Au contraire of most great famous people I’ve heard about, I wasn’t bad in school. I mean, I wasn’t good as well, but I wasn’t definitely bad. I was, in certain cases, insignificant. I mean, I was an average student who didn’t talk at all. Which by the way, helped me a lot to go through school. Well, if they didn’t notice how bad I was and how I actually didn’t do as much homework as I should, maybe I wouldn’t have left school ever. I’m just kidding. I was always very great at the ass-kissing technique towards the teachers, at a certain point that if the teacher didn’t fall into my most creative explanations or excuses, I’d get mad at them. I mean, everybody else believed it, why can’t you? Do you think I’m lying? Is that it? Why don’t you believe that the dog ate my homeworks? All the other teachers seemed to have bought it just fine!
But the main point is that I was very quiet. Really. What I didn’t talk in class, I started talking after, or with my friends, which I didn’t have many of course. How can you make friends if you don’t talk at all at first? But with this non-talking situation, I had the chance to imagine things. So probably you can picture my face looking at the blackboard if that was the case, but really, my mind was anywhere else but the blackboard. In fact, I used to pass most of my time in school writing or drawing. It was a very creative moment for me. If you ask me, was anything good? I tell you now that it wasn’t, but that still doesn’t take the merit of the amount of creativity I had. I mean, I was 15. Really? Do you expect me at age 15 to have something good to say? I mean, do you expect anyone at age 15 to have something worthwhile reading? Maybe at the time it was good. My friends all seemed to like it when I showed it to them, but really today? It sucks. It completely and entirely sucks.
Nevertheless I was there, imagining, writing. And in a class of 40 students or more, there’s always someone talking, gossiping about something or just sharing some idiotic news. Not me, because I didn’t talk at all. And I remember looking at the teacher, without saying a word of course, and waiting for them to do something, to make them shut up. Sometimes I’d look at the talkers, that were usually sitting behind me since I was always upfront, I would look at them with that eye: really? Would you please shut up and allow me pay attention? Pay attention to what I was doing. Not the class, of course. They were disturbing my imaginative moment, those suckers.
