The recently departed Darliquinn gave me a present of a giant working pen and pencil the other day; ostensibly so I could lend them to students with out them becoming lost.
Chance however, allowed me to put them to much better use.
The very day I received them I was sitting in Maths with Little Jimmy Thistle. Little Jimmy Thistle began to poke me in the arm repeatedly with his pen.
‘Don’t do that Jimmy’ I said, ‘it’s annoying.’
‘I challenge you to a pen fight sir.’ Retorted Little Jimmy Thistle. Truly the TA god was smiling on me today.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ I said slowly.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’ll lose.’
‘How will I lose?’
I reached down and drew the giant pen from my bag.
Little Jimmy Thistle stared open mouthed at the full two foot long, red and white ICBMness of the giant pen, his eyes wide with wonder.
‘Fuckin ‘ell’ he breathed, ‘it’s massive!’. His own pen fell from his nerveless fingers.
The pen fight was over and he had, indeed, lost.
This would normally have been enough to make my day a happy one and wouldn’t actually have been worth recounting had it not had repercussions the following day.
The next day arrives and I find myself in History. Opposite me is Little Jimmy Thistle, beside him is Lord Greystoke and beside me is Baby Oddbod. The table from hell, frankly.
Half way through the lesson Little Jimmy Thistle announces:
‘Sir’s got a giant pen.’
The other two look at the (normal) pen I’m holding and reply in unison
‘No he hasn’t.’
‘Yes he has, it’s HUGE. I saw it in maths.’
I brandish my pen and point out that it is, in fact, completely normal sized.
‘Yeah, see,’ chorus the others, ‘it’s noooormal’ (not a word they get to use much it must be said.)
Little Jimmy Thistle is getting confused and a bit annoyed and begins to splutter as he searches for the right words.
‘Perhaps,’ I say to be helpful ‘it was really close to you so it looked giant?’ I hold my pen close to his face so he can appreciate the phenomenon of foreshortening.
Unconvinced he sticks to his guns and insists ‘It’s in his bag, I’m telling you, I saw it in maths.’
Obligingly I show my open and giant pen-less (it’s at home) bag to everyone.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about Jimmy’ I say, ‘perhaps you dreamed it? I mean, who in their right mind would carry around a giant pen?’
The other two are shaking with barely-concealed mirth. Lord Greystoke is so red that the engorged pustule he’s been carrying around on his face for the last week looks set to finally explode. (‘When that goes we’ll be ankle deep’ was one English teacher’s opinion of it).
They bombard Little Jimmy Thistle with loud whispers of derision, mainly centering on his inability to see straight and his penchant for dreeeeeaming; this last delivered in a particularly whiny voice expertly pitched for maximum needling.
Little Jimmy Thistle retorts with suppressed cries of ‘Fuck you’ and ‘Your Mum’s a dreamer’ but to no avail. The lesson ends and they all disappear off to morning break with the verbal fencing continuing down the hall, much louder now that there is no lesson to confine them.
Petty? Well, yes, but getting the little monsters to doubt their sanity even for a second is still a victory in my book. Stay tuned, the giant pen will strike again.
History may be my favourite subject but the idiots I have to nursemaid through a lesson can really take the enjoyment away.