Tuesday Anger and Laughter

Pretty average day at Nuova Lazio High School. (Richard {of RBB] decided on this anonymous nomenclature some time ago).

 

NOTE: To Kiwis (The inhabitants of the lovely South Pacific Paradise called alternatively New Zealand or Aoteroa) AVERAGE denotes a pretty crappy experience.
The usual happened.

 

Boys skateboarding up the corridors in class time.

 

Girls trying to scratch each others eyes out because of boyfriend problems.

 

Boys smoking outside Richard (of RBB)'s music room.

 

Boys running on our roofs during class time.

 

A completely random and unknown kid sticking his head round my door while  I was teaching a particularly alert Year 11 class and screaming at the top of his voice "FUCK YOU MISTAH"

 

Hearing a particularly troubled... 

 

Stop. 

 

I must switch from teacherspeak. 

 

"Troubled" in teacherspeak means that the kid concerned may well have a troubled family background, but apart from that

 

HE/SHE IS THE BIGGEST F*CKING TROUBLEMAKER I'VE EVER HAD IN MY CLASS. WHEN HE'S PRESENT THE AMOUNT OF LEARNING OF THE OTHER KIDS

 

(who mostly want to learn exciting new facts regarding recent advances in the wonderful world of computing science)

 

 DROPS TO AS CLOSE TO F*CKING ZERO AS YOU WILL EVER SEE. 

 

WHY THEY DON'T TAKE THE LITTLE SHIT OUT AND SHOOT THE F*CKER IS BEYOND MY

 

(considerable)

 

 POWERS OF F*CKING COMPREHENSION.

 

Poor wee soul...now F*CK OFF

I will continue. 
I heard the troubled boy refer to a Deputy Principal as "you fucker", not once, not twice, not thrice but FOUR times.  Luckily it's Mr Pompous (as Richard [of RBB] refers to him.  I prefer Mr Braces.) so the kid will be out of school for at least 5 days.

 

Apart from that it was a normal day.

 

Until I returned home.

 

I was a bit early.

 

For the first time this week, I was out of school by 4:45, and as I turned up the driveway of chez TSB I was met with an unusual sight.

 

Our parking area has room for 2 car ports, a garage, and room for another 3 cars.  It was completely chocka.

 

So the poor bastard who has been working for 12 hours straight has to park his own f*cking car at the bottom of his own f*cking driveway, because there is no room to f*cking park.

 

Is it my imagination, or is this f*cking driveway getting longer and steeper?

What The F*ck was going on?

 

As I trudged up the drive, I could see that m'son's car was amongst the 4 vehicles parked randomly in the yard, then I saw my Beloved's little sports car parked in the small area behind some hedges.  But both car ports were unused.

 

I asked myself again, WTFWGO?

 

Into the house, and saw another strange car parked in the garage.

 

AH, all was becoming clear.  As I walked into the main upstairs living area, I saw my Beloved sitting around a small table with other ladies of  "a certain age".

 

It was either the local coven having their usual, tea, fairy cakes and eye of newt

 

or

 

It was the delegation from the area's spiritualists asking my Beloved's help in getting me to tone down my "negative vibrations" (I've been told that since I moved into the area, not one ghost has appeared in the entire area of Upper Hutt!)

 

or

 

It was my Beloved's Mah Jong group round for their weekly game with associated character assassination.


I saw the tiles with the Chinese script. 
Blast. 
It was the Mah Jongers

 

I tried to hide my displeasure at the parking shambles below, smiled at the ladies and departed to the kitchen.

 

Hell's Teeth.  They'd completely cleaned out the fairy cakes AND the sausage rolls.  Nothing left but crumbs.

 

Now the fun part.

 

They started to pack up and leave, and I as a gentleman of the old school (Hillhead High, Glasgow 1962-1969) gave them a hand down the stairs with their Mah Jong tiles, stands tables and cauldron.

 

Then they drove away.

 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

 

M'son and I offered to help the ladies manoeuvre their vehicles safely, but our offers were spurned, at least initially.

 

The first vehicle to move was the last one in, and it would obviously have to reverse down the drive to the main road.  It's about 100 metres down a fairly steep slope, but it's straight and smooth..
The lady driving this car had a rictus of terror fixed to her features as she started.

You want me to REVERSE?

 

She stalled.

 

I didn't know it was possible to stall an automatic, but this lady did.

 

She put a full lock on, and her back wheels quickly went grinding down the concrete edges of the drive.  Then she put the other lock on and went across to the other side of the drive until the screeching began again.

The approximate path of her car down the driveway

 

She progressed slowly, very slowly in this manner.  It was like watching a slow-motion billiards game.

 

My Beloved leaned over and whispered "Why don't you offer to help them Dear?"
I whispered back "No"

 

I said no for a variety of reasons.

 

1. I had offered before (grudgingly, but I had offered) and been spurned.
2. I was a believer in equality to all. If they had bought the damned cars, AND passed the frighteningly easy Kiwi driving test, then they should be able to manoeuvre safely.  Even backwards down a 100 metre hill drive.
3. It was too much fun.

 

M'son, who needed to move his car soon, stalked off in a sulk when his plan for manoeuvring the vehicles (logical and safe) was ignored by the other ladies.

 

Over the next 10 minutes I watched them desperately trying to do:

• 17 point turns, then realising that there really wasn't enough room to complete the manoeuvre , do a 19 point turn to get back to where she was originally.
• Reverse into an empty car port, then drive out on the same lock, so they ended up where they started.
• Drive into my garden hedging.
• Drive into my Rhododendron bush.

 

All the time the screeching from the lady reversing down the drive could be heard, slowly diminishing with distance.

 

As I stood there, a smile on my face, I realised I was making it worse.

 

My presence seemed to be unnerving the ladies.  They were all sweating by now (but to be fair, at their time of life it could well have been "Hot Flushes")

 

There seems to be an innate understanding that blokes are just better at this sort of thing.

 

Even now, after nearly 30 years of driving in the UK and NZ, my Beloved expects a round of applause if she manages to parallel park her car in an area with room enough for a Chieftain tank.

Try again Dear, you're a wee bit too close this time.

 

I always give her a little kiss and a smile of encouragement.  That's what blokes do.  Mentioning that we're parked a good ½ metre from the kerb would just end in tears, so I stay quiet.

 

Back to the entertainment.

 

It really was fun, but I was becoming a bit worried that my presence was driving the ladies insane. One car reversed and advanced about 9" each time, and was going absolutely nowhere.

 

A loud screech of brakes and the sound of a warning car horn announced the final arrival of the lady reversing down the drive at the main road. I could swear I heard a bloke's voice bellowing something about "stupid bloody women" but I could have been mistaken.

 

I smiled again and left.

 

Enough was enough.

 

I departed the scene and went upstairs to the lounge.

 

I knew I'd get a much better view from the large bay window upstairs.

 

I was content.

 

My equilibrium was restoring.

 

A large whisky completed the balancing, and all, once again was well.

You can't get much weller than this