Okay, here’s a funny story for you. Funny now but not funny at the time.
Way back in my second year of High School (ohhh I must have been about 12) I got Scarlet Fever. It was your run of the mill childhood illness and the good part of it was that I got to spend 2 weeks off school.
Sitting at home, living the good life, was excellent. I had the TV to myself, watched what I pleased and generally had a pleasant time.
Two week later I returned to school. No one had really missed me. That was until I got into my metalwork class. Before the class begins every teacher will take the register to see who is here and who is absent.
I’m sure I would have been missed and asked about my absence, so the teacher started to read the names from the register. Being in alphabetical order I was waiting for my name so I could shout “I’m back”.
My name was never read out though. Where I expected to be called I was just skipped. After he had finished reading the register I proceeded to ask the teacher why I was missed.
“Sir, you missed my name”
“Wayne, oh”, he said as he fumbled through the register.
“Erm, he looked up at me, I was told you were dead!”
“WHAT!”, I said.
Apparently my beloved classmates had informed my teacher that I had passed and he promptly crossed my name from the register. Not once did they question it, not once did they phone my folks wishing condolences, I didn’t even get any teachers going to my imaginary funeral. What the hell was that all about.
We all have stories from our youth but that one will stick with me for ages.
And for all my old classmates. You’re a bag of bastards