I, for the most part of my secondary school education, was a massive nerd. I studied hard, I (usually) got good grades, I hung around with people that would've been labelled "unpopular" and I had very good relationships with all my teachers.
For the first half of my six years, I attended an all male Catholic school (where they failed to pray the gay away) and I had a good time. The teachers were nice, as were those in charge. I had respect for them. However, as the economic recession and its effects hit my small town right in the balls, we and another (mixed) school were forced into an amalgamation. This was fine by me, I was excited to have new students, new teachers and an entirely new gender in my schooling life for my final three years. Not to mention the building was a modern day masterpiece, even without comparison to the shithole that was its predecessor. The only problem for me however, was the man who took over as Principle. For anonymity purposes, we'll call him the Anti-Christ, although Hitler would be a close second choice! Anyway, he basically ran the school as a prison camp, enforcing strict rules and literally paraded around the place looking for reasons to scream so loud his neck veins would pop and his eyes would bulge out of his head. In the short time I knew him, I witnessed him roaring at both students and teachers alike - once reducing a wonderful teacher of mine to tears in front of our entire class because a student she had permitted to go to the bathroom had trashed it (because that's apparently her fault). I seen him refuse students entry to the building because of "breaches" in their student uniform and they were sent home instead, not allowed to go to class because their shoes "weren't black enough". I sat in class for ten minute periods as he lectured us through the intercom system on the apparently abhorrent problems and risks that ketchup sachets and Capri-Sun cartons posed to our safety (he had them banned because he slipped on one). Furthermore, he simply had no respect for the dignity of those around him - he didn't see students as people, merely animals. He didn't see teachers as his staff, merely slaves. He didn't see the place as a school, merely a corporation. It was 100% no fun - and I am a firm believer that school should be, having come from a completely different environment the year before. Anyway, for the best part of two and a half years I simply put up with it. I sat back and watched as someone I could only describe as a tyrannous cunt (I'm not bitter) ruined the lives of everyone around him. It was the beginning of my final year when classmates of mine began to wreak havoc on his concentration camp of a school. The walk outs were the most memorable for me. Basically, after our lunch break, people would just go home. They would not turn up to class. Classrooms that should have had thirty students had ten at best. The walk outs very quickly escalated to people choosing to take whole days off school, these days were more likely as the week moved closer to Friday, with classrooms empty by the time the weekend came. This was particularly chaotic because we were final years preparing for our final exams. My own act of rebellion however, is what this blog entry is about. Basically, I made a Facebook page / Burn Book about my secondary school and all those in it. For those of you unfamiliar with the film Mean Girls, a Burn Book is basically a collection of secrets and bitching that was publicized online about my school. I don't really know how the idea came to me, I think I was just bored and I was feeling particularly aggressive towards the Anti Christ for something he had done to us that week. Similarly, I don't know how I thought I'd get away with it, but at the time, it seemed like a good idea. The page was called "1,000 Things Not To Do In X" (X = Insert name of school here), and in the space of the weekend, it went viral in my town. Myself and two other students created it on the Friday evening of that long weekend, and by midday on Monday (when we deleted it due to the scale of our audience) it had over 1,500 likes. That may not seem like a lot in Internet terms, but considering the populace of my town is only about 10,000 and a fair chunk of those would be children or elderly without access to the internet, it was a lot for such a short space of time. Anyway, the page was pretty bad; taking the piss out of teachers for being pregnant every other year, or a teacher getting with a student at graduation. A lot of it however, was attacking the tendencies of the Anti Christ - mainly his ridiculously long announcements. Among those who liked the page were students, parents and even a few teachers (one of who later unliked the statuses and then badmouthed the page and everyone that had supported it by means of likes - hypocrisy is v. unattractive Miss). It had been a long weekend, so we weren't in school on the Monday and my year had a school trip on the Tuesday. I remember my whole year teasing me about it that day, as somehow they all knew it was me behind it. They all loved it; they thought it was comedic genius and asked why I had deleted. I played dumb however, aware that something bad was around the corner. When the bus dropped us back at the school at the end of the day, there were Garda (Police) cars in the car park and a friend of mine informed me - rather fearfully - that they were there for me over "The Controversial Post". The Controversial Post was what brought the page to the school's attention, because a local politician had emailed them complaining of the "pornographic content in the school" which was why the po-po were called. This photo was clearly (and that's not just me being biased) not pornographic; it