It’s all there – the wristband, the retarded expression, the L-shaped ‘loser’ gesture planted to his forehead, and the exclamation: ‘DUDE, where’s your railcard?’. This is the UK National Rail company’s perceived image of all 16-25 year olds?

FAIL.

One of the skills involved in studying for an exam is deciding what is important (and concentrating on those points) and what can be discarded (as it is unlikely to come up in the exam). Generally, the more experienced you are, the easier it is to reduce an entire course to a set of likely questions and their assumed knowledge, and get it right. Previous exams, main points, and the parts of the course the instructor concentrates on in the revision period can all be used to mould a draft of the upcoming examination.

I had one such exam on Partial Differential Equations at the end of the last semester. On the morning of the exam, I was skimming through my notes when I came across a concept I was deliberating on whether to study or not – d’Alembert’s solution to the one dimensional wave equation. It was present in my revision notes, but it was a very cumbersome proof that I couldn’t really be bothered to go through. So I cast it aside.

And guess what? About an hour later, I was staring at a question asking me to provide a solution to a one dimensional wave equation using d’Alembert’s solution. Out of 4 questions, it was an entire question on its own. I scribbled something pathetic in the top-left corner of the answer sheet and turned the page in the hope that I would be inspired to some level of genius when I had finished the other questions. I was not. In the end, I left the question blank. I had rolled the dice on D’Alembert and lost.

The moral of this story is there is no way to be certain of what’s coming up in an examination – study it all lest you fall prey to the D’Alembert Gamble.

Unfortunately, I still had an awful flight. This was not Qatar Airways’ fault, though. I find any flight longer than 3 hours a drain on my lifespan because airlines have failed to implement a technology that has been around for the past century – a power socket. Add a bit of Wi-Fi to the mix, and I swear I will never complain about flying again. What usually happens  is that you find yourself squashed between two plump people concealing both your armrests from view with their mammoth hands. Your arms are squeezed against your sides, forcing you to look like a mummy in its casket, and like a mummy, there you will remain transfixed for the entirety of the flight. At least it’s not for eternity (that would be a good idea for a horror film, though, wouldn’t it? Credit here if it ever gets made, or a comment below if it has already been made).

This brings me to my next point: I propose that airlines adopt a new class that falls below economy – cargo class. For a pittance, they should offer you a 2 m x 1 m area of floor space in the aircraft’s cargo hold, and a pillow. It wouldn’t be any less humane than the way we get packed like sardines in economy class, and it would cost far less. To keep the passengers amused, they could be allowed to rifle through everyone’s luggage like the American airport authorities take pleasure in doing.

For future cargo class passengers, I recommend you bring a few layers – it might get a bit chilly down there.

You’ll be relieved to know that this is not the recipe for the ooze they stir in the cauldrons of Choueifat cafeterias that end up as pizzas, French fries, and, of course, the notorious macaroni; it is merely the words of a witch from Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

Ingredients that do find their way into the cafeteria food are no less exotic, however, and consist of things such as: live flies, dead mosquitoes, ants, wasp abdomens and human hairs.

Don’t be fooled into thinking that it is limited to these items alone – the odd staple has been known to appear in sandwiches on occasion. The first thing that popped into my head was a bloated executive pointing and shouting, ‘Sue ‘em!’ but then I remembered, I’m not in America.

You’ll certainly be forgiven for not noticing these unwelcome additions to your pizza, though, as they’re hidden behind a layered cake of rotten, pasty tomato sauce, a rubbery glob of cheese and finally a thick coating of oil that escapes the pizza drop by drop when held up. Only the veterans of Choueifat will be able to notice the camouflaged bug amongst their delicious meals. Newcomers will only notice it by the crunching sound of teeth against fly.

Those who come to our school are welcome to a tour of the kitchen, but I must warn you in advance that some form of air filtering device is required (preferably a gas mask) as the current student record for the greatest number of seconds stayed in the kitchen area is only equal to the longest breath held: about 74.36 seconds as of November 2006 – not quite enough to partake in the full experience.

The sweat-ridden cook is always an amusing sight to see as he steps out of the kitchen with a look of pure aggravation on his face (which is understandable considering the previous paragraph) to deliver the hourly batch of soggy French fries. He wipes a greasy hand across his already greasy forehead, samples a few, and walks sombrely back into the kitchen to fulfil the wishes of the starving masses outside.

And so the cycle continues until the day where a hero among us will rise up and take a stand. When that day comes we may all be freed from the prison slop being tossed on to our plates!

Here’s to edible food in Choueifat cafeterias everywhere!

* Note: some liberties have been taken during the writing of this text. While most of it is absolutely true, some parts are slight exaggerations for the sake of making a point. I personally find most of the food in our school unacceptable, but I am further pained by the fact that I am too lazy to bring in my own food. Oh, and for all those wondering, we did actually find a wasp abdomen in the spinach, cleverly disguised among the pine seeds. We extracted the two and placed them side by side for your careful observation and opinion.

