Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [36]
My dad, on the other hand, did notice. ‘Where’s the rest of your report?’ He was livid and lectured me for hours on the importance of school, not to mention the astronomical school fees he was paying to keep me there. Something he said to me registered and I became determined to succeed at school. I became a ‘swot’ overnight. I found out what per cent meant and then gave it one hundred.
I remember the teachers thinking I was stupid, in particular Mrs Orton, the French teacher. She had good reason after my 4 per cent in the exam. Mrs Orton was one of those teachers who was never totally in control of the class. It didn’t help that her English was limited and when she wanted us to ‘be quiet’, she would shout ‘Shoot’ and then smack the blackboard with the blackboard rubber. I presume she was trying to say ‘Shut up’, but for some reason it came out of her mouth as ‘Shoot!’ Every time she said ‘Shoot!’, the class would giggle, which would only make her repeat ‘Shoot!’, and again smash the blackboard. For most of the forty-five-minute lesson, she would be shouting, ‘Shoot!’ and banging the blackboard with its rubber.
Before and after lessons, my friends and I would impersonate Mrs Orton to each other with much hysteria. It was during one of these muckabouts that one of us noticed there was a gap behind the blackboard. The blackboard was positioned against the corner leaving a little space behind it. After a little encouragement, we convinced the smallest kid in the class, Watson, to try and squeeze in. We must have lost track of time because just as he jammed himself between the wall and the blackboard, Mrs Orton entered to begin her French lesson.
Watson ducked down and the rest of us scrambled to our seats. Mrs Orton addressed the class, oblivious to the hiding Watson. We tried to contain ourselves but the situation was too much to bear. Pockets of sniggering broke out. Then Mrs Orton, true to form, smacked her rubber on the blackboard and shouted ‘Shoot!’ This was probably the first time in my life I properly got the giggles. The whole class fell into total hysterics as she continued to shout ‘Shoot!’ louder and louder and hit the board harder and harder with Watson wedged behind it. As far as I remember he was in there for the whole lesson.
Even though Mrs Orton never knew why we were laughing, she was always looking at me and singling me out as the culprit of whatever shenanigans were occurring. She saw me as a waster, a loser and an idiot. My 4 per cent just proved her suspicions. But now I was on a mission. I concentrated, I learned. I studied in the school library at break-time, I read my textbooks in the car on the school run, I got my mum and my sister to test me constantly, I played Survivor’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’ as I did my homework.
When the exams came I had never been more prepared for anything in my short life. Still to this day, I remember most of my results. Maths 78 per cent, Geography 87 per cent, History 82 per cent, Science 83 per cent, French 92 per cent. I came top of the class in every subject. My mum was thrilled (but she was thrilled when I only studied PE and RE), my dad was proud, but the person I was most looking forward to seeing was Mrs Orton. From 4 per cent to 92 per cent, quite an improvement. I sat waiting in the classroom for the French lesson to begin, enjoying my newfound status. I was top of the class. I was a champion.
The teacher walked in, but it wasn’t Mrs Orton. We were told that she had left the school and this new guy, Mr Sissons, was taking over. It transpired that Mr Sissons marked the exams. Mrs Orton was gone, and she was unaware of my dramatic turn-around. I was truly gutted. Where had she gone? Nobody knew. There was a rumour somebody had finally shot her. About ten