meeting Jack

Recently I was at the gym, stretching on a mat, when the dude next me said,  hey, is it Mr Reck? Remember, me? I’m Jack. 

I used to be in your class. About 2006? I was hard work. Always pissing about. Surely you remember me?

Sorry Jack, I don’t. A lot of kids pissed about in my class.

Yeh, but I really pissed about.

No Jack, if you’d really pissed about, I’d remember you. You probably just thought you pissed about.

God, you teachers. You always looked so tired. You always worked so hard. You always seemed so under pressure. So knackered. I don’t know how you did it. How did you put up with it? I mean, the behaviour for a start? How did you put up with that?

I felt tempted to quote Upton Sinclair, but I let it go.

Hey Jack, I said. Good to meet you again. Call me Chris. You’re looking well, Jack. (He did look well. My seven-year-old met him later and said: Wow! Jack has an amazing six-pack. Cue my turn for belligerent eye-rolling.)

I think I do remember you now, Jack. What are you up to these days?

Jack told me he had his own media company. That he made good money.


Then he said, I learned nothing at school. I run a media company now but there’s nothing I learned at school that helped me prepare for that. Mind you, I hate the media. I hate social media. I hate all that. And you know what? I don’t sleep well. I smoke too much weed. Can’t stop. I know it’s bad for me, but I can’t stop, and I hate that. That’s what I struggle with. Perhaps school should have helped me with that? It’s like my quest now, Chris. Kicking the weed.

Well Jack. It’s funny you should say that…

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