What School kids say and what they mean

Today a student of mine used one of these phrases on me and I decided that it would be therapeutic to air my grievances in the most passive-aggressive way possible: on the internet. Then I thought better of it and decided to make a list of the most common dual-meaning phrases that I’ve come across as a High School teacher. Obviously, some of these are only used by some of my not-so-academically-minded learners and I’m fortunate enough to teach a lot of brilliant teenagers. However, I’m sure that there are a few that you remember using when you were at High School too…

1. “My Mom/Dad/Brother/Sister/Aunt/Uncle/Dog/Google Translate helped me with the project a bit” = “They did the entire thing whilst I played FIFA 2012 on my Xbox/PS3/phone.”
2. (During exams and study times) “Sir, can I go to the toilet please?” = ”I’m bored and want to draw a penis on the wall of the bathroom stall.”
3. “But sir, I slid the paper that I wrote my lines on under your door!” = “Ha! I never even thought about doing those lines. I spent four hours last night playing drawing pictures of a unicorn/dragon hybrid that I called a ‘Dragnicorn’ and decided this morning that this would be a foolproof lie. This is because I think that you are stupid and therefore incapable of breaking through my intricate web of deceit that would totally fool Batman, Spiderman and Superman.”
4. Teacher: Did you study for today’s test?                                                                      Student: Erm, Yes ? = “Yes… for five minutes before the lesson / Yes… for 15 minutes last night whilst also watching [Insert reality show here].”
5. Student: (After the teacher has just painstakingly explained the next activity) What are we doing sir? = “I am a moron. Please ignore me/publicly ridicule me/chase me from the school with a pitchfork and flaming torch.”
6. “Sir, someone threw a piece of eraser/paper/a pen at me!” = “Sir, someone just threw it back at me and I don’t like it.’
7. “Sir! Pick him/her!” = “For the love of God please don’t pick me. I only learned to tie my shoelaces last week and I wasn’t listening in the first place.” (see point 5)
8. “I don’t know” = “I’m too lazy to try and understand so please spoon-feed me so that I never have to use my own brain and actually learn something”
9. Teacher: Why haven’t you started yet?                                                                          School Kid: I’m thinking. = “I’m daydreaming  about Megan Fox / being serenaded by Justin Bieber.”
10. “Can we have a free lesson sir? / How come we always work in your lessons Sir? / I’m tired sir” = “Life is about doing what you want and I don’t feel like working.  I’m going to be successful despite a complete lack of discipline, self-control and work-ethic. Life will have the privilege of joyfully presenting itself to me on a silver platter!”

That may be, dear reader, but I am already a step ahead of you and your imaginary Santa/student hybrid deity: I already have holes in my socks and I am presently halfway through the side-plates…

I am not completely against New Year’s resolutions; I just have decided that a New Year’s resolution is best not made when one is still coming down from the binge-fest-sugar-high that is the Christmas period. In such a state we mustn’t be surprised that we make such overly-optimistic statements such as “I’m going to invent an alternative to petrol by using pixie dust, unicorn hoof-clippings and Tyrannosaurus-Rex!” or “I’m going to eat healthier by eating nothing but fruit, vegetables and low GI bread even though I haven’t gone a day without meat since before I started teething!”. These kind of wild and borderline-delusional oaths will soon fall flat once the reality of normal life hits us. I give this type of resolution a 1 month life-span before you either give up or end up munching dried prunes in a car that, curiously, you never need to top up with petrol…

This means that right about now you are feeling guilty about having broken some, if not all, of your resolutions. It’s not the end of the world, but you probably feel a little disappointed with yourself.

But there is hope! You can redeem your resolutions! I decided to make some New Year’s resolutions this week that are not face-meltingly unrealistic, and I’ve decided to share mine with you out of the goodness of my own heart. However, should you plagiarise (which you will want to do as soon as you read them because they are coffee-percolatingly good) please reference me:

1) Get fit and have a six pack that I can open beer bottles with.

2) Buy new socks.

3) Eat healthier (you know, vegetables and stuff).

4) Lose weight (to lose the christmas belly).

5) Get new crockery.

In fact I have come up with a name for this new condition: Temporary Ticket-Induced Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (TeTIObCoD). It is a condition that strikes whenever you buy a ticket with a seat number on it. For me it strikes every time I go to the cinema. Every. Time. Even when I obsess about not doing it before I purchase the ticket, I do it.

