Cunt.
That same
night, while we were high on cocaine and poppers, Cunt shouted to me from the
bathroom. ‘I have an idea for our next challenge, and don’t come into the
bathroom because I’m having a shit.’
‘Go on.’ I
said.
‘It’s like dirty water from a broken hose.’
‘Not the
shit,’ I said. ‘What’s the challenge?’
‘Well last
week,’ Cunt began, ‘I walked into a local school for an undisclosed reason. I
was hanging around this science lab for like twenty minutes before anyone
questioned who I was. For all they knew I was just a really sexy visitor, or
even a teacher. We should just walk in
somewhere and pretend we work there. The person who can give the illusion of
employment for the longest is the winner.’
‘Challenge
on, bitch,’ I said. ‘Pretending to do things neither of us actually do is
something we’re both pretty good at.’
Having
exhausted my best disguise the previous week at the mince factory, I needed a
new cover. I went looking through Cunt’s wardrobe to see if he had any clothes
worth stealing. After some scrupulous searching I settled for a beige suit
which I found lodged between some high-vis jackets and a Clooney era Batman
suit, which appeared to have been recently worn. Now that I gave the impression
of a respectable member of society, I set out to find the nearest school.
It was
inevitable that I would immediately head towards my old stomping ground. This
was the area next to my old high school where I would stomp on children as an
adult. While I was there I noticed an obscene amount of seedy looking hillfolk
wandering in and out of the school, without anyone as much as asking to see
their credentials. I realised they could be teachers who were there regularly
(if not every day of their working lives) but I was willing to take the risk to
attempt to fit in with them. The beige suit, my lack of shaving, and the odd
scent reserved for Cunt’s clothes concocted an image which can only be
described as a Tony Clifton impersonator who looks like he sells acid out the
back of a van. It was time to show those
seedy teacher folk what real seedy looked like.
Sometimes referred to as a seed-off.
Without
hesitation I checked in with the school receptionist and said the first thing
that came into my head. ‘I’m the supply teacher. I did a degree. Would you like
some more proof?’
‘Ah. Mister... Randall, is it?’ she asked.
‘That’s
definitely my name,’ I said, following her eye line to a note she had written.
‘T. Randall,’
‘We’ve been
expecting you. Can I just take your first name and your ID?’
‘Listen,’ I
said. ‘The T stands for Teach, because that’s what I do best. And I don’t have
any ID with me because, well, listen to me closely when I say; I forgot to
bring it.’
‘I’m afraid
we can’t let you in the school without validating who you are Mr Randall.’
‘Look,
bab.’ I said, catching a glimpse at her average breasts as I scanned her for
any sign of attractiveness. ‘All I carry with me is my ability to teach. That,
and a couple of Cubans for a post-lesson smoke. I know it’s rogue, but little
Timmy Prescott ain’t the easiest kid to reach. If he wants to blaze up a smoke
with Teach Randall after a tough-ass hour of English Language then who am I to say
no?’
As I was
talking, it occurred to me that I was spouting all manner of lies. I was
definitely making some assumptions, and statistics told me that most of them
were probably wrong. To my surprise, however, the ugly receptionist simply
looked at me and began a slow clap. It drew the attention of the surrounding
employees who joined in also; the sound their applause ricocheting off the glass
trophy cabinet which I personally saw no point in having. ‘Go on through, Mr
Randall,’ she said. ‘The future is in your hands’.
The
receptionist’s stupid comment reminded me briefly of the X Files and how I much
I missed the show since it ended. My brain followed a linear train of thought
which went something like; Gillian Anderson’s breasts in the early seasons –
better than this receptionist’s? Most definitely – if Scully was my secretary
then I would I refer to her as a sexretary? Or better yet repeatedly ask her if
she had done my filing – my X filing – my Sex filing – Yes I would. Digressing
aside, I managed to find an English class which was missing a teacher, having
bribed a poor kid with promises of a hair cut.
This
was his profile picture on AOL Messenger.
I arrived
at said class and was greeted by 25 kids with shit-eating grins who could all
pass as poster-childs for a Durex advert. I don’t have kids, and seeing the stupid
faces in front of me reminded me why I gave my last two away. I’ve never met a
teenager and thought to myself ‘I’d love to spend more time with him.’ That has
never happened. Anyway, one glance at the white board (disclaimer: Foul
Entertainment enforces a strict policy on such vague equality issues) told me
that today these kids were supposed to be doing a read-through of Lord of the
Flies, however I read it once and thought it was shit. I haven’t even seen the
second film, but I like bit at the start where the wizard exhales smoke and it
looks like a boat. Instead, today I
decided we were doing.... words.
‘Now kids,
my vocabulary is very, very, very... big.’ I began. ‘That’s because I’m a
genuine teacher. Now some of your vocabulary might be very, very.... small. But
we’ll work on that.’ A child with a bowl hair cut immediately raised his hand,
but his presumably stupid words were interrupted by the sound of a prolonged,
piercing screech. It sounded constantly for around twenty seconds before the
homeless child asked ‘what’s that, sir?’
Having
grown up around rigorous household discipline, I knew the sound of a fire alarm
when I heard it. We tested it twice daily when I lived with my parents as both of
them were highly dangerous serial arsonists. ‘It’s a fire alarm, kids. A real
one too. Fire alarm tests are only done on the hour and it’s 9:45. Some cunt
has definitely started a fire.’
‘Oh....SHIT’ I thought to myself. In a moment
of Sherlock-like ingenuity, I was able to piece this massive co-incidence
together.
A fire starts on the same day I pretend to work in a school? Check. What’s
the most logical place a fire would start in a school? A science lab. What
chemical is potent enough to produce significant flames when accidentally dispelled near a Bunsen burner? Alkyl nitrite. Where does the average person
find alkyl nitrite? Poppers. What kind of person has popper fumes dispel from
their anus when they fart? Newly-discovered homosexuals. Who do I know that
fits this profile, and just might be in the area?
Need I say more?
We sat on the hill on my old stomping ground, watching our old school
burn to a crisp because of a bad-timed amalgamation of competitive spirits,
fire, and gayness. Cunt said to me ‘I guess you can have this one. It’s only
fair. I did burn down a school I guess. There’s no victory in that’, I took the
can of Tennants Super off him and took a drink. ‘Thanks, I guess. It was a good
competition while it lasted. You just need to lay off those poppers. You must
have an arse like a manhole.’
‘True,’ said Cunt. ‘I’ll lay off them for a while. Can’t be burning down
schools now, can I?’
The police would later find that the cause of the fire remained unclear.
There was definitely a reaction between popper fumes and fire in the science
lab, which they still hold as their most plausible theory. What the police
wouldn't find, however, was the butt end of a luxury Cuban, dripping with the
DNA of diploma-certified go-to English professor Teach Randall. Because one; he
isn't real, and two; that Cuban was now in the hands of little Timmy Prescott.
And he was sure as hell blazing that shit up behind English block one last time.
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