| Report for chin tee | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 6 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 6 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 2 |
| Summary | Shows promise |
Imagine: a young chinese boy walking into a strange new English school with the name Chin. I was asking for it really, wasn't I? My mum tells me that in my first year I pleaded with her to change my name. Apparently she found it highly amusing too.
The name of a child with learning disabilites in my year. Because of his presence I was denied much of the spastic in-jokery that was prevalent amongst most schools at the time, as anyone caught making fun of him would be dealt with severely.
I'm quite grateful to him, because it is through him that I learnt how to deal with mentally handicapped people; generally, stare at the floor not saying anything and hoping they will go away, so you can stop feeling guilty. Oh, and empty gestures of friendship, like being forced by your mother to invite him to your birthday party.
When he left school, spastic jokes promptly became all the rage, even amongst the teachers.
I'm quite grateful to him, because it is through him that I learnt how to deal with mentally handicapped people; generally, stare at the floor not saying anything and hoping they will go away, so you can stop feeling guilty. Oh, and empty gestures of friendship, like being forced by your mother to invite him to your birthday party.
When he left school, spastic jokes promptly became all the rage, even amongst the teachers.
Came about as a result of a game our teacher made us play in the classroom during a rainy day. In it one of us would go up to the front of the class and mime an occupation and we would have to guess what that person's job was. One boy, Jonathan Perera, enthusiastically marched up to the front, placed his index finger of his right hand below his nose, his left hand straight up in the air and began to goose-step around the room much to the bemusement of the teacher. A girl near the front put up her hand and suggested, "John Cleese?" Jonathan gleefully responded, "No, Hitler." Our teacher was obviously not impressed and said that she had been hoping that it would be John Cleese as well, and sent Jonathan outside, into the rain. I should have pointed out that neither "John Cleese" nor "Hitler" is an occupation.
A code-word signifying that it is time for the boys in the back row to take off their blazers, drape them across their laps and masturbate.
There appeared to be no aspect of competition, and I'm not sure whether they realised that they weren't fooling anyone.
There appeared to be no aspect of competition, and I'm not sure whether they realised that they weren't fooling anyone.
Mr Torpy, our physics teacher, would often chastise pupils in his class who were playing with the gas taps with the killer line "this isn't Auschwitz, boys."
A short lived attempt by the sixth-formers to weed out the gayers in the school by putting up posters declaring Friday Pufti Day, and encouraging the boys to put on their best frock, bras, and suspenders. They were frustrated to discover that, despite the slipping standards of the school, nobody was actually that stupid.