The typical scenario goes like this for me:

1. Arrive at cinema as a normal person with wife and friends, (friends optional).
2. Skip the queue and go to the self-service terminal that people over the age of 30 think is powered by voodoo and will therefore eat their souls.
3. Feel smug about beating the queue.
4. Check seat number.
5. When leaving the ticket machine check seat number again.
6. Start to feel a bit retarded about forgetting your ticket number again and having to check it so soon.
7. Check seat number again before giving your ticket to the ticket-checker-person because obviously it might change whilst in their possession for the ticket-tearing ritual that they perform.
8. Check once more when you get your ticket stub back because you can’t trust those squinty-eyed, unshaven, mumbling ticket-checker-people.
9. Wander to the correct screen feeling like a full-blown retard who is incapable of remembering a seat number.
10. in the last patch of good light before walking through the doors check seat number again.
11. Sit in the wrong seat.
12. Check ticket stub again and move to the correct seat.
13. Forget about your retardedness as soon as the second movie trailer has finished.
14. Watch the movie and leave with popcorn pieces on your lap feeling warm and fuzzy/entertained/terrified/thoughtful/like slitting your wrists depending on what movie you’ve just seen.
15. Repeat next time you watch a movie.

I also do this with plane tickets.

I have found that the best way of curing TeTIObCoD is to give my ticket to my wife. That way I’m less crazy and I get to watch her go through it. Mwahahaha!

So I did what any normal person would do and started stocking up on Red Bull and tins of fruit cocktail, turning our garage into a bunker in which we could shield ourselves from the crazies outside (I say ‘we’ because my wife would join me [I'm pretty sure that I could cure her with some tin foil, needles and lots of lentils as I saw something similar in the A-Team once I think]).

Unfortunately, my activities had not gone unnoticed and Claire soon discovered my plans and confronted me.
The conversation went something like this:

Claire: Luke, why are you building a pillow-fort in our garage?

Luke: Shmeneshmushdush (I was mumbling nonsense in an attempt to distract her whilst       I edged toward her with the tin-foil and lentils).

Claire: Why are you shaking? Are those cans of Red Bull on the floor? Don’t you remember what happened the last time you drank it?

And then I either blanked out or my memory for that time was erased.

After being discharged from the hospital Claire patiently showed me the calendar app on my phone and explained that it was December, and that at the end of December it is January and the start of a New Year. I decided to write off this New Year thing as a glitch
in the Matrix or that someone had spiked my water with calcium and that, for the safety of both my wife and myself, I’d go along with it.

Despite these advantages, there is one thing that outweighs them all: exam invigilation. It’s just like water-boarding except without the cling-wrap or water and you aren’t tied-up or experiencing any trauma, but otherwise it’s exactly the same. It could also be likened to that thing they do to a naked James Bond with the chair and the rope and the swinging in Casino Royale…shudder.

“But Luke, surely it can’t be that bad! You must be exaggerating.” As long as you discount my natural tendency towards hyperbole it is that bad. Imagine being stuck in a room with stinky teenagers. Now imagine that they are silently writing an exam. Now imagine that you are not allowed to do marking, read, knit, work on a computer or do any other activity except ‘be vigilant.’ Now imagine that you need to pace up and down the classroom the entire time. That is invigilation.

Essentially,  when you’re invigilating it is dead time, you are not allowed to be productive or do anything. So the next time you are in an exam (which, thankfully, most of us will never have to face again) or see a friend who is a teacher, say “Hey! Thank you for sacrificing your sanity so that kids can write exams!” and offer them a hich-five which, as we all know, is universal sign language for ‘You rock!’

Unfortunately we have not met any timid talking lions, heartless-yet-still-somehow-living tinmen or brainless scarecrows during our forays into Groupondom, but we have discovered a few other things.

The first thing I realized was that Groupon is just like a crazy sale where everything is discounted by 90%. But this isn’t simply because you can save a lot of money, but also because when you’re in a shop that’s having a brain-meltingly good sale you buy anything. I used to see this tendency in my Mum, then in my wife, and now in myself. The monologue in your head goes something like this “Ooh, that’s a sort-of prettyish top that I would never normally even consider but since it costs less than a fairy’s fart I shall buy it.” It’s a discount-induced kleptomania that you need to fight almost physically if you don’t want to spend all of your money on 50 items of clothing that will probably never wear.

