So, it's the first week of sixth form (for me and my new unavoidable bus buddy Ginger Ninja sister number one) and what's a greater way of starting the year than having my bus fail to visit our bus stop; followed by seven other scared, confused, first day, first years all look with wide desperate eyes at the only third year student around and expect me to magic one up.
Instead we magicked up two lovely mothers in a Cleo and a Mini Cooper. With that palaver over we're all, surprise surprise, late and instead of being able to run in and beg forgiveness from the foundation teachers, I've found myself walking with seven mini disciples asking me what to do, where the hell are they and oh God how, just how did a learning establishment get a Starbucks in a matter of weeks, just across green and a building away from the onsite Costa!?
Not that I'm complaining, but all we need is Pret A Manger Maggie and this
will become all-out war.
So when my bus disciples finally make like a fellowship and split I'm left to grovel down into an art department, that unusually seem pretty laid back when I come in fifteen minutes late (more on the leniency of Foundation Art later). And so I'm introduced to our first art project: Painting people and making them dress stupid.
Alright not technically stupid. But subjectively I find that anyone whose going to dress someone up like this after painting them are really, really making them look stupid:
This is how desperate bohemians get their rent paid.
Boo Ritson is pretty darn ruthless when it comes to people's dignity. If you're lucky she'll cake you enough that you're unrecognizable but then after a period of paint slapping and camera snapping she says "right, done. There's a towel over there!"
"...Img Cmant mofvhg."
"Yes yes! Just over there! Go clean up!"
"I sthehd I Cmant mofvhg!"
You get the idea. Our task for that week was to do the same thing to some other unfortunates in our group.
This. This was my exactly how I reacted. Meteorologists are still trying to get hold of me.
So a day of evil scheming later we decide a plan of evil action and choose our willing victim within our little group. We have to choose a stereotype to portray him as and as we're bored of Chavs, Cheerleaders and Goths...
Unless it's this Goth - Richmond is god damn awesome.
....we instead go straight to American Prisoners.
Finally as a few days pass (yes days. These things take days to do - it helps that we can casually waltz in and out of lessons to do all things practical - like buying coffee which takes longer than usual with the new difficult decisions of whether it'll be Starbucks or Costa), we get photos of him with paint and jumpsuits looking like the above Boo Ritson victims (plus some god damn terrible tattoos done by yours truly). Then we get the news: We need to do some outside.
As in, outside as in out of the art building as in where other people are.
Roll on some more diabolical laughter in my head and we're pulling him outside to go to the smokers area. Why the on-campus smokers' area? Well, when they call it 'The Cage' you know it's been designed specifically to put you off smoking. It's also makes the perfect looking prison yard.
Some snaps and confused first (and second) year looks later and who comes waltzing through but another fellow model with her group in police uniform and caked on (literally - layers and layers of paint) face. To my amusement, before she was in proper view I heard one or two underage "crap!" and "shit!" from behind that quickly change to "what the fuuu...?" To make it seem fair, imagine this approaching you and asking if there's something on their face:
"'Nice paint?' What paint? What the hell are you talking about!?
Seriously that isn't funny - I have self-confidence issues!"
So they do their snaps (some with our model - perfect match) and then we're all there, two groups standing around a painted cop and convict complete with handcuffs and running trainers.
"I have a great idea," says our convict.
We all agree.
A couple of minutes later I'm giving a thumbs up that travels and suddenly bursting through the ref at lunchtime and jumping over seats is an orange jump suited, handcuffed, escapee with a police woman in hot pursuit. I follow, hearing confused silence from behind and pass through corridor filled with "Agh! Drama students!" "What the hell just happened!?" that continues all the way to the bowling green and around back to an art room in the path of parkour and ah-what-the-hell-lets-do-it-ness.
Life settles down once more. Models are left with the excruciating task of waxing their face to get paint off and I find myself left with the agonizing decision of whether to buy overpriced sandwiches at Costa or Starbucks.
It's only when I'm on the bus once more, sitting as far away from a ginger sister as she can from me as I overhear first year conversations a couple of rows behind me (just as I heard a little in the library):
"Did you see that crazy prisoner being chased?"
"The one with the freaky skin?"
"That's the one..."
They talk about other things, I go back to my crazy iPod music tastes and then finally at the end:
"Oh yeah I'm [so and so]."
"I'm [insert name of your choice here]."
It's good to know that when you throw away (or help to throw someone else's) dignity out the window, as I do every day, you're hopefully making a talking point for others to begin on for the better. When you get the chance, do throw you're dignity away with style, not just for others to group about with, but for yourself too. The more you chuck it out and bring it back in, brush it down and realize you actually threw away nothing at all, the more you feel free and the more fun life is.
Awkward Penguin just turned awesome
Seriously, you lose you're dignity way less than you may think.
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