Some Things Never Change - Personal Narrative

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Some Things Never Change - Personal Narrative

“…the capital of Germany is…, hmm, Nigel”, “Nigel?, Nigel!”, “uh.. Yes

miss!”, “you are not listening again, I said what is the capital of

Germany”.

I am Nigel, I hated my geography teacher, her name was Mrs Wright, and

I guess her personality fit her name like a glove – she was always

right. I hated geography too. She always picked on me in class and I

hated it so much. But I guess, every time it was the same as before, I

was always wrong.

Before I was able to answer the question, another pupil in the class

had already beaten me to it. I looked back behind me, and there he

was, laying back, all smug in his chair. He looked back at me and said

“what you looking at” and added an unnecessary dirty look.

I quickly turned back around and another pupil beside me tapped me on

the shoulder and said “do not be afraid of him, he’s just joking

around”. I tried then to actually start to pay attention to the lesson

then remembered it was geography, so I just gazed around helplessly as

the teacher went on. It was quite a messy room, the walls covered in

large holes with cheap lumpy plaster in them - it was an absolute

state. The plaster was a different colour from the original colour of

the wall; you could spot them from a mile away. The day was dark and

depressing, and I guess the land was still recuperating from the heavy

storm the night before. This added to the look of the room made the

thought of learning seem almost impossible. As I was not listening to

the lesson I had plenty of time to think and I was thinking about the

guy behind me. No not those kinds of thoughts, but it was the way he

really managed to get on my nerves with only a few words. By now I

wanted to look back so bad, like a smoker craving for a cigarette.

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