Upon arriving, I found out that Statistics had been cancelled. The official excuse our teacher gave was that there were representatives from AUB (American University of Beirut) arriving at lunch (when our lesson takes place). The unofficial excuse is that he couldn’t be arsed to teach us.

As always, we got so bored our minds wandered past the line of sanity once again and entered the realm of the bizarre: why not buy a TV and stick it in one of the locker compartments? Within seconds, we had formed the blueprints for the drilling work that needed to be done, the wiring, everything… (as of this moment, all we’re waiting for is the 300 or so dirhams that need to be coughed up to purchase said TV).

Suddenly, there came a thwack at the door followed by a few giggles and the scurrying of many little feet. The little brats were at it. A few seconds later, the sound came again. I opened the door, grabbed the nearest kid, and pulled him in by the scruff of his neck. I then prepared to subject him to the numerous methods of torture that were second nature to me – dousing with cold water, hanging from the ceiling by legs, constant face slapping on attempt to speak, and my personal favourite as told by General Melchitt (of Blackadder fame): ‘Personally, I’d recommend you get a hold of a cocker spaniel, tie your suspect down on a chair with a potty on his head, then pop his todger between two floury buns and shout “Dinner time, Fido!”.’ I was unsure what the Geneva Convention would say, though, so I refrained from performing that last one.

Meanwhile, one of his friends stood outside acting tough. The other Grade 13’s invited him to join us. He shrugged and replied, ‘Sure.’ And into the class waltzed a pudgy character who bore a remarkable resemblance to the Michelin man. He messed around with a few of our books, pretending he could understand them, made a couple of wisecracks, and on his way out, threw one of our calculators on to the table. I went to close the door behind him when he tried to slam it shut. I held on to it. Realising the lack of muscle in his overly-fat arms, he proceeded to use both arms to slam the door. I held onto it again, but this time, opened it slightly, gave him a good kick to the stomach/chest area through the crack in the door, watched him reel back into the wall behind him, shut the door, and had a good laugh with the rest of my classmates.

It didn’t last very long. Soon enough someone exclaimed, ‘Man! He’s crying!’

‘Ignore him,’ I said casually.

‘But he looks like he’s really hurt.’

‘Of course he does. He’s a bloody faker! Don’t go outside otherwise you’ll give him the attention he wants,’ I explained.

Then a supervisor appeared.

I heard some blubbering and whimpering followed by ‘What? Who did it? Where is he?’

I walked outside to find a fat finger pointed in my direction.

‘Come here!’ the supervisor said sternly. I accepted my fate. There was no fighting it. It is useless to resist.

He looked down at the short figure curled up into a ball on the floor, sighed and said, ‘Now, I have to report this. Why did you hit him?’

‘Because he’s an annoying little @*?#’ I wanted to say.

‘Because he disrespected me, sir,’ the words came out.

‘Come on! He’s only a small child!’

‘His age is irrelevant.’

Since when did little shites becomes so disrespectful to their elders? When I was small, I actually admired and looked up to those in the grades above me.

He sighed and asked me to come with him to the head supervisor’s office. There the head supervisor was quick to lash out and dish an immediate suspension to me while the kid was given a mere slap on the wrist. I didn’t argue with it. There would be no point. The fact of the matter is that if the kid’s father had complained, the school would have had to face the brunt of it. Punishing me hard enough in front of the kid so that he wouldn’t complain to his daddy was the only solution. I sat down and took the lectures, the shouting, the over-exaggerated threats of police involvement (much like the ones in my thread Arrested In St Hilarion!). Meanwhile, the kid sniffed and sobbed, cradling his right arm in his left. I felt a burning urge to twist his arm, and tell him to stop bullshitting, but decided it would only add to my sentence.

I was sent to the exam hall for the rest of day, where I had a laugh about the whole thing with the examiners there. I even volunteered to help them with the papers since I had nothing better to do.

End result: I came all the way to school ($38 by cab) on a whim and missed the only lesson of the day – Maths – because I was suspended.

The next day the kid came to school with a cast over his arm.

Oops.

- 7 GCE O levels (Maths – A, French – A*, English – A, Economics – A,
Chemistry – A, Physics – A*, Biology – A)
- 1 GCE AS Level (Maths – A)
- 1 GCE A Level (Maths – A)
- 3 AP’s (Calculus AB – 5, Chemistry – 5, Economics – 5)
- SAT I (Maths – 730, Writing – 760, Critical Reading – 690)

Which is good enough to enter both American and British universities, but I was late to apply, and made a last minute entry into ‘clearing’ (a British system which gives you a list of universities and courses that still have vacancies). I wasn’t very impressed with the available universities so I left it at that.