For me, since I am a guy and not as interested in clothes, this maladie takes a slightly different form and I only noticed it when we started grouponing. I will see something that is heavily discounted and think “Wow that’s a great deal that I must have!” and then never use the voucher. Fortunately this has only happened once or twice as I try to be a good steward of our finances but I still have a beer-tasting voucher that expired about 2 months ago and regularly find myself fighting the temptation to buy a cheap watch/round of golf in Paarl/insert random product or activity here…

However, it’s not all bad. After a couple of recent less-than-good Groupon experiences at some restaurants my wife and I were inspired to invent a new extreme team sport: Ultimate Dining. This activity involves purchasing a group-buying voucher for a restaurant that you have never heard of or would never normally go to and then going there for a meal. It represents less of a financial risk than is normally associated with trying a new restaurant and it leads to new discoveries at best and funny stories at worst.

Recently we went to an unknown Thai restaurant that had put our booking under the name of ‘Rick’ (Luke/Rick- are they really that similar?). Later, our waitron diligently took our food and drink orders (we figured that we needed to do everything at once if we wanted to eat before midnight) and then not only forgot what our orders were, but forgot that she had even spoken to us (there were two tables in our section of the restaurant)!

So feed your coupon-consuming kleptomania (in moderation) and go Ultimate Dining!

Just imagine yourself relaxed and content, on the verge of consuming one of creation’s candies when suddenly a villainous vermin emerges from nowhere to try and share the yummy fruity goodness of which you were about to partake! No, this is not the fictional fruit of a mind such as Stephen King or Bram Stoker. Neither is this a fictional horror story you tell your children to try and manipulate them into eating their fruit. This is, unfortunately, a fact of life.

Where do they come from? They are like the ninjas of the insect world: appearing out of nowhere to kill your enjoyment of anything fruity. No matter where you are – whether it’s inside or outside or upside of downside – they find you and your precious prize. How do they do it? This is a question that I have spent hundreds of seconds considering and there appears to be only one viable answer: flyholes.

I’ve decided that fruit flies must have a sophisticated wormhole forming technology that they stole from NASA and then perfected that they use against us, (it is called a flyhole because they are not worms. Wormholes were, as far as I understand, made and used exclusively by intergalactic super-worms). This, in conjunction with a sophisticated Fruitydar equips them to be terrifyingly swift and effective in both locating and then voyaging to any and all fruitful destinations.

If you are careless in where you leave your fruit then they accumulate, gathering slowly and menacingly like a malevolent invading force. All you can do then is to pray, do the hand-clapping thing to try and catch some of them and then get some Doom insect spray, being sure to remove your fruit lest you Doom your intestines to oblivion. I’ve got a glass of wine and I’ve just caught sight of wine out of the corner of my eye…wish me luck…

Whilst we were still pontificating about proper child-rearing practice, an idea hit me. It was like being hit by a train full of joyousness and bright shiny things apart from the fact that the train was metaphorical and the impact didn’t actually hurt or kill me and that I don’t think that many bright shiny things are transported by train and that I’m not sure if the word ‘joyousness’ is actually a word. So not so much like getting hit by a train then, I suppose, more like getting a good idea. This idea was like the unextinguished cigarette that set the dry leaves of my imagination ablaze and within seconds I had grasped it and formulated a cunning, wise and mature plan that would surely succeed.

Unfortunately, my wife and friends did not see it that way but it’s ok, Gallileo was called a heretic, Churchill an alarmist and Wilberforce a fool and they were vindicated by history. In time they’ll see how revolutionary my idea is and come crawling back begging for forgiveness for their scoffery! Before long maybe I’ll even publish a book or go on a tour like those buddhist gurus who sit on a stage in robes cross-legged whilst their followers come and lay wreaths of flowers at their feet. Except instead of flowers I’d demand biltong, or dark chocolate, or wine, or cold hard cash or bling. And I wouldn’t wear a robe. That’d be weird because I’m 6 foot 4 and I’d look like a giant orange hippy-ghost.

Anyway, the time has come to explain my idea to you, my soon-to-be sycophants. Raising kids in a godly manner is vital, but that means that they will probably get picked on at some point in their school career. My solution is to therefore train my children to be highly skilled, hand-to-hand combat specialists that the other kids will never mess with. “But Luke!” you cry, “That’s not a new idea!” Well, that may be so but the way I plan on implementing it is unique.

Firstly, I will teach my children some kung-fu basics based on my years of experience of watching various Jackie Chan and Chow-Yun Fat movies such as ‘Rush Hour’ and ‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon’. Then, in order to strengthen them, I shall pit them against ever more dangerous foes. I shall start them out against easy opposition, such as the neighbour’s dog, and then gradually introduce them to more challenging opponents, such as the neighbourhood cats, then stray dogs etc. After they have defeated all local beasts I’ll have to start looking further afield for stronger opposition such as lions and bears, but that shouldn’t be too difficult as there’s a zoo that isn’t far away and the fences look quite low and scalable.