was a picture of a topless man kissing a woman's neck - her face being the only part of her visible. There was nothing in the photo that you wouldn't see on a billboard for deodorant, or on daytime television for that matter! The part of the picture that caused the controversy was the man's arm pressed against the side of his torso, creating a line that was mistake for an ass crack - which even in itself is ridiculous, and hardly pornographic. The cause of the uproar was the fact that it was pictured on a computer in the school library, leading the politician to believe that porn was accessible in the school, dumb bitch. I went to school on the Wednesday and literally every one of my teachers was talking about the page. Some of them thought it was awful, some thought it was childish and some thought it was hilarious. I will never forget however, my last class of that day. My teacher - somehow knowing it was me - spent our entire class discussing it and basically inadvertently urged me to confess for my own sake. They said that if I did not confess, and then was caught, I would be expelled fo sho. So that was really not ideal. The following day, I went into school early and went straight to the Anti Christ's office. He was not there, just his side-kick Mr. Smithers (very weird lapdog relationship going on between the two of them, hence the alias). Anyway, with my mother beside me I told him what was up and his face literally dropped to the floor. He didn't say anything for a good while, then with an awkward "I'll be back momentarily" disappeared to fetch his demonic master and shit hit the fan. He went fucking psycho and screamed at both me and my mother and said I was going to be expelled. They said the terms would be discussed at a later date in front of the board of directors but I was to be suspended indefinitely (from that point on, something I didn't realize then since I was completely unfamiliar with the whole process). They said they'd be in contact and sent us on our merry way. My mum went to work and I went to class. For about three hours, nothing happened. I spoke to my friends about what happened and I told my teachers (who advised me off record, because they preferred me to the Anti Christ, how to tackle the situation) about the suspension and possible expulsion. Just before lunch time, the Anti Christ's lapdog came to fetch me. He asked why I hadn't gone home, and that I was suspended and I was like "Oh lol, you meant right away?" like an absolute fool. He took me to his office and after screaming at me more, I was told to ring my parents to collect me. Since they were both in work, neither could pick me up and the school wouldn't let me just leave (I had to be signed out), they made me sit in an empty room for the best part of three hours. In this time, they gave me the bad cop/bad cop treatment, coming in and out using scare tactics for no apparent reason. Telling me I was going to be expelled and there was nothing that could be done, telling me I wouldn't be able to sit my final exams in the school, saying I'd never get references for a job, just being a cunt basically. Honestly, I cannot express how much of a bully that man is and how relieved I am to have never set foot in that place since graduation. Anyway, this happened about two weeks into November and when I was sent home that day, I didn't know when I would be back and as a final year, this was quite worrying. We got a letter in the post a week later informing us of our board meeting. This was horrifically formal, with a court-like setup. Myself and my parents sat at a desk on the top right of the classroom and the Anti Christ and his lapdog sat on the top left. Before us, lining the other three sides of the room was a party of about thirty people (parents, teachers, clergymen and women and a handful of nuns) with an age average of about sixty. So basically, none of them really knew anything about the Interweb so I was kind of screwed. My mother had brought a blown up version of the "pornographic picture" to explain to them all that it was clearly fucking not pornographic, pointing out the fact that the only thing visible was a bare back! The board realized and acknowledged their mistake and admitted aloud that it was not pornographic. However,the Anti Christ and Smithers continued to argue that it was. The picture had been found on Google Images, but the Anti Christ continued to insist that I had taken a picture of the library computer, found a pornographic image and Photo Shopped it together (alright m8). Basically the Anti Christ continued to fight for my expulsion and as we left that evening, we were told the chances were that I would most definitely be, but we would receive confirmation in the post. To cut a long story short, I found out via post a week later that I would not be expelled due to uproar from parents and teachers in the town. Instead, I was to be suspended for two months (which is a fucking long time considering the Christmas break - which it ran into - was not included in the two months). When I eventually returned, after what turned out to be quiet a fun holiday from the shithole, having spent the majority of it studying and working through notes all my teachers sent me during my "time off", I went on to achieve results in my final exams that I was very happy with, finishing in the top ten of my year, and getting my first choice of college (university) course and I haven't looked back since! So dearest Anti Christ, if by some crazy chance you are reading this, I am getting on amazingly in life, I hear you're still terrorizing students and teachers alike and I wish you the best because one day someone is going to kick you in the balls, and the world will rejoice.
