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This is a question School Projects

MostlySunny wibbles, "When I was 11 I got an A for my study of shark nets - mostly because I handed it in cut out in the shape of a shark."

Do people do projects that don't involve google-cut-paste any more? What fine tat have you glued together for teacher?

(, Thu 13 Aug 2009, 13:36)
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I've been trying to decide whether to post this or not.
But the last Mojito has got the better of me and I think it's time to finally admit the cruelty a 14 year old mind is capable of.

During the late 80’s and early 90’s, this Smurf attended a secondary school in Essex that housed a maths teacher by the name of Mr Langidon (surname changed slightly as I still feel slightly guilty and I don’t feel it’s right to call him by his real name). Mr Langidon was racist, sexist, a total git and.....riddled with Multiple Sclerosis.

I guess at the time that he was maybe in his forties. He had greying hair, plugs of dandruff/dead skin behind his ears and rode around in an electric wheelchair. The MS had taken his legs but his arms were still in use, even if twisted. I could easily fill up several pages with his gittishness, but will instead try to abridge the reason why our unofficial school project, S.P.A.C.S., began.

He wasn’t a supportive teacher. If you (and/or most of the class) didn’t understand what he was explaining, you were stupid. Not ‘in need of help’, but “thick”.

If you dared to move your foot outside of the under-desk area during a lesson, he would run it over on the premise he was moving to the back of the class.*

Either he was a very bad driver, or he would like to terrify you by crashing in to your desk with a tremendous bang if he came over to see you. Slower pupils would receive a bruise to the shin where his metal foot holders (please excuse my lack of wheelchair terminology) would encroach under the desk.

One very disturbing memory is off looking up from an equation and seeing him, what can only be described as rubbing himself through his trousers with his twisted right hand. I turned to look to see the source of his pleasure and noted a female pupil with laddered tights, white knickers on view under the desk due to her short skirt (to be fair, I ‘rubbed’ myself to this memory more than several times. But I was 13 or 14!)

There were many more happenings (that I cannot distinguish between fact and school boy imagination), but the birth of S.P.A.C.S. was brought about when another female pupil decided to argue with him.

Aamina (name changed) was of Asian descent, but pure Essex girl (i.e. gobby). I have no memory of what the argument was about now, but I do perfectly remember him rolling up to her desk at speed, crashing in to it and slurring “Why don’t you go back to where you came from”?! Official complaints were made and he disappeared for a few days, but then reappeared as nasty as ever.

Martyn, Peter and myself were brought together by our love of heavy metal and our hate for Mr Langidon. We’d had enough abuse, sore feet and bruised shins. S.P.A.C.S. was officially started via a whispered conversation during a lunch break. School Pupils Against Cripples Society was born. S.P.A.C.S.

I’d pilfered an extra English writing book which became our anthem book. The front was emblazoned with the ‘disabled’ sign within a red circle with a cross through it. Most of our anti-Langidon (and uninformed) songs, created during maths lessons, were twisted versions of other songs:

“I was born under a moving car. It hit me hard and I flew quite far...” (I was born under a wanderin Star, Lee Marvin)

“I’m a bastard, a c*nt, a crippled bitch who never gets tired of wheelie tricks....” (Right next door to hell, GNR)

“When you were young and you still, had the use of both of your legs.....” (Live and let die, Wings/GNR).

I don’t know now whether it’s guilt or the absolute hatred of the man that I still remember some of these lyrics a couple of years shy of twenty years on. We had a whole book full of these bile filled, hate songs.

The final ‘project’ I do remember from absolute guilt.

Rumour had it that two lads a couple of years above us had swapped the battery leads on his wheelchair around. One distracted him whilst the the other sneaked behind him and did the deed. Another pupil then asked for help. When Langidon twisted his accelerator to go forward and carry out his usual desk crashing act, he actually shot backwards in to the store cupboard where they promptly locked him in. We could do better than this.

I called Langidon over to my desk on the pretence that I had a question. “What is it Smmmurf” he asked with his usual drawl and look of distaste. I kept him distracted whilst Martyn, on the desk behind me, made his stealthy approach. The drawing pin was placed behind his rear right wheel and Martyn sneaked back to his desk.

I didn’t know we had succeeded until Martyn disappeared the next week. I’d assumed that the drawing pin had stuck in the tyre with no effect, other than a ‘schnick, schnick, schnick’ noise as he wheeled down the wooden corridors, warning pupils with already tender toes or shins of his approach.

A few days later the whisperings began. “Martyn’s been suspended”. “Martyn popped Mr Langidons tyre”. “Martyn had to pay for a new tyre for Mr Langidon which cost £100!!!” And it was all true.

But not once did Martyn bring my name in to it. Not once did Martyn mention S.P.A.C.S.

Martyn is quite a strong Christian nowadays whilst I remain very good atheist. I hope I’m wrong and he is right and he puts in a good word for me.

Am I proud of our actions? No. No way. If I saw him today would I walk up to him and say "You know what? You were an absolute c*nt"? No. I'm far too polite to do that. But in my mind, I would be singing "You're a bastard, a c*nt a crippled bitch who never get's tired of wheelie tricks. But when your wheel goes pop you'll find the blues...."

*I resent this because I would almost certainly do the same if in the same position (sitting down).
(, Tue 18 Aug 2009, 19:17, closed)
Erm...
Pretty sure electric wheel chairs/scooters don't have solid moulded tyres, not blow up ones. Well my nans doesn't, nor my sister in laws...
(, Tue 18 Aug 2009, 20:44, closed)
Well...
his did. Does this sound like the kind of story someone would make up? It's not even funny.
(, Tue 18 Aug 2009, 22:07, closed)
Brilliant
*click*
(, Tue 18 Aug 2009, 22:24, closed)
metal foot holders
He had metal feet? Awesome!
(, Wed 19 Aug 2009, 6:25, closed)

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