So, after years of training, my children will not have to fear victimisation due to their geeky goodness, and I, Guru Luke Of Geeky-Yet-Unbullyable Offspring, will be their wise, bling covered, non-Japanese, blonde Mr Miyagi with a series of books to my name with titles such as ’7 Habits of Highly Unbeatupable People’ and ‘The Tough Geek-Driven Life.’

Anyway, it quickly became apparent that the 5-gift shortlist this year basically consisted of one gift, (which from here on will be referred to as Gift Number One) ,with some other things that would maybe-kindof-be-nice-I-suppose. So, being the wise and cunning husband that I am I didn’t get over-excited or show that I had picked up on the elaborately encyphered message that my wife was sending me. I decided instead to play dumb (always easy) and try my best to not make it obvious that I was going to organise Gift Number One.

Fortunately, I know some people who already own a Gift Number One, but for them it was not actually a gift, (unless a gift to oneself counts as a gift, which I don’t think it does, I mean, that’s just buying something isn’t it? You don’t say that you’ve bought yourself R500′s worth of edible gifts when you go grocery shopping, do you? I hope not because that would be weird, but it would probably make trips to Pick N’ Pay more exciting.), so I shall refer to it simply as Number One. So I was able to organise a Gift Number One with the help of people who had a Number One already and some contributions from parents.

So on my wife’s birthday she got her Gift Number One: a Kindle. Obviously, she was thrilled and I got Mega Brownie Points (these are different to regular Brownie Points and much more valuable). I thought that I had anticipated the events that would follow the unwrapping of the Kindle (charge it, download a couple of books, and spend the following week completely absorbed in it) and to an extent I had. One thing that I had not foreseen was that I would see my mild-mannered wife transformed into a raging kleptomaniac who downloaded every single book that she thought she should, could or ought to read.

I tried to use reason and logic to bring her down from her klepto high but to no avail. My suggestions that she could just download them as and when she needed them and that she didn’t even speak that language were swatted away like pesky fruit-flies that were trying to contaminate her wine with evil fruit-fly yuckiness. This sudden onset of kleptomania must have been quite tiring because when she finally came down from the free-novel induced high she shut down and had a nap.

Fortunately, it has been a few weeks since her birthday, and the black-and-white mist that descended on Claire that day seems to have lifted. Of course, she still reads the Kindle late at night with the light on when I’m trying to go to sleep, but she did that with books anyway. So why am I still happy with this device? Well, previously there would be many books in various stages of completeness littered around the house, but now there is just Gift Number One, leaving more space for me and my books.

*After reading this post to my wife, she coyly admitted that perhaps she didn’t need to have downloaded Dracula, Treasure Island, The Complete Works of Beatrix Potter and the Complete Works of Shakespeare, but she refused to back-down on Poirot, War and Peace, The Art of War and several others.

Board games are one of the many items that we cast into The Pit of Childhood Memories when we think that we have grown up. Welcoming them to this place of exile are other things such as Fatboy Slim, The Spice Girls and TV shows that we now recognise as brain-numbingly poor (MacGyver, The A Team, Big Brother…need I go on?). Sure, every so often in a fit of nostalgia we’ll play Monopoly, watch Nightrider or try and remember the words to Vanilla Ice’s anthem ‘Ice Ice Baby’ whilst wearing MC Hammer parachute pants. However, one of the two problems with fits is that they end, (the other is that they tend to be linked to a medical condition…) and then we go back to our normal, board game-less lives. For some reason, we decide that we would rather watch a DVD with friends, or perhaps play some computer game or even Wii together. We don’t even consider whipping out Pictionary or Snakes and Ladders.

Too many of us have taken board games out of the social activity equation, me included…until recently. I was once like you unbelieving heathens and thought that these games with a board were either boring or lame, but now I have seen the light-ah! As we get older we become boring and lame and board games end up being a fun way of spending time with family and friends. I realised that, apart from some traumatic childhood experiences that rarely induce nightmares, I had no good reason to not play board games. Therefore I ventured forth into the fray of board game-dom armed with the hindsight and maturity that I lacked at the age of 10.

It was fun. I forced some people into Monopoly bankruptcy, I managed to argue some obscure – and potentially fictional- words onto the Scrabble board to my coincidental advantage and nobody cried, not publicly anyway.

So why don’t you fish out your beat up, dusty old boxes of games and invite some friends over, I am 60% sure that you won’t regret it!

*Note: It’s probably a good idea to agree on which version of the rules you will follow before playing so that nobody can rip you off and then say ‘Ah but in my family we’re allowed to pillage/rape/assault etc.’