Mid-90s: slave auction at a girl's school... what could go wrong?

"The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him; they crush those beneath them... allow me to amuse myself a little in the same style..."

Wuthering Heights

Indeed, whilst my friends and I were certainly the brunt of the posse at school it did not stop us all uniting for one rather cruel episode. A bit like the United Nations, but uniting for malevolence rather than peace.

Anyway, in the jolly hockey-sticks tradition of the aspirational but ultimately dull private school, there was always the odd charity event that in hindsight could only be described as morally dubious. The slave auction, the auctioning of teachers to the highest bidder now seems absurd, like the idea of opium-smoking and snuff boxes. However, in this estrogen-loaded environment, slave auctions were deemed permissible and given the fevered hormones, anyone male was always a popular choice. Our class in perhaps the only moment of unity we ever displayed, decided to 'buy' Miss Corbeau [not her real name, but it's hardly a stretch]. Miss Corbeau, in our defence was not a 'nice' person. She had turned up at the high school, having apparently been hounded out of her last job at a school that was yet more small-minded than the one we were in. Teaching us French, something as a school, they did well, Miss Corbeau was both dull, untrusting and had an annoying habit of uttering 'tiens, tiens' after everything she said, for no particular reason. Perhaps she was trying to hang on to her fluency, itself a hallmark of a more exotic period in her life, perhaps it was an oral tic, however it came across as a rather affected, disparaging attack, it's very formula was abrasive, just saying those words out loud isn't satisfying, they don't fill the mouth as some french phrases do, no, it was simple and grating: "tiens tiens!" and reminded us, surly as we were, of being told off by someone else's mother. It's fair to say we despised her intently. That we despised her says something about the arrogance of youth and the central position we allocated ourselves in judging all that was, or was not reasonable. The facts that we were brats aside, she does seem in hindsight to have been rather small-minded and ungenerous but this does not justify the zeal we which decided to wear her down.

So the slave auction...

to be continued...

Pre-ironic leggings, limited trouser options.

I am rolling with laughter at the idea that fashion has, once again, come full circle and is now endorsing the legging. This is an eat-your-own-face sort of development. Whatever next? The Snood?

Leggings: what makes them so flobby?
Is it the way they cling to every nodule of fat? Is it the way they make even normal people look like aspiring trapeze artists? Fat trapeze artists Or is it simply that now every Target Mom in the other 50 states [who counts Alaska anyway?] are now wearing them with their Crocs?

OK, I'm not THAT mean however I simply remember the nightmare the first time around. This was the 90s and plaid was a big statement. I blame Seattle but no matter whose fault it was I definitely got the tail end of this sartorial misfire. Perhaps I am still holding on to the disaster that was ski pants... anyone else remember such a thing? Now we have the vile fusion of the ski-pant and the legging: it's like an old childhood friend mating with the niche North European blonde kid in the corner then the two of them joining forces to steal your pony and copy your haircut [only better].

A websearch has confirmed that I am not alone with my distaste, it does offer some solace but now I think of it, what trouser options are available?

The low-slung jodhpur pants that make you look like you've put your legs through the sleeves of your boyfriend's jumper. Or worse, that you are sporting incontinence pads and need a low girdle for space. When is flirting with the bladder-control look ever good? How many people have you seen wearing them on the streets?

The Mom jeans? Bootcut may be flattering but nothing spells late 90s like bootcut jeans. Oh, except 'The Rachel'.

Back to that slave auction idea... Post II

So the slave auction, 800 teens crammed into a room without ventilation, expressing their ongoing frustrations in a grotesque parody, by selling human labour. What could go wrong? Yup, the teacher-slave auction. Sick. Anyone with any sense would have seen that our form was more or less baying for the teacher's blood, even the mean girls dropped the act for a few nano-seconds to express small emotions like glee, delight and joy. There she was, this teacher, quivering on the stage, the beady eyes bulging, a revealing sheen on the forehead, shining in the overhead lights. She was nervous during the auction and a wreak by the time the gavel fell and 'U4R' were declared the winners. This small victory now was the highlight of a 6-month smear campaign: strict non-compliance, answering only in English, tipping back on our chairs, hiding behind the obligatoy mane of hair, spraying nasty body sprays everywhere. You know, the usual teenage rebellion in an unimaginative girl's school in England. Now, casually discarding the past three years of carefully-constructed animosity between all class members, we united in our common goal of humiliating this teacher who would be ours for one day. The suggestions were ludicrous and overly elaborate, much like the death scenes of a James Bond villain. As a group we quickly warmed to our theme and to list just one rather telling suggestion, we opted to make said teacher crawl on her hands and knees along the corridor and pick up rubbish. With her mouth. Now remember, this was allowed to go on.. As the time passed we whittled out the more obviously demeaning options but something funny started to take place: the old bitchy hierarchies crept back in and the actual task or organising the afternoon from hell for the teacher became rather dull. Why unbalance an adult's carefully-constructed notions of balance when we could all just bitch about each other to each other? why deliberate when you can dive straight in and ruin someone's afternoon? why flirt when you can, ahem... you get my point.

So, with most things at that school, it was over before it began. In the end, the luckless woman was made to run around the school for the lunchbreak before retreating to the staff room for a double and a breakdown. I am not sure anyone really paid attention in the end, which makes the spectacle all the more pathetic, being humiliated is one thing, but to be humiliated and not even have the expected audience? Needless to say, she left at the end of the year. I think I speak for most of the friends with whom I am still in contact when I say that there is some lingering guilt, that woman must have dreaded our lessons and given that we had French 3 (or 4) times a week that was at least 20% of her life.

Yet still, "tiens tiens" is un-effing-believable. I'd rather knit my way to freedom using oatmeal and spoons.

My job description

"Executive Assistant"/Child-minder

Tasks:

1) Making travel arrangements

2) Compiling call lists.

Travel Arrangements
This job requires the patience of no less than twelve saints as you will be working closely with someone who is never wrong and who changes extensive travel plans on a daily basis. A comprehensive understanding of European travel opportunities will ensure success, particularly if the candidate can recite the journey times from any one station/airport in Europe to any other station/airport in Europe by the following means of transport: airplane, train, car, hovercraft, ferry and helicopter. Initiative in making travel arrangements is strongly discouraged.


Call Lists
Everyday your manager will ask for a call list, it is not possible to know whom from the previous day's call-list he has contacted so these lists become up to 25 pages long. Your job is to keep this going and present one everyday.

This is it.


Further qualities:
Any candidates with psychic abilities are especially encouraged to apply as low-level mind reading is a component of this job.
Open-minded attitude towards escorts is essential. Candidate must enjoy working with children.

Please note: this job is not a route to career progression.