Prior to starting this blog, I was very self-aware that I would leave it unattended, like a neglectful father (see - my metaphors come full circle). This may seem like the present state, but trust me: I'm constantly thinking about this thing. That's why there are three drafts sitting in the backseat of my blog, ready to go. I had written them over the past week or so, but never had the courage to click on the ever-so-daunting 'Publish' button, part of the reason being two of said drafts include quite personal and embarrassing recent experiences. I want to share them, but I don't know if that's the best idea for me or my (few) readers. But mostly, I think it's because I wasn't in the mood at the time (I hope this doesn't become something I hear constantly later in life). It was how I felt whilst writing it, but come the moment to actually share it, I wasn't feeling it anymore and just couldn't do it. And I don't know if I ever will. But what I do know is that I want to stop making excuses. I want to write what I publish, and publish what I write, because that's what I set out to do with this blog - for people to read my content.
So, in the swing of today's theme - 'Full Of Excuses' - I decided to tell an anecdote. Enjoy.
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I had a friend at boarding school that, for all intents and purposes of this story, was not exactly a hard-working student. Great guy - but not the most studious, by any stretch of the definition.
We were in a couple of classes together back in the day of GCSE's, one of them being French (yes - I studied French for three years, and to this day, if I'm ever in France, I'll only ever be able to ask where the swimming pool or the library is). Now, essays were pretty much the norm when it came to homework, and I'd always hash them out as soon as possible, being the boring goody-two-shoes that I was. My friend on the other hand, wouldn't give it a fleeting thought until the night before it was due.
But he was never worried - he always had an excuse ready in his back pocket. In fact, I think he took delight in the numerous ways he was able to get out of doing French essays in particular, because our teacher was notably stringent when it came to deadlines.
And so we were in the same computer room one evening before one such deadline: me double-checking my future perfect tense, and him, staring at a blank Word document with an equally blank expression.
"Would you like some help with your essay?" (Side note: yes, I was THAT kid at school.)
He then stared at me for a moment, before he eureka-ed his way to an epiphany.
"Nah, that's all right. I just came up with something really good."
I then proceeded to watch him not eloquently write an entire French essay from memory, but instead Google and download a random Chinese font.
"Why on earth are you..."
"Oh, you'll see. This might be my best yet..."
He then continued to mash the keyboard with his palm, making sure to hit the space bar at regular intervals, like some blind four-year-old learning to play the piano, until he had filled an entire page on his Word document with nonsensical Chinese characters.
"Does that make any sense to you, Lawrence?"
"Um. No, not at all"
"Didn't think so!"
Saved. Closed. Done. And he left the room.
Come the next day in French class, the teacher was asking for our homework in. I handed her my triple-checked essay before she reached my friend's desk, where she saw that, for once, he wasn't empty-handed. He presented her with a thumbdrive, before explaining that he was unable to print out his essay because the ink from the printer in the computer room ran out. However, he was smart enough to save it on the USB so he could print it in class on her computer. How the teacher didn't wonder why I was able to produce a perfectly printed essay even though we were in the same boarding House, I'll never know. But I guess I'm nitpicking here, as I'm sure she was just surprised that he was promising some sort of completed work right then and there.
At this point, I guess it's worth noting that my then French teacher was not the most technically-minded person. But she knew how to work a USB into the computer and opened up the sole file in it. My friend gave me cheeky glance, as a precurse to the following scene that he had staged.
"��� ��������
�� ��� ��� ������ ��� ���� ����� ��� �� ����� ��� ������ �� ������ ������ ��� ���� ������ ��� �� �� �� ������ �� � ���� �� �� � ��� ���� � ����������� �� �� �� ����� ��� ����� � ����� �� ���� ��� ����� ����"
"Um. Okay. Could you come take a look at this? I don't know what's gone wrong."
My friend promptly walked up to her computer at the front of the room, just as curious as to what the problem was.
"Okay, so I opened up the document titled 'Mes Vacances', but all that comes up are these odd squares."
What followed was the most impressive piece of acting I have ever witnessed:
"Um... Wow. I really don't know what went wrong there. I swear I saved my essay just as it was. This is really strange. Don't know why it's gone and done that. I'm really sorry - I really did try to get this in on time today. I was working on it just last night. I didn't think there was anything wrong with it, and it definitely looks like it's all there... But it's all messed up..."
His improv was on point - sincerely apologetic, with a slight tone of worry and concern for the safety of his non-existent efforts. And it worked like a charm.
"Oh, not to worry. It's not your fault. I'm sure you worked very hard to get this in on time. It's all right - you can just print it when your House's printer is working again. You can hand it in then."
My mind = blown.
My friend proudly waltzed back to his desk next to me, with a confident look on his face like he just pulled off the heist from Ocean's Eleven. The fact that he had the foresight that our teacher wouldn't figure out to just change the font of all his gibberish to decipher it on her computer, that he had an eye for the minute detail of titling his document correctly in French, and his flawless (and possibly rehearsed) performance to draw sympathy from an otherwise strict teacher that didn't have him in her good books, was ingenious.
And so, three days later, my friend asked if he could use my essay as a guideline for his. He wasn't worried that the teacher would find the two pieces similar - after all, she would've read so many between his and mine, she'd never be able to tell. Or so that's what he told me. I was convinced. Heck, I was so impressed by his con, I wouldn't have mind just writing a new one for him.
Sadly, he didn't get a great grade on that piece of homework. Somehow in the midst of his interpretation of mine, something had gone awry. But at least he handed something in that was in the relevant foreign language.
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So I guess the moral of the story is, if you're going to make up an excuse, put the same amount of thought into it as it would've taken to actually do the work in the first place. Or maybe just do the work. That applies to both parts of this post. Writing this 'excuse' probably took just as much effort as any of my other unpublished posts. Maybe I should've just clicked the 'Publish' button on them after all.
Oddly enough, with that acting talent, I wonder sometimes why my friend didn't get perfect grades in Drama. But then again, it's probably because he never handed in any homework on time.
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