Who wants a job? Not me. I am quite happy being regressive and nonfunctional. I can't think of any job I can do anyway. Though I would undoubtedly be brilliant at anything I did. According to my expert on these matters, Mr D. Gleeson, the three categories of jobs are primary, secondary and tertiary. Primary is farmers, secondary is factory workers and tertiary is ... travel agents. That is all I remember from leaving cert Geography. I got a B1! Beat that. I spent most geography classes passing notes to my good friend Lynne.
Hey loser, you fancy Mr Donnegan.
No, you're the loser, you fancy Mr Donnegan. I see you looking at him in English. You're such a loser. hahahahahahahaha
Can't believe you said that. I do NOT! You do! Loser.
Yes you do.
No I don't. And you fancy Mr Doody, hahahahahahahaha
Yes it is true, I am having his baby. Because I love him so. hahahahahahahahahaha
That is so gross. I'm telling your lover, Mr Donnegan, that you are cheating on him with your religion teacher. hahahahahahahaha
It is only because I am so heartbroken over you getting off with him. Some friend you are. Stealing all my boyfriends.
Well can you blame them? I am incredibly gorgeous you know. And witty and clever and good at drawing but that's besides the point. What are you doing at 4?
Nothing. I was supposed to have a date with Mr Donnegan but he stood me up. FOR YOU.
Want to break into Marie's locker and write 'I love Mr Donnegan' all over it in permanent marker? Im supposed to have detention for not going to PE on Monday but fuck that.
Hell yeah. See you at 4. hahahahahahaha
I don't know how I pulled the B1 out of that. Evidence of my immense intelligence, I expect. LIKE YOU NEEDED IT. We also spent seven torrid months working on a graphic novel of an erotic nature. This was Jenny's brainchild, let me stress. If I had to start a graphic novel when I was seventeen it would probably be 'Sylvia Plath meets Sinead O'Connor and Camille Paglia and they talk about stuff', who were all my heroines at the time. Luckily for literature's sake we went with 'The Sexxxy adventures of Johnny and Mary' instead. I still don't know why.
Jenny's story followed the sexual exploits of a couple of swingers called Johnny and Mary and most of the class contributed to it in a copybook that was passed secretly round the classroom as Mr Gleeson burbled his way through lectures on glaciation. Oh, don't roll your eyes: I'm sure you'd rather write schoolgirl-penned erotic melodrama than listen to stuff about glaciers. I did the pictures, and attempted to head off the frequent puerile diatribes and toilet humour. Yes, friends, I was prudish even then.