For the past 11 years, I have been attending the International School of Choueifat (a school of Lebanese origin combining both the British and American systems) in Sharjah. I had registered for Grade 13 months in advance and in the middle of the summer I was informed that they would not open a Grade 13 for me as I ‘was the only student’ and convinced me it would be psychologically damaging to be the only one in class. I later found out they were lying – at least 6 others had plans to attend Grade 13 and were forced to find another option.

‘Goto Dubai Choueifat,’ the adminstration said simply.

I live on the edge of a city called Ajman. Dubai Choueifat is in the middle of the bloody desert – a 2 hour drive through the traffic of the morning. No, it was not an option.

Having had so much fun over the summer in Cyprus, Istanbul, Denmark, Germany, and Sweden, I decided I would take a year off (gap year) to ‘do some work’.

When school started I felt rather happy bumming about at home while others suffered under the load and pressure of high school and university.

After a mere two weeks, however, I could take it no longer – I was slowly growing insane due to boredom. I also found out I needed to do an AS or A Level in Further Mathematics.

I transferred my papers from Sharjah Choueifat to Dubai Choueifat and started my first day at school at the beginning of last week (17th September).

During the first few days, I dropped every subject except Mathematics and Statistics. My daily schedule now consists of a lesson of Maths in the morning followed by three hours of mind-numbing idleness. Then comes a lesson of Grade 12 Statistics, and another few hours of nothingness where friends and I contemplate the meaning of life. Finally, the last lesson is usually Statistics again. I take a taxi back to my house and pay him 140 dhs for the day (~$38).

From Grade 10 classes are split into ‘L’ (literature/arts) and ‘S’ (science). I’m in class 13S which is literally a hole they chiselled into a corner of the administration building. I’m considering prosecuting the school as our class of 5 exceeds the legal maximum ratio of number of people/area. In addition to all of this, the only light in our class happens to be broken, and it flickers on and off every few seconds giving the impression of a seedy bar in the bad part of town.

Grade 13 is a weird, transitional stage between high school and university. Usually, when you progress up the ranks from, let’s say, Grade 10 to 11 to 12, you feel more and more superior to the growing number of ‘little runts’ below you. In Grade 13, however, it feels as though you’ve been demoted right to the bottom again. You are part of a class of 2-6. Little kids jump up to your class window to stare in wonder and quickly tell their friends. Much like they would do with animals in a zoo – and it’s partly justifiable – we are a dying breed on the brink of extinction. Students pass you by without a hint of acknowledgement, the teachers don’t give a rat’s arse about your marks, and the administration couldn’t care less whether you’re at school or not.

We’re ‘just the Grade 13’s’ after all.

Movie clips:

• Insanity
• Light Flickering
• Idleness
• Pirates of the Caribbean Solo

A mere few weeks later came news of the development of the ‘mods’. An abbreviation for modification, a mod is simply that – a modification of the game that uses the same engine while incorporating new maps and weapons and perhaps different styles of gameplay.

Unfortunately, things got out of hand as little kiddies who had no idea how to make a mod tried to…well…make a mod. This resulted in hundreds, no thousands, of mods apparently being created.

The kiddies got excited once they got their mod’s website up and, in their ecstatic state, attempted to impress the public through petty little drawings (sometimes referred to as concept art). Even models are made and public interest grows.

Time goes by and more concept art and more models are displayed. Combined with a flashy looking website, the public remains confident that the mod’s release is just around the corner.

The useless ‘nub’ of a leader, however, has not yet realised that a freelance modeller and some prick who can make pretty drawings is not the makings of a proper team.

Then the ‘Age of Deathly Silence’ dawns upon the mod. No news is heard from it or its team for quite a while. And the reason is because the modellers are bloody fed up, the drawing prick has nothing else to draw, and the supposed leader is crying in the corner of his room trying to come to terms with his piss-poor attempt at a mod.

http://www.moddb.com is a good site for browsing the many potential mods that are of the nature described above. Let me just pick a few from Half-Life 2 that look like good candidates:

KiddyWars – last updated 20 months ago. The description of this pathetic project is ‘It is about kids running around with spades and hitting eachother, throwing buckets, uses slingshots, BIG waterguns, etc.’ – haven’t heard of a more bollocks idea.

Urban Cowboys – last updated 21 months ago. Description: ‘An hi-speed racing/gritty first person shooter combination. Innovative, fun, unique. Read the info and you will not be turned down.’ – neither innovative nor unique and i’m already turned down after reading that shite.

National Crisis – last updated 19 months ago. Description: ‘National Crisis is a first-person shooter modification for Valve’s Half Life 2 in which players take part in a full-scale modern world war in which all Europe has collaborated against American forces in a quest for the last remaining oil fields. The player can choose to side with either team as the European army go to war with America with their finest soldiers and weaponry from all nations.’ – what a wonderfully creative and imaginative story. I wonder how the gameplay would have been like. In the immortal words of Pablo Francisco this is the ’same shit we’ve seen over and over again’.