We Have A Winner!

Ladies and Gentlemen. The Great ‘Life, What The Hell Is Going On?” True Story Competition is officially over.

It was a hell of a ride! Daily sifting through the entries, spending hours categorizing, rating and scrutinizing them.

In the end, I judged both entries to be excellent, but considering one was from my wife, who disqualified herself instantly from eligibility, there can be only one winner.

So, Ladies and Gentlemen, here is the story, written by the insuppressible Serendipity:

The scene is set with a nine year old Serendipity, sitting at the back of her social studies class, stifling a yawn while our teacher Mr. Grizzly waxes lyrical about the Vikings.Or maybe it was the Normans? Who cares I wasn't paying much attention. I was far more interested in the whispered conversation I was having with my friend about her new boyfriend.

We called him Mr Grizzly because he was huge (or seemed so to us when we were so small) and he had the bushiest beard you have ever seen, combined with a very bad combover covering his advanced stag of balding. Try and remember we were only nine years old so all the names we had for our teachers were far from imaginative. He was one of the luckier ones. One poor woman got stuck with Miss PooFace.

Anyway, it was just after Christmas and the aforementioned boyfriend had bought my friend a bottle of perfume. I'm not talking Chanel here, we were only nine years old. I vividly remember it was called "Fashion" and it came in a pink and white box. It probably cost him two or three weeks pocket money though, so my friend was utterly delighted, and of course assumed that they were in later years to be married and have children.

My friend was doodling a love heart on her note book with the initials of herself and her boyfriend drawn inside. Not to be outdone (and feeling jealous of her apparent good fortune) I added my own love heart with my initials and those of the boy I had my eye on.
Knowing which boy the initials I had written referred to, and clearly not approving of my choice my friend let out a snort of derision, which to my young ears sounded like a pig at the trough. It was too funny not to laugh at and I let out an involuntary giggle. Mr Grizzly immediately looked up and stating walking towards us. The laughing stopped and that awful childish sense of dread set in.

It was like watching in slow motion as he walked the three strides over to our desk and ordered us to stand up. Heads lowered with what I now know to be embarrassment, we stood and were marched to the front of the class. He held our note books in his hand and took a seat back at his desk. We remained standing, the eyes of everyone on us. Mr Grizzly was staring at the front page of my friends note book where we had been writing up our affections. His next words were quite unbelievable.
" I didn't know I had two slags in my classroom"
Erm, excuse me? Did you just call two nine year old girls slags? We had heard him correctly and even at such a young age we knew it was a bad word. For anyone who doesn't know what it means - it is just another word commonly used in the UK in place of the word 'slut'

I was mortified. My friend burst into tears, and sniggers were heard all around the room.
I don't remember what happened next, the day passed in something of a blur until I could get home and tell my mum what had happened.
I walked through the back door and my mum was in the process of blow drying the hair of one of her customers. I should point out that my mum is a hairdresser and almost all of her customers are pensioners. This day was no different. A well spoken, white haired, poodle permed old lady was sitting in the chair as I walked in and yelled:
"Mum......Mr Grizzly called me and my friend SLAGS!"
My mums face went through the range of emotions in the space of a few seconds. Shock, horror, upset, and finally pure rage.
"How dare he!" she yelled.
Then a moment of suspicion as she asked what I had been doing to provoke his comment. I don't want to imagine what she thought I might have been doing to provoke the use of such a word, but as I innocently relayed what had happened, her face began to go purple with temper. Her customers hair was getting teased to within an inch of its thin and frail life and the poor lady was fidgeting around in obvious discomfort.
"Get your coat we are going back to school." Mum told me.
Her tone brooked no argument, and as the nice old lady hurriedly paid for her now bouffant hairdo, I put my coat back on and waited sheepishly by the door.
I was marched back up the street to the school where she walked straight into the headmasters office (without knocking) and demanded to know what kind of people they employed at their school. Nickname of the headmaster? ........'The Frog' He was short, with big bulging eyes and huge glasses which made them seem even bigger. He tried telling my mum that she would need to leave and make an appointment if she wanted to speak with him but anyone who knows my mum will know that was never a possibility.
"No. We are going to talk about this right here and right now!"
He didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter as my mum launched into a description of what had taken place and demanded that Mr Grizzly be brought before her "right now this very second" The Frog didn't have much option but to comply and Mr Grizzly was sent for.

It was as he stood virtually quivering in the face on my mums wrath that he became less scary to me. His explanation for why he had called two nine year old girls such a nasty name was priceless.
"I didn't mean it the way you think. I was referring to a slagheap. You know, like a pile of rubbish."
My mum was by no means satisfied with his ridiculous explanation and the shouting that ensued must have been heard two towns over.
"So, you are telling me that you called my nine year old daughter a pile of rubbish? Answer me!.."
Mr Grizzly appeared to shrink to the size of a gnat as he tried and failed to dig himself out of the hole he had dug for himself.
The whole time this was happening The Frog was sat behind his desk, looking on, presumably unable to speak. Whether out of fear or bemusement at this huge man being verbally shredded by my mum who is only 5'7" and doesn't look remotely scary (most of the time)

The result? Mr Grizzly was ordered to apologise to my friend and I, in front of the same class who had witnessed him humiliate us.

I spent another 3 years at that school, and Mr Grizzly was nothing but nice to me the whole time.

After leaving that school it was another 6 years before I saw him again. I was 18 years years old and was going to watch my younger brother in a play at the same school. He was stood at the back of the auditorium as I walked in and started looking for an empty seat. I saw him before he saw me and smirked to myself. He must have mistaken the smirk for a smile and was halfway over to me before recognition dawned. He actually stopped short and turned right around and walked off in the other direction.

I made it my point to go over to him after the show and ask what he thought of my brothers performance. He looked so uncomfortable that it more than made up for having been called such an offensive name in my younger years. I couldn't help but remind him of the little episode too, and comment that on my mums behalf I "sincerely hoped he was being nice to my little brother".

The moral of this story? Firstly, it doesn't pay to be a bully. Secondly - what goes around comes around!


There you have it!

Serendipity will receive 1000 Blogshares in this Blog, as well as a link!

Thank you, and goodnight!