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So basically, I worked in a supermarket for a year and although it was truly a bleak time in my life, it provided me with plenty of funny stories - the most memorable being that which ended my time there...
I had no issue with the customers, or with those I worked with - we had top notch banter over the intercom on a Sunday when there were not managers in. I enjoyed the general nature of the work and I didn't mind the hours. What drove me over the edge, was the person in charge. They were not exactly the most reasonable, and I was certainly not their biggest fan. Definitely someone taking out their childhood anger and their presumed sexual frustration on the predominantly young body of staff. As part of my college course, I had a trip away to the Gaeltacht during the first half of the Easter holidays, during the first part of a two week Spring break. The trip was mandatory. If I didn't go, I wouldn't have gotten the credits for that module and I wouldn't have gotten my degree. I had no choice. It was obligatory. I had to go! We found out about the trip about three months prior and I booked the week off of work immediately. My name was written down in the book for time off (as sacred as the bible itself) and all was well. I arranged with them to work extra shifts the following week of the break when I returned, to earn a little extra money and again, all was well. The three months flew in and before I knew it, I was on a bus trundling towards the Wild Wesht Coast of Ireland, Galway bound. On my first day in the Gaeltacht however, I received a text from a co-worker explaining that I had been rostered down to work for the entire week even though I was on the other side of the country - something the owner knew and had taken note of. I was told that I was expected to find someone to cover each of my shifts on those days that I had been scheduled to work, and that if I didn't, I wouldn't have a job to come home to. Hunreal to say the least. I am very much a stresser, so being told that if I didn't right the mistake my boss had made - from literally the middle of the countryside where I was fighting for phone signal, let alone WiFi - I would lose my job, obviously caused me mental upset. I was furious. It was not my fault that they had me down to work the dates they themselves had written me off for. I knew I would be punished if I did nothing however (they were fond of drastically slashing your hours, or giving you extremely awkward shifts if they were pissed off at you), so I sent the owner a text explaining the situation and that I was in no way at fault. I did not get a response. Soooound. When I returned from Galway, having heard nothing back apart from co-workers I was friends with telling me the owner was not a bit pleased with my actions, I was obviously pissed when I found out I had not been given any hours whatsoever for that week. I was being punished for their mistake, as usual, however I pushed forwards, despite the effects working there was having on my mental health - something others identified before I did. Me: Things are fine. [Narrator: Things were not fine.] As the weeks went on, the torment continued. They became increasingly unprofessional, and I began to get unbearably unhappy there. They were not treating me well. What pushed me over the edge however, was when I desperately needed to swap shifts with someone because they had already denied me taking the day off. I remember I needed a Saturday evening off and a friend of mine working the exact same number of hours, in the morning of the same day offered to swap shifts with me. I text one of the managers and requested we swapped shifts and the reply I received was "No". I remember sitting in a lecture hall with tears of frustration in my eyes as this made my blood boil. I ripped out a sheet of paper from my notebook and for the first time ever in that class, I wrote something down. I documented every single piece of information I could recall since working for the company; from staff mistreatment and intimidation through screaming, to health and safety hazards such as selling goods (alcohol among them) that were weeks out of date...a rat infestation, a maggot problem in the tinned food section that was brushed aside (we were told to say nothing) and everything they had done to me since the Gaeltacht situation. After the class had ended, I was interrogated by friends that had seen me from across the lecture hall who were confused as to how I was somehow getting pages upon pages of notes out of a lecturer none of us could understand. I explained to them what had happened and I read them out the list. Reading it out loud truly made me realize how much I hated the place at that stage. They expressed their sympathies for me and I went home a little bit calmer having gotten rid of so much anger through writer that stupid list. Then I got a message. My friends had - in a very "Down with the man! Down with the system!" style rebellion - began rating the business as 1/5 stars on their Facebook page. I appreciated the support and the thought that was behind the ridiculous