I'm not exactly sure if this was a writing prompt from the website, but there was definitely something in the library that became my prompt.
What was it, you're probably asking?
Well, let me just say that it has two legs, and it's walking away right now.
That's right - a noisy student.
I can fully and respectively say that I am now completely aware of how the librarian feels. With someone talking away in the voice level used in a community swimming pool, it makes it pretty damn hard to concentrate.
Well, I can assume now that that last sentence led you to ponder what I was doing when the student was talking loudly to his friend. The answer is simple: I was trying to - and here is the key word - concentrate on my English work. That's right - I was trying to find an appropriate writing prompt that I could use to my full ability to write an outstanding blog post.
But this is all I've got, so I'm going to go with it.
"SO AND SO THINKS YOU'RE SKIPPING."
"OH YEAH?"
"YEAH."
"WELL, I DON'T CARE."
That's how the conversation went, and not only is it typed in caps for emphasis, it is typed in caps because they're voices reached octaves higher than a garbage truck.
Ridiculous.
I guess I should have assumed that the dreadful hour was nigh when the grade 9 student walked in, dressed in his wanna-be gangster clothes and the, "I-could-care-less" expression on his face, while behind him out in the hall students scurry to make it to their next class on time. If he thinks he's fooling anyone, he can think again. Grade 11 and 12 students are the only ones that may be lucky enough to be gifted with a spare block in their timetable. "Gifted" meaning that after a rigorous form that needs to be filled out there's a chance that you may not even get it.
Adding to that paragraph, grade doesn't even matter. If one were to 'skip' and decide to do so in the library - you've got to sign in. A pain in the - ehemm - but if you don't, the librarian will track you down with ease and confidence, and start her 3-part killing by first:
1. Yelling at you. ("DID YOU SIGN IN?")
1. a. When student answers with an uneasy "No...?" you get:
2. A lecture, in yelling tones. ("WELL, YOU NEED TO SIGN IN. IF THAT FIREBELL RINGS AND WE ALL HAVE TO EVACUATE, AND YOU'RE NOT ON THE LIST...")
2. a. Student then gets to feet, and signs in. You get:
3. Ms. Luis stalking you. ("MAKE SURE YOU SIGN IN!" (As she walks behind you and peers over your shoulder). "IT'S NOT 11:45 IT'S 11:46! BE EXACT! AND WHAT CLASS ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE IN? A SPARE? WELL, LET ME CHECK THAT!")
And the "let me check that" is where everyone else in the library that is supposed to be on an actual spare clues in and realises, "Hey, that guy isn't on a spare! SKIPPER! SKIPPPPPERRRR!!!!" (insert tribal fire/dance/sacrifice here. Just kidding!)
Ms. Luis has this powerful object that perches on the edge of her desk called a 'computer.' From there, she can access your information and see what class you're supposed to be in. From there, she will yell some more at you, and then call the teacher and notify them where their missing student is.
Yep. Skipping in the library is damn difficult. So if you want to skip and be noisy - go somewhere else.
Once again, I'm not exactly certain that this was even close to a prompt on that website (there's near 300 prompts and I still have a biology worksheet to do, so I didn't have the time to check - I have 55 minutes left of my spare) but I thought that this would do. So, needless to say: I'M SORRY TO ANYONE I HAVE DISTURBED, IF I EVER HAVE, IN THE LIBRARY! (Though I am definitely quiet when I'm in here, BUT STILL.)
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Movie Addict, Banker, and Used Car Saleswoman on Broken Bus.
"Anyone know how to change a tire?" The bus driver asked, pulling his large body out of his seat. He stood at the front of the bus, staring his passengers down, waiting for a response. "Well?" He finally prompted them, his handlebar moustache ruffled as he let out an impatient breath.
"Change a bus tire? Don't they teach you this sort of stuff at bus driver school?" A tall, lanky man asked from his seat. He was wearing a t-shirt with a Star Wars Logo, with the quote "There is much to be learned" underneath it.
"Don't be a smart ass," the bus driver warned.
From the rear of the bus rose a shout of hysterical laughter. It was the man in a brand-name suit, holding his head as his laughter died into a weak chuckle. "Oh, this is great. Just brilliant," he said when he looked up, noticing eight pairs of eyes on him. "I'm going to be late for my meeting because the bus driver is too thick to change a tire."
Though the driver had warned the movie addict before, he didn't speak now. He was eyeing the bank manager up, contemplating whether or not it was smart to argue. The man had a lot of power; upsetting him would be a bad idea.
Silence fell throughout the bus, and for a moment everyone simply stared at each other. They were currently stuck in downtown Manhattan, with car horns blaring at them from behind. The bus had shuddered to a stop and with a curse under his breath the bus driver had announced what the issue was.
Finally, a woman got to her feet. She was wearing black pencil skirt and a white blouse, and she looked a little uncomfortable as she faced the passengers. "Well," she finally said, and she seemed to gain a bit of confidence, because she held herself up straighter. "I guess now is a good time to offer someone a used Sedan for 14,000 dollars? Good price, and God only knows that if you take it, you won't have to take the bus again."
