I wish I’d learnt more of the basics of life when I was in school.
For instance, when I first moved out of home, I didn’t really understand how to take out the rubbish. In theory the once-a-week, council-operated thing made perfect sense, but it took me quite a long time to realise that if you didn’t take out the bins, the rubbish would start to stink, and then the whole house would smell, making one’s entire home life as appealing as a bag of sick.
I wish they taught us about taking out the bins, and made us practice and everything.
I wish they’d taught us how to use a drill in school. I would love to be a confident driller. It can’t be that hard, can it? The problem with learning to drill as an adult is that our test areas tend to be the walls of our precious homes. So if we make a mistake, there it is, looking at us for all eternity. LAUGHING AT US. Imagine if we could have spent a whole semester drilling crappy bits of wood, plaster, concrete, trying different shunts (shunts!)! Imagine if your authoritative Drill Instructor – I’m picturing a tall lesbian in cargo shorts – got in front of the class and officially announced that those stick-on hooks are a waste of time? How much money and time we would save! And how useful would we be in real life!?
They could have taught a class on how to break up with a Loser. You know, that ex. It would have been a massively popular class, especially if we could have practiced on Year 11 Jared, the charismatic bad boy we all knew would end up in jail. Picture this: You prepare for the “break-up” by being immaculately groomed; attractive but unavailable. In class you mock up a café table and sit opposite Jared. You are instructed to look in his eyes. You are taught to speak respectfully. The conversation goes like this:
You: “Hi Jared.”
Jared: “Hi babe.”
You: “Don’t call me babe.”
Jared: “Sirius? How sirius? Like, Yahoo Sirius?”
You: “Thanks for all the fun we had together. I really like your tattoos. And I liked it when you gave me that bottle of bourbon even though I’m 16 and not legally allowed to drink and have an allergy to brown spirits.”
Jared: “Yes and do not forget about that crucifix I made you in Woodwork!”
You: “That was so thoughtful.”
Jared: “And the coffin I made for your sister’s Barbie dolls!”
You: “Yeah. So, I want to break up with you.”
Jared: “Awwww! What? Why?! Why, baby, why?”
You: “Well, I think you’re really hot -”
Jared: “- and I think you’re really hot, baby!”
You: “But we don’t have enough in common so I’m calling it quits.”
Jared: “Awww! You’re breakin’ my heart!”
You: “Here’s your Mötley Crüe record back.”
You: “Don’t cry.”
You: “There are only 3 good songs on it.”
You: “‘Girls, Girls, Girls,’ ‘You’re All I Need’ and, I guess, ‘Wild Side’. It’s mostly rubbish and if this is your favorite album well that’s just more proof that we’re not suited for each other.”
You: “I have it on good authority that the Ecco teacher thinks you’re hot.”
Jared: “…Who? Miss Belinda?”
Jared: “Really? Me?”
Jared: “Are you sure? Really trilly?”
You: “You know me – always do my research!”
Jared: “No… What? Who does?”
You: “Bye Jared.”
You’ll find this method, while fraught with unpredictable variances, is far superior to the Dropped By Text Message Method:
‘Hi I cant see you n e more.’
‘Bye I’m w yr best friend LOL’
Or the one which I deployed a few times in my youth, which is just to never return calls – EVER AGAIN. It’s a sort of disappearing act. They drop over? You’re not home. They text? You never got it. Epic silence. Obviously it’s clear you are no longer interested, but having been on the receiving end of this method of being dumped, I have to say, it’s freakin awful. It’s like when someone is lost at sea: You know they are probably gone, but until you there’s a body, you never quite lose hope. DON’T LEAVE JARED WITH CRUEL HOPE.
That’s my lesson for today. You know what else they should teach at school? How to dispose of a bag of sick.
Check out Yumi On The Couch chatting about getting expelled from school