Pieces of my world

Thursday, November 16, 2006



I know that, in the far distant future, this will be a big problem for me. I know that I'm going to get turned down from that dream job because of it. I know that I am an intolerant, moody, harsh, judgemental *Insert noun of your choice here*

But I simply cannot do teamwork.

At highschool, when the teacher announced that we had to work in groups, I would pray that there would be an odd number in the class so that I would have a legitimate excuse to work by myself and I wouldn't have to be paired with someone else.

At primary school out would come the plaintive cry: "I want to write- Becky's writing so slowly- Here! Give it to me! I can do it better!"

Yeah. I'm glad my parents didn't name me "Patience" or "Harmony" or "Melody" or any of those other sickly-sweet girly names, because boy would that have been a misjudgement of my character. Most of the time I can keep a lid on my intolerance, but those odd little times, when we're asked to work in groups or complete an assignment using teamwork, those times, you know what I mean, then uh-oh. Out creep the sarcastic little comments, "Oh wow, making our science project electric game out of copper, which would, hmm, I don't know, electrocute the customer, is such a good idea!!" or the "Oh-My-God-I-Can't-Believe-I've-Been-Stuck-With-Such-A-Bunch-Of-Losers" expression crosses my face and I sit there, arms folded, defiantly refusing to accept their (frankly stupid!) ideas. It's not even limited to teamwork- similar thoughts pop into my mind at my flamates' idiocity: God, who on earth keeps lurpack in the CUPBOARD for five weeks after purchase and still uses it?? Or Yes, generally if a pack of clingfilm says "do not heat" on the side, then it's hardly a surprise that it's melted and burnt all over your chilli beans in the oven is it??"

It's not pretty.

I told you at the start: this is going to get me into trouble.

So this wasn't a good thing when we had to work in groups on my Poetry Lecture yesterday to pen a Sonnet. Not a good thing at all. The start of the poem was "If men were mice..." which, let's give us credit, was not a particularly easy opening to base a Shakespearean Sonnet on. Anyhow, "we" (or should I say them) after 15 minutes debate finally reached the conclusion of the line, ending with "but men are lions". Then the tricky part. What rhymes with lions? "Irons!" One bright spark proferred forth. "Yeah! Wow! That's Amazing! I like it!" bottle blonde nodded enthusiastically, while chomping like a cow on a wad of gum. "Ok...how can we get irons in?" I had tired of the entire premise and by this time was at the eye-rolling, when-will-this-torture-end??!! stage. "Irons is completely ridiculous," I drawled laconically (well, that's what it sounded like in my head, but probably sounded nothing like it) "and doesn't fit with the premise AT ALL. How about we change the word 'lions' as nothing will fit with that on the ABAB rhyme scheme."

My compatriots, gaping, looked at me like I was from outer space (which I very well may be, at times like this I seem to feel like it).

"No way! Lions and Irons is just so-so inspirational!!" The bottle blonde gushed. The other members shot me dirty looks before turning back to the poem to contemplate their next nonsensical line.

Which is how I came to end up working by myself, as usual.


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