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A short story on the nature of authority published in issue 3 of the Belfast poetry zine  'Complicated' in 1999.  

FUCK AUTHORITY!

………..My Arse.

Think about authority...

Question authority………

But entering into sexual relationships with the domineering and suffocating forces that push your individuality, your creativity through the square peghole of normality and conformity, is at best counterproductive, and in the worse case scenario extremely dangerous.

What is authority anyway?

The dictionary says its;

‘The power or right to control, judge or prohibit actions of others’.

Authority to me is BIG JOHN.

He was a maths teacher at my school, a vice-principal, and a fascist power crazy prick. He particularly hated me because of my long hair, scruffy attitude and the fact that I didn’t shave very often. I didn’t take any of his classes so there was never any need for any interaction between the two of  us at any stage -except his fetish.

One summers day I was walking along the corridor on my way to the toilet, beside where he hung out scanning pupils for chewing gum, checking stubble, and making sure nobody used their locker at the wrong time of day. BIG JOHN (as he was known because he was - and presumably- still is a fat bastard) stopped me and asked me to tuck in my shirt.

Feeling a little bit rebellious yet a bit of a chicken shit at the same time, I went into the toilet and put on my jumper. My shirt was no longer visible. So hey I was quietly rebelling and leaving the challenging of the status quo until I was older and wiser and devoting less of my time to grooming side-burns.

Anyway I came out of the toilets and BIG JOHN stopped me and asked me to lift up my jumper. In hindsight I realise I should have gone down the sexual harassment and kicked up a fuss and pissed in his fat face. But being the weedy kid that I was I reluctantly complied. BIG JOHN it must be noted at this stage was big; you could say six foot cubed. And he was known for the old sly bit of violence when he knew he could get away with it.

BIG JOHN saw that I hadn’t got my shirt tucked in and sent me to Willy. He didn’t try any violence shit on me which was lucky for him as I was a dab hand at the old Tae-kwon-do (well not really!?)

Anyway I was sent to Willy.

Willy was our headmaster (so named because the Hard-Lads who invented nicknames at our school weren’t very imaginative……) That’s my theory anyway.

OK so I was in Willy’s office and I told him the story.

‘But why did you do it’, pleaded a bewildered Willy.

‘Because I had to,

I did it for myself, but not just for me,

I did it for every kid who’s forced to shave off that terrible bumfluffy moustache,

I did it for the girls who had to take the roles outta their skirts,

-leaving me with nothing to occupy me during chemistry class-

I did it for you,

For Mother Theresa,

And most of all I did it for BIG JOHN.

He needed me,

He needed the tender touch of another human being,

To heal his raw wounds,

To calm the raging beast,

To allow him to ejaculate over a class of 14 year olds maths homework,

And feel good about himself.

GOD BLESS AMERICA’

Well actually I was just using my journalistic licence there. I actually said; I didn’t think whether or not I tucked my shirt in was of any consequence. And as I was wearing my jumper no-one was gonna know anyway.

Willy had no backbone. He was a big floppy Willy. Flaccid, vapid, and in short a real dry uptight cunt. The shirt to him wasn’t the issue. I disobeyed a direct instruction. I disrespected BIG JOHN’S authority. I poohed down the shirt of the beast.

Willy didn’t have the balls to punish me. Which was probably unfortunate as I was a teenager on the edge and might well have been pushed over.

I was 18 years old at the time. One year later I was at University, I had friends the same age as Willy and BIG JOHN, who treated me (and I them) like an equal. People with whom I had a laugh and debated the issues of the day.

Anyway so what’s the moral of my story?

I dunno.

Did I FUCK AUTHORITY?

Getting my rocks of with BIG JOHN (although an interesting concept) wouldn’t have got me anywhere. Certainly not where I am today.

Don’t FUCK AUTHORITY!

Question it.

Rock the boat baby.

It might capsize.