Chilling in the street with my mates I felt so good. It was Friday, we’d had a day off school and we were all looking forward to the weekend, especially since we had a day off again on Monday. At the moment we were all waiting for the bus, so that we could go down to the local park, have a kick-around with the football, and meet up with some girls; maybe try and get off with them if we were lucky. We saw the bus coming down the road, going stupidly slow as usual. It finally reached us, and we started getting on. We took seats at the back as usual, and we were waiting for the bus to head off when we heard a voice from down the front.
‘Oi you lot, you ain’t paid or shown us yer card’ the bus-driver said. We all looked at Toby; he had forgotten his oyster card. Usually the driver didn’t care, but sometimes you got dick-heads like this guy. Me, Toby and the guys walked back to the front of the bus, ignoring the looks we were getting from some of the other passengers. ‘If you ain’t gotta card you can’t come on’ he said. ‘Yeah well I left it at home didn’t I? Not my bloody fault’ Toby replied angrily. Me and my friends looked at each other: Toby was getting in one of his moods again. He argued with the driver for a few minutes before turning away angrily, then looking at us. ‘You guys coming or are you just gonna ditch me here?’ he asked us. Of course, we couldn’t just leave him behind, so we got off. As the bus pulled away leaving us there, we gave the driver and the others on the bus the finger, spitting at the windows on the bus.
The mood had been killed, looked like we were gonna have to walk there now. Toby spat onto the ground again, swearing about the ‘bloody system’ and ‘dick- ’ead bus-wankers’. Then he looked up, and a grin settled on his face. Coming up the road was another kid, but not from our school. It was one of those grammar-school posh boys, looking all smug and smart in his neat blazer, shirt tucked in and tie just the right length; also carrying what looked like a guitar.
Down our school we hated these grammar-school pricks, always acting like they were so much better than us, with their faggoty uniforms and stupid hairstyles. Toby called out to him ‘Oi four-eyes’ – the kid was wearing glasses – ‘What’s that, a faggot guitar case for a faggot tie-wanker?’. The kid looked up briefly then forced himself to look ahead, acting like he couldn’t hear us. ‘Why you wearing a tie you wanker? Think you’re some kind of big-shot business man?’ Again, the kid still ignored Toby. Then the rest of us joined in, calling out insults: ‘tie-fag’, ‘guitar wanker’, ‘posh ****’.
Eventually the prick was out of sight, obviously gone to go cry to his mummy. I hated ****s like him, acting like they were so much better than us then being too much of a pussy to even fight.
At least Toby was in a better mood now.
It was finally Friday, and I was looking forward to a three-day weekend, free from teachers harrassing me about homework and exams. I couldn’t wait to get home so I could start practicing my guitar again; at school I’d learnt some cool new reggae riffs to try out. For once I felt like I had no worries, it was just me, a sunny day, and the birds were singing.
Then I saw them. Up ahead, 5 kids my age, all dressed in track-suit bottoms and t-shirts. I’d seen their kind before, chavs from the local comprehensive school. It was too soon for them to have changed out of uniform, so I guessed they must’ve bunked off school. Sometimes I got harrassed by them – not those ones specifically, but others like them. Sometimes they just ignored me if I was lucky, but most of the time I got a few insults chucked my way. Of course, it was never anything major, they’d never attacked me or anything, and insults didn’t really affect me that much. I’d learnt to ignore them, rather than give them the satisfaction of a response.
As I drew closer, I hoped they would just ignore me. Sadly, they didn’t. I heard the first insult, one of the most common ones: ‘four-eyes’. And then the rest joined in. ‘Dick-head’ ‘faggot’ ‘tie-wanker’, I’d heard it all before in one way or another. You’d think they would come up with something more original. In my mind, I imagined all the things I would do: Walk over there, knock one them out in one punch and beat up all the rest. Of course, I never would. It wasn’t that I doubted my own physical abilities, in fact I was certain that if it came down to it I could win a fight, even against all of them at once. But I always tried to avoid conflict, I would only ever fight if they started it.
I also considered pointing out that in the real world, people who wore ties were normally the ones who made the money, but I doubted they would be able to see my logic.
I was eventually out of sight and I breathed a sigh of relief. But then what I heard next made me more angry. The second I had left, they’d transferred their abuse onto another poor passer-by, an old man who was out walking their dog. That’s what really made me angry, how they didn’t even care about the people they were insulting, they were just pricks trying to act hard.
The youth of today disgusted me, and I felt worse to know that to the eyes of some people, I was just as bad as them.
As the title implies, this is based on what happened to me yesterday, with me being 'The Boy'. I felt adding in the viewpoint of 'The Lads' would make the story more interesting, and more of a challenge to write.