The movie addict leaned back in his seat, looking completely content. "No thanks. I've already got a car. 1970 model, actually. I just don't drive because I live in New York. Busses always get top priority along with emergency vehicles, so it's always faster to take the bus."
The banker raised his eyebrows. "Top priority? If busses get top priority, then why hasn't someone come to change the tire?"
The young man returned the banker's stare. With an indifferent shrug, he asked, "No one jumps out of the way for a tow truck driver. Why are you on the bus, anyway? I thought bank managers took their private jets to work."
"Very funny," the banker replied icily, eyes locked on one of the windows.
"Hello?" The used car saleswoman called. She was greeted with the eight pairs of eyes once more. "Anyone interested in the car?"
"No one wants to buy your shitbox car, alright?" The banker snapped.
The woman got to her feet once more, strode to the front of the bus, and let herself out. The passengers watched from their seats as she stalked off down the street, weaving in and out of the crowd.
"Now look what you did. If you keep scaring the passengers off, we're not going to have anyone to eat once night falls and we're all starving," the movie addict said dryly.
"Finally," the bus driver cut in, getting out of his seat and waddling to the door. A man in a work shirt and pants climbed in, a tool box clutched in his right hand.
"Welcome," the movie addict said darkly from his seat, "to the bus of doom. We were just planning our meal, and the majority were asking for grilled automechanic. Care to join us?"
Without a word the man set down his toolbox, opened it, and began rummaging around through it. Finally, he extracted a few tools that he would need and exited the bus. With a loud ticking noise the bus was raised on one side. It took about ten minutes for the man to change the tire, and when he finished, he took his toolbox and left.
Two days later, the used car saleswoman sold a Sedan for 14,000 to a bank manager.
"Change a bus tire? Don't they teach you this sort of stuff at bus driver school?" A tall, lanky man asked from his seat. He was wearing a t-shirt with a Star Wars Logo, with the quote "There is much to be learned" underneath it.
"Don't be a smart ass," the bus driver warned.
From the rear of the bus rose a shout of hysterical laughter. It was the man in a brand-name suit, holding his head as his laughter died into a weak chuckle. "Oh, this is great. Just brilliant," he said when he looked up, noticing eight pairs of eyes on him. "I'm going to be late for my meeting because the bus driver is too thick to change a tire."
Though the driver had warned the movie addict before, he didn't speak now. He was eyeing the bank manager up, contemplating whether or not it was smart to argue. The man had a lot of power; upsetting him would be a bad idea.
Silence fell throughout the bus, and for a moment everyone simply stared at each other. They were currently stuck in downtown Manhattan, with car horns blaring at them from behind. The bus had shuddered to a stop and with a curse under his breath the bus driver had announced what the issue was.
Finally, a woman got to her feet. She was wearing black pencil skirt and a white blouse, and she looked a little uncomfortable as she faced the passengers. "Well," she finally said, and she seemed to gain a bit of confidence, because she held herself up straighter. "I guess now is a good time to offer someone a used Sedan for 14,000 dollars? Good price, and God only knows that if you take it, you won't have to take the bus again."
The movie addict leaned back in his seat, looking completely content. "No thanks. I've already got a car. 1970 model, actually. I just don't drive because I live in New York. Busses always get top priority along with emergency vehicles, so it's always faster to take the bus."
The banker raised his eyebrows. "Top priority? If busses get top priority, then why hasn't someone come to change the tire?"
The young man returned the banker's stare. With an indifferent shrug, he asked, "No one jumps out of the way for a tow truck driver. Why are you on the bus, anyway? I thought bank managers took their private jets to work."
"Very funny," the banker replied icily, eyes locked on one of the windows.
"Hello?" The used car saleswoman called. She was greeted with the eight pairs of eyes once more. "Anyone interested in the car?"
"No one wants to buy your shitbox car, alright?" The banker snapped.
The woman got to her feet once more, strode to the front of the bus, and let herself out. The passengers watched from their seats as she stalked off down the street, weaving in and out of the crowd.
"Now look what you did. If you keep scaring the passengers off, we're not going to have anyone to eat once night falls and we're all starving," the movie addict said dryly.
"Finally," the bus driver cut in, getting out of his seat and waddling to the door. A man in a work shirt and pants climbed in, a tool box clutched in his right hand.
"Welcome," the movie addict said darkly from his seat, "to the bus of doom. We were just planning our meal, and the majority were asking for grilled automechanic. Care to join us?"
Without a word the man set down his toolbox, opened it, and began rummaging around through it. Finally, he extracted a few tools that he would need and exited the bus. With a loud ticking noise the bus was raised on one side. It took about ten minutes for the man to change the tire, and when he finished, he took his toolbox and left.
Two days later, the used car saleswoman sold a Sedan for 14,000 to a bank manager.
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