bus-journey activities you could think of.

With this corridor having a door to the outside and being near the school's main printing/reprographics room, it was regularly used by vans deliverying large quantities of paper. Consequently, a large trolley often rested there. We made great misuse of this. On the wall at the bottom of the corridor's slope was a radiator so we took it upon ourselves to lift first years and place them inside the trolley before hurling them on a daunting downward flight straight toward the radiator. Unable to safely climb out of the swiftly moving vehicle, we found their worried and worsening facial expression as the cart picked up speed to be of tremendous entertainment. This was followed by an almighty crack as the trolley crashed into the radiator and nearly knocked it off the wall altogether.

Other abuses of first years included throwing two of them inside a small fenced area of shrubbery surrounded by as many of us as possible with sticks. If they came near the edge to get out, we'd prod them and egg them on to beat each other up.

I remember a story about a lad in my year telling his parents he was off on an educational trip to Europe. As it turned off, he skived off to Amsterdam for a few days to avail of cheap prostitutes. The same guy was caught (rather foolishly) mooning out the window of the study and across a courtyard to another lad on the same floor at another window. Obviously, being a courtyard, there were windows (two stories of windows) on all three visible sides and he was being watched by an unamused teacher for quite a while. Durrr.

[TC Raymond]

Surely everybody "played the fatty drums" at some stage?

You know - find the fattest kid in the class and give him a hefty thump on the back just to hear the resounding bass drum-like "WHUMP" it made.

[Ambient Sheep]

Surely everybody "played the fatty drums" at some stage?

You know - find the fattest kid in the class and give him a hefty thump on the back just to hear the resounding bass drum-like "WHUMP" it made.

Having just read that, don't you ever dare complain about being bullied again, d'you hear me?  Not unless you want to be seen as a raving hypocrite, that is.

Signed,
Sometimes-the-fattest-kid-in-the-class.  :-)

P.S.  I'd never heard of "fatty drums" before your post, so no, not everybody played it.

[TC Raymond]

Having just read that, don't you ever dare complain about being bullied again, d'you hear me? 

My complaints are more along the lines of "all the kids at my school were as thick as fucking shit", surely?

[Beagle 2]

hang on I buggered up posting this......

[Beagle 2]

Right! What I was trying to say was....


When I was about 14 I heated up a pair of tongues on the burner until they glowed red and passed them to somebody I didn't like very much to hold. It was a fucking stupid thing to do, and he burnt his had quite badly, massive blister, hospital job, and  thought I was going to get absolutely fucked for it. I got sent out and told to report to the head of science. Luckily the head of science was a disorganised and bothered man, and couldn't really be doing with the whole telling off thing, so he made me put up some posters in mid-morning break and that was that, I basically got off scot free. I attained sort of legendary status for this, and his posh (for this was the cause of my dislike - posh rich kid) immediate reaction of "Aah fark you Tayloooor" as he danced around in agony became a familiar catchphrase around our corridors. I feel bad about that one. A bit.

In year ten we went on an art trip to see the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam, and on the ferry obviously sneaked off to have a few drinks, getting the girls to buy the beers as they all looked about 27 by that stage compared to our still prepubescent appearance. Well we all got shitfaced obviously, and late on in the evening the teachers busted us. They were all shitfaced too by this stage though, so it was all slightly surreal, Mr Steel slurring his words dreadfully trying to get it together to bollock us "I'm very dishappointed in yoush, you're repreahes...reprashnet... you're representing the school... Make that yer lasht one, no, I mean tip it away...ah well you may as well finish it now... can you smoke in here? No, I mean, you shouldn't be but can you? Hash anyone got a lighter..*hic*.."

Unfortunately the headmaster got wind and we all got a pasting for it (the teachers too) when we got back. We were summoned into his office in a line like a firing squad as he, a dead ringer for Chris De Burgh, told us "I've heard that some of you had up to four or five pints, and that's binge drinking. I know personally when I go out with my wife and have a couple of glasses of wine, I'm jolly drunk and I certainly couldn't handle any more, so goodness knows what state you must have been in." I had a massive groove in my lip for ages after that where I was trying not to giggle, largely unsuccessfully.

[Saucer51]

During a school trip to a beauty spot when I was 15 I started a rumour that a big hairy monster was stalking us through the woodland and soon many pupils were seeing it everywhere.  I was taken aside by a teacher's help who berated me in a shrilly and sarcastic manner about what I'd done. She was a very wet, ineffectual creature with a high, grating voice like the mice from Bagpuss and was around 15 inches shorter than me. She told me to put myself into the mindset of my classmates and imagine how frightened some of them would be about this monster. Knowing my classmates well I knew that most of them would have been more frightened if the company that made stanley knives went bust.

She had it in for me right until I left school although she was sadly mistaken if she thought a pygmie stepping on my tail was intimidating or character building.
Years later I was walking down a little rural High Street 20 miles away and I saw a very short woman approaching. She suddenly shrunk back and cowered, giving me a very nervous smile as we passed.
Closure.

[alan nagsworth]

My complaints are more along the lines of "all the kids at my school were as thick as fucking shit", surely?

Surely everybody "played the fatty drums" at some stage?

You know - find the fattest kid in the class and give him a hefty thump on the back just to hear the resounding bass drum-like "WHUMP" it made.

"All the kids were thick as shit" + "Surely everybody played..."

With this evidence I can conclusively prove that [banned troll] has inadvertantly admitted to being as "thick as fucking shit" as his skooldaze contemporaries.

[Neil]

Definitely; I thumped some rotten little wannabe-bully in my senior year, and had naught but a bit of a chuckle with the principal about it (when will the greater school system realise that vigilante justice works?).

I was very quiet and have never been one for violence.  And yet, cause of the size of me, I was always a good target.  You don't get any plaudits for beating up a weedy little short-arse, after all.  No, you go for the shit brick-house!

There was one guy a few years ahead of me who was always giving me lip, and I just ignored it.  He had a brother who was a year below me, and he had a mate - all three of them would get my bus, and get off at roughly the same stop. 

One day, I was sitting on the seats at the front of the bus, the ones that were facing out the window, instead of facing the front or back of the bus.  The guys brothers mate was standing in front of me, hanging onto the strap, being a right cocky little ball-bag.  Eventually, he started on me.  And he felt he could get away with this as I wasn't the violent type, and he had a mate who was older than I was.  So he was standing there teasing me for most of the bus journey, while I'm sat trying to ignore him. 

Suddenly, something snapped, and without even getting up from my seat, I sent a big right hander sailing up towards the little fuckers chin.  It was glorious, he just stopped there and then as if someone had cut his strings, and he stood there looking dazed as I nonchalantly went back to looking out the window.

[Neil]

Once our whole class got a week's worth of break-time detention after a teacher walked in on us and we were having a mass battle around the room involving elastic bands and paper pellets.

Oh wow, I think I learnt how to do those in Sunday School!  So you make a catapult with the band between your finger and thumb, and then fold up a bit of paper many times, right?  Then bend it in two, and pull back both bits of the elastic with it...THWAK.  Wow, I have an urge to do that right now.

[weekender]

Shit brick-house made me laugh, thanks!