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#09

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Kids these days

By now, the annual CT Council initiates camp should have ended (unless, of course the Year Twos decide to give their initiates heellll and actually make them do their 230 x 4 push-ups, sit-ups, star-jumps and what-have-you as payment for the dreaded Spiderweb challenge they had to squirm through the day before). A handful of us Grandsenior Year Threes went back to school last night to visit. While Cicak and myself strolled through the front gates in full view of the newly-hired tubby security guard (security guard booth included) whom as per usual, does absolutely nothing to warrant his salary (except maybe standing some times) by barring strange visitors to the school; the others decided to climb the 2 metre high backgate - a logic that still escapes me, although it might just be due to good ol' nostalgia. Nostalgia for me, however, usually consists of less strenuous activites without the threat of bone fractures.

The Talenttime segment once again proved how damn spastic people could get when put in spontaneous performance moments, with little rehearsal time, some sleep deprivation and an audience mostly consisting of your older peers who have been yelling at you for the past couple of days. My personal favourite goes to the team of Orange Juice, whose Talenttime star was this geek-ish boy my friend Cicak spent the better part of the night incessantly gushing about how-damn-fucking-cute he was, squeals and flustered flailing hands combined.

Cicak (on the junior's droning rendition of Welcome to my Life, awful hand signals included): "It's like a gospel song gone wrong..."

The big highlight of the night (and camp) is our exclusive nightgame Utopia! (I think the exclamation does it's fun factor justice). It is an ironic title considering that this is a game with no rules and encouraged outlets to gamble, publicly betray and humiliate your peers, "smuggle" items, participate in "illegal" activites while all the while being on the run from the "secret police" who on a whim, might just drag you screaming (I kid you not about the screaming, it was thankfully reduced from last year's) to our "torture chamber". The gist of the game, played into the wee midnight hours, is that your tribe or group needs to make money to buy materials to build a structure of sorts to commemorate the mighty accomplishments of the CT Council. Unfortunately, as the storyline goes (with an uncanny parallel to the reality of the situation), you are a downtrodden impoverished grunt with very little money to begin with, extremely vulnerable to the "upper classes" whom you have to please for the cash (some of which, are counterfeit and might get you arrested).

It's fun. The Student Council doesn't know what the screams and running are all about.

Me and Cicak spent the better part of the night harrassing the poor initiates, who seemed too stunned to react when a Grandsenior (wearing slippers, jeans and carrying a shoulder bag no less) grabs and runs off with your bandana, delivering you effectively to the secret police.

Quotes from the Night Game - credits to Cicak, who lately wandered home totally stoned but still remembered many funny incidents:

Claire (giving out instructions): "So if you go to the torture chamber and see someone's name on the board, if you deliver that person you get the bounty reward..."
Junior (rising hand): "What if you go down there and see your own name there?"
Cicak (sitting next to me in the back, snerking): "Then you die lah."

[Near a legal shop.]
Cicak: "Year Ones, you can steal money from them y'know!"
[Initiates discuss among themselves.]
One junior (goes up shopkeeper): "Excuse me, can we steal money from you?"
Me and Cicak: *facevault*

[At the torture chamber, looking in]
Me: "Hrm, didn't expect her to be torturing people..."
Year Two (in semi-gruff voice): "Straighten out your arms I say! STRAIGHT!!"
[pauses.]
Year Two (looking up, back to usual sweet tone): "Erm... Could somebody help me please?"

[Still in torture chamber. Greggan decides to volunteer his aid.]
Greggan (chants): "Endure prisoners! Endure the torture! Endure the pain! Endure! ENDUURRE!!"
Year Two: "Is Greggan depressed?"
Me: "Nah. It's... probably NS."

[A Year Two walks around trying to sell black market goods.]
Year Two (yelling): "Black market! Black market!"
Me: "People aren't going to come near you like that."
[Later.]
Year Two: "Not black market! Not black market!"
Me: *face-palms*
Year Two: "Okay to make it less obvious I shall say, "White market! White market!" How's that?"
Cicak: "FAIL."

And even as Grandseniors and with a teacher at our side, we still had to climb over the school gates once again to get our iced coffee from Parkway.

en at 2:05 pm

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