action made me grin. At first, only about five people did this. After a few hours however, dozens had joined in and by the second day, it became almost overwhelming. I had a squad ready to burn the place to the ground through the power of social media. Yaaaaaas. That was when one of the general managers sent me a text. In short, I was told to put a stop to the actions taking place on their Facebook page. I wasn't entirely sure how they knew these people were related to me, nor did I understand why they thought I had the power to stop it, as I explained to them. I had no control over the situation and to be honest, I didn't care how it had played out for my (ex) employers. The reply I got was sassy to say the least, but I responded while maintaining composure, eager to set myself aside from the actions of my friends so no blame could be pinned on me. About three hours later, as the ratings continued to plummet, I got a text off the owner. They questioned why I had not put a stop to it, they said it was childish and "completely unwarranted" (big fat lol) and again, I was told to end it, with the use of two exclamation marks might I add!! (See, things seem so much more dramatic when they are double exclamationed). My reply was cheeky af; detailing that however childish this behavior was, I was not responsible and I could and would do nothing about it. Like the true Katniss I am, I acknowledged the fact that although their actions were sparked by my embers, the flames burnt bright on their own. Wow, such metaphor...Much analogy(can you tell I study English?). The reply I got was shocking considering it was coming from the owner of an apparently respectable local business (I'll forever challenge that statement because nobody working within the walls would back that up!). The gist of it however, was that if I cared about my job, I'd put a stop to it and if I did not stop it, I would lose said job. Safe to say, I skipped into the office the following day with my squad standing either side of me, and my letter of resignation in hand to prove how much I cared about that job. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. I'm out! I'm a celebrity, get me outta this shithole! 1. The Arts Student
Not unlike play-schoolers, the Arts student is a simple creature. They are in college, but at the same time, they’re really, really not. Arts usually consists of three types of people; those who want to teach, those who didn’t get enough points for “a real degree” and those who simply wanted to go to college, period. As an Arts student, one should expect finger painting and will usually spend more time commuting than in class, regardless of where you are travelling from. 2. The Science Student The Science student is like the middle child of college. Although they have a basic level of intelligence, they didn’t get enough points for Medicine and therefore, are kind of irrelevant to the college food chain. As a sub-species in general, they’re quite unspectacular and are easily forgotten. I mean, they don’t even have their own stereotypes! 3. The Ag Student The Ag student, frankly, is just lucky that they live in Ireland; a country where shovelling shite onto potato fields and shoving their hand up a cow’s arse is a career! They can be spotted in their club GAA attire and trackies and usually possess the principles of an elderly Christian woman living in midland Ireland during the 60’s. They don’t really understand the workings of The Big Shmoke, but are still mighty craic on a night out, even if they’re wearing their county colours with their jeans… 4. The Med Student The Med student is renowned nationally for its ability to ace the glorified memory test that is the Leaving Certificate, and is often rich enough to get grinds to cheat their way around the HPat if they don’t pass it the first time. Most Med students come from parents of the same career, or just didn’t know what to do with their lives so they let their points choose for them. 5. The Business Student The Business student is the basic white girl of college, who will not be seen in public without a Starbucks cup clutched in one hand, and the latest iPhone model in the other. They will remind you upon first encounter that their daddy makes more in a day than you can even hope to make in a lifetime and more often than not, will be on their way to get a burrito and a decaf-frappe-mochachocha-ArianaGrande-latte. 