Myself as Victim

Don’t worry, it’s nothing to worry about. It was really quite funny.  I’ve been in college for the past three weeks but now I’m about to start my second teaching practice.  In preparation for this momentous event, I’d gone from college to my new school to discuss the various ‘hoops’ that I need to jump through.  Previous to this, my male colleagues and I had been indulging in those jolly japes which only my males readers would understand.  Things like shaking up each others’ bottles of fizzy pop – you know, so that when the unsuspecting victim comes to open his drink he gets covered in a plume of sticky, fizzy liquid.  Mmm, nice.

Anyway, enough of this nonsense.  What about me as victim?  Well, the joke played on me was much more subtle than a bottle of exploding pop.  No, I was caught out by the removal of the cartridge from my fountain pen.  And the best bit about it was that I didn’t realise that it had been taken until there I was, merrily scribbling away in a meeting at my new school, when the ink dried up.  As I had been expecting to have to replace the cartridge soon anyway, I unscrewed the barrel in order to make the change.  When the nib came out on its own, I very carefully tapped the barrel on the palm of my hand, taking care not to get too much of Schaeffer’s finest on my hand.  Of course no such thing happened, and the dawning realisation on my part was delicious.

I enjoyed being the butt of the joke and even more so when upon my return to college the joker admitted that he hadn’t realised I was going for this meeting.  He thought that I’d be in the room with him when I realised that I’d run out of ink.  Well, you had to be there…

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