My Act of Petty Vandalism

The incident is so far back in time, it's like looking down the wrong end of a telescope, for while the image is distant, it is vividly clear. This is probably because how I occupied myself that afternoon was well outside the usual happenings on a school day. I'm not proud of what I did, but we can't erase the past and, with all that is wrong in the world, my act of petty vandalism was a minor transgression, totally in keeping with the behaviour of a mixed-up adolescent.

I was fourteen, and while I don't recall the particular lesson I was due to attend, I do remember my reason for skipping it, namely that I hadn't completed some homework that was overdue for submission. I'd had previous experience of the repercussions that followed the non-presentation of an assignment, and they weren't pleasant.

On one occasion, a history teacher rewarded my sloth by drawing an X on the blackboard and positioning me in such a way the tip of my nose was touching the X. He gave no indication as to how long he would require me to hold that demeaning posture, so I assumed he wanted me there for the entire lesson. I stood it for a minute or two and then walked out. I didn't much relish a second helping of that.

But surely, the observer may have declared, the best way to avoid punishment would be simply to do the homework. This is true, but at that young age I was a great procrastinator, and my time management skills ran on a pleasure-now-work-later basis.

Scooby Doo

The problem was that after school, I was free of the gaze of the teacher and impervious to my parents' pleas that I get my homework done. Rather than retiring to the solitude of my bedroom to find out how old Harold got on at the Battle of Hastings, I loitered in the living room to see if my inkling that the caretaker was responsible for the spooky goings-on in Scooby Doo was on the money.

I didn't much fancy the wrath of the teacher that afternoon, so I cut class, as they say, opting to spend the time in the boys' toilet at the end of a corridor on the first floor. In hindsight, I would say that the punishment I'd have received from the teacher would have been preferable to the self-inflicted stretch of solitary confinement I was to endure.

Truancy, whether for a single lesson or a whole day, is a team sport. It is far better to while away time in the company of others than in an environment of solitude, and the boredom that comes with it.

My surroundings were cold, bare, and silent. There was nowhere to sit down, apart from the obvious, and the scent of urinal cake hung on the still air. I lit a cigarette, but after I'd smoked that, and flushed the dog end down the toilet, my hands were idle. And we all know who finds work for those.

I had a brand-new black felt-tipped pen in my pocket, and on a whim, I wrote the word NEWCASTLE, my football team, in two-inch high letters on the wall above a wash basin. Then, I wrote the word again, right next to it, so it read NEWCASTLENEWCASTLE. I carried on to the end of the wall, and then along the next one below the windows, and onto the wall where the urinal stood.

By then, I had begun to wonder if I would be able to complete a circuit of the room before either the bell went to signal the end of my skipped lesson, the pen ran dry, or a teacher came in and caught me black-handed, as you might say. So, on I went, scribbling over the cistern pipe, and then on to the two cubicles.

An unbroken loop

I went along the front of each door, and then back along the reverse sides. As I approached my starting point, I carefully spaced the letters to make an unbroken loop. The end product was wonky and wavy, and my main takeaway from the project had been that it was impossible to tell where I had started and ended.

The bell rang to signal the end of my skipped lesson, so I rejoined the ranks, leaving behind a mess that a cleaner would have to wash off. I must say though that the pen I used was non-permanent, and would have wiped off easily. I'd seen much worse graffiti on the school toilet walls, both in content and materials used.

And that was that. My act of vandalism doesn't sit alongside my achievements, such as they are, and I've never really had cause to mention the incident, so it has remained a dormant if vivid memory. But many years later, when I joined a Facebook page for the old school, that loop of never-ending graffiti was one of the things people remembered me for.

My days at the school were numbered, and my attendance record deteriorated further. As a great metaphorical ocean-going liner forged relentlessly on, taking my classmates towards exams and hopefully bright and exciting futures, I was cut adrift, alone in a lifeboat and heading I knew not where. Everyone's patience with me had been exhausted, and two weeks after I turned sixteen, I was, shall we say, moved elsewhere, to the satisfaction of all parties.

(Originally published in Medium)