This post is for paying subscribers
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” is the opening line of the Charles Dickens’ classic story of the French Revolution, but he could have been referring to junior high school, just without the decapitations.
I was never an athlete growing up. That guy who always got picked last when teams were selected? He was me. I sucked at every sport imaginable. I was pushed around and tormented a lot by my more physically adept peers, but I never actually got beat up.
Grades seven and eight were … unpleasant, and then I caught a break because I moved to a new school for grade nine and was able to get a fresh start. What’s more, my best friend who lived just down the street from me went to this school. He was one of those glandular freaks who was bigger and stronger than everyone else, so he was a good guy to be friends with. I think he was willing to take pity on me and be my friend because I had a motorized go cart.
Things got off to a pretty good start at the new school because I was friends with this guy, but it didn’t take too many gym classes for some guys to start realizing that they could increase their own social status by belittling mine. It’s been a common theme throughout history for jocks to pick on nerds. I bet that Socrates got bullied because he sucked at kicking a goat’s head through two marble columns or some shit.
There was one guy in particular who made it his mission in life to make my existence intolerable. In the interest of preserving his anonymity, I should probably give my primary tormentor a nom de guerre. I’ll call him Pukeface.
Pukeface never missed an opportunity to put me down in front of other people. At one point I got pissed enough that I shoved him, after which he promptly challenged me to a fight.
Fuck.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Sweary History with James Fell to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.