6. The Computer Science Student The Computer Scientists are a weird breed. Out of the ten percent of them that aren’t Asians half their age yet twice their IQ, the numbers are made up of those who spent more time playing Call of Duty in their teenage years than the rest of us combined. They are the socially awkward, hardcore meme machines of our time who are a tad too familiar with the internet and their own hand! 7. The Engineering Student The Engineering student practically lives the life of Hugh Hefner…if this were an alternate universe in which all of his Playboy models were male, because this course is a pure sausage-fest! With a ratio of two hundred and twelve guys for every one girl, engineering boasts a populace of guys who kind of know what a girl is, but only through contact with the chicken fillet roll goddesses of Centra. If you’re a girl in engineering, the odds are good, but sadly, the goods are odd... 8. The Law Student The Law student, as with those in Arts, can usually be split into three categories; those who already consider themselves lawyers, those whose parents are lawyers, and those who watched a few too many episodes of Suits and later realise they have made a terrible mistake. The not so humble Sutherland-dweller will turn their nose up at you if you’re outfit is not worth more than Whitney Houston herself, and rumour has it that if you try to go into the building in sweatpants, you will burst into flames on entry. 1. NOT RESPONDING TO MY GREETING It seems pretty basic to reply to a simple “Hi, how are you?”. Considering I have to stand behind a till for eight hours straight having the exact same weather-related conversation back-to-back, the least you could do is smile and say hello. 2. Not Placing Money into my Outstretched Hand I honestly do not understand this. I cannot wrap my head around how customers can ignore my open hand - often reaching past it - to place their money on the counter instead. Why can't you make it easier for the two of us! 3. "Oh Crap! I Forgot Something, Give Me Two Seconds!" There are few things in this world that annoy me more than people who get to the counter and then realize they forgot something. And what's worse is the queue is always half way down the shop, and instead of the customers being annoyed with you, they shoot me death glares for “allowing you” to run across the shop to grab milk. 4. MONEY STORED IN BRAS OR SHOES It is always the most disgusting, dirty and unhygienic people that do this, and that is really why this bothers me so much. It's the sweaty, wrinkly old women that stink of cigarettes and brandy that feel the need to pay with tenners drenched in boob-sweat. And what's worse (yes, it can somehow be worse) is that they do it right in front of you! One day I’ll rub your change against my crotch before I hand it to you. 5. PAYING IN PENNIES You are the worst person ever. No matter how many times I assure you that "It's grand, seriously", it is NOT grand. There is nothing worse then me having to count out fourteen Euro in coppers! Under no circumstances is that OK. And the icing on the cake is that it's always when the shop is absolutely jammed with people that these idiots show up to wreak havoc. Sometimes I feel like they can sense the venom on my teeth when I smile goodbye, or at least I hope the feckers do! 6. THE "WHY DID YOU JUST TEST MY MONEY" GLARE In this day and age, con artists are more common than selfie sticks, and you can't be too careful. We have money testers which we use to scan ALL notes before accepting them because the owner got sick of us taking in dud fivers and tenners (yes, apparently those exist) so the machines were bought. I was told by a co-worker that any dud notes taken in will be taken from our wages, so naturally I don't won't that to happen so I take five seconds to scan the notes. But there is something about it that customers cannot comprehend. I find it awkward enough having to do it right in front of you, but when you stop mid-sentence in our conversation because I'm testing your money, and then stare in shock as if I've just accused you of shoplifting, it makes me feel even more awkward. 7. IMPATIENCE I hate when customers get impatient with each other. I'm sorry, but I cannot help it if the person ahead of you in the queue also has a trolley-load of shopping with them, so when you stand there sighing constantly and quite loudly over how long it's taking as I scan through it, you're helping nobody. And most of the time, I will deliberately stall just to get my own back at you. But that's not all, after the tutting and sighing, what elicits a smack is when the next customer starts unloading their shopping onto the counter before the other customer is finished and before they have been called. Go away! 8. LAST MINUTE SHOPPERS This is by far, the worst thing on the list. It seems no matter what time the shop closes at, about a dozen people will walk in sixty seconds before the doors shut to "quickly grab one thing". You belong in hell. Do you know how tiring it is to work ten hour shifts? Do you know how anti-social our hours are? For most of our shift, all we can think about is clocking out at the end of the day and skipping out of work. Even if it does just add five or ten minutes to our day, those seem like the longest minutes of our lives. So don't even bother apologizing. So as you may know by now, I spent my summer living and working in the deep south of America. I shared a bedroom with three others, and after a while without any form of sexual relief, I got very horny. It's 4 am and I'm lying in bed after just getting in from a night out. My three roommates are asleep (snoring quite loudly might I add for three women) and I am on Grindr searching for my Prince Charming for the night. *You have one new message* I started chatting away to some guy that was staying in the hotel, a baseball player who told me he was attending the college closest to us. He had a nice body, slick haircut, handsome face and he seemed really friendly in the messages we shared for about thirty minutes. Then he picked up the courage to ask me to go and meet him. I was still quite twisty (drunk) and I was feeling particularly eager down below so I crept out of the room and headed down the hallway quietly. We planned to meet in one of the stairwells and then we were going to go to his room for some fun. However, as I approached the stairwell I got a message from him. Listen...I need to tell you something. I'm not actually 21. I just turned 18. I'm here on vacation with my family. *Internal cringing ensues* By that time, I was already at the stairwell (which had small glass windows on them) so I peered through. Not only did the little shit lie about his age, but he looked nothing like his pictures! I'm not fat-shaming or anything, because I'm not exactly ripped myself, but he was a solid seven stone heavier in person and he looked about fifteen. This was not the guy I had been messaging! Safe to say I ran faster than I had in a while, straight back to my room and back into bed. I closed the app and locked my phone. I never did find out how long he waited there for, but the twelve messages that greeted me in the morning said enough. Y u do dis? "Don't trust nobody apart from our staff, ain't nothin' round here but lying thieves," warned the hotel receptionist through a full set of silver teeth. In Ireland, students apply for J1 Visas; which basically enable them to work in America for the summer and then spend a period at the end travelling the States. We had chosen Myrtle Beach in South Carolina, a tourist spot Christened the "Dirty Myrtle" by literally every other state in the US. We had high hopes before arrival however, as our other option had been a city in which you had a 45% chance of being involved in a knife related crime if you went out after 8 PM. Plus, our employer had sorted out discounted accommodation for us, so we didn't have to worry about searching for that ourselves.
Our trip from the airport had been a pitiful affair; with the taxi driver first questioning/low-key mocking our choice in location for our J1 and then warning us to avoid passing the "rape woods" after dark, because the side of the road that had a pathway on it had no street lights and vice versa. We didn't pry much into how it had come to be called that. He also informed us of the fact that we had arrived in the middle of "Black Bike Week" and recommended we stayed indoors for its duration before dropping us off at our hotel and taking a $10 dollar tip for a five minute journey. I use the word hotel quite generously of course. It was more like one of those shitty motels from movies where drug deals and prostitution reign, with a seemingly permanent damp smell permeating each and every surface. And rather unfortunately, it was to be our home for the best part of three months. After our rather scarring encounter with the receptionist, we made our way through the hotel towards the elevators. For anyone who has ever watched a horror movie featuring a hotel, the resemblance here was uncanny - dimly lit corridors, dark carpets stained with marks I preferred not to question, flickering lights and pale walls that were peeling onto the floor. Although the bullet holes in the elevator were probably the icing on the cake. There were three floors in the hotel; which we later discovered had each been allocated to certain horrors; - the first floor was for animals; dogs, cats, guinea pigs, birds. It was a fucking zoo! If anybody walked through the hallway anytime after midnight, the place burst to life with barks, howls and scratching on doors. - the second floor (where my first and second rooms were located) was assigned for prostitution. Although obviously unofficial, I personally witnessed dozens of questionably dressed men and women taking others into their rooms and with walls as thin as our hotel, nothing was left to the imagination... - the third floor was reserved for smokers (ideally - but obviously not limited to - tobacco). We usually avoided this floor because it stank of weed, and I mean it was unbearable. The stale smell in the air fought its way down the bloodstained stairwell (I wish I was messing) and all throughout the floor. It was about 6 o'clock in the evening when we arrived at our room. There was a gag-inducing aftertaste of week-old Chinese food in the air that we never managed to get rid of. Not ideal to say the least. The television was running, and the local news was on. Someone had been shot dead outside a hotel on the beach that the rest of the Irish summer students were staying in. There had been a shootout between two biker gangs and someone had been caught in the crossfire (who we later learned was an In-Law of one of our Co Workers). We stared in utter terror at each other; literally speechless and I genuinely felt that my life was in danger. "We can't stay here," was all I could muster after about ten minutes of silence. |
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