Being difficult

In 1973 I was a fourth year apprentice radio mechanic. I don't even know if the apprenticeship system is still in operation but it surely was in the 1970's in Victoria, my home state. The end result of said apprenticeship was a tradesman certificate.

The way it worked was that if you left school at 14 you had to do 5 years as an apprentice. If you left school at 15 you did 4 and a half years; if 16 or older you did 4 years. I had to do 4 and a half years, so I was due to graduate in mid 1974. Of course, they hit us up in 2nd year for the higher education treadmill. I signed on for 3 nights a week of night school.

All of which is a long winded intro to the fact that in 1973 I was doing 3 nights a week night school in addition to the standard 5 days a week work, where 1 of those days was also dedicated to trade school. A pretty good education as it happens. We covered everything from basic soldering skills to technical writing. Along the way we learned now obsolete technology such as thermionic valves. I could still describe to you exactly how a beam power tetrode works!

There were rules governing how an employer of an apprentice had to behave. One of the rules was that if the apprentice was enrolled in night school said apprentice had to be allowed off work early enough to attend the classes he was enrolled in. My boss at the time would always shave it rather close; mostly, by the time I'd negotiated peak hour traffic, found a parking space and walked to school the class had already started. Being late didn't bother me much; we had the curriculum in hand and I was usually ahead of the teacher.

So I established a tradition of being late to class. (Not much has changed since then :-) ). One of our teachers was a Mr Anderson. He would have been pushing 60 in 1973 so I doubt he's still alive. A stickler for punctuality was Mr Anderson. Never mind if you were going to pass the exams; if you weren't there on time you were on his shit list. In the intervening years I've learned not to care about the day to day punctuality; if the result is on time and accurate that's what counts.

Thus began a battle of wits. I'd walk in, briefcase in hand, late. He'd stare at me and deliver some witty comment about punctuality. And I'd retort.

After a couple of weeks of this I decided to retaliate. My approach to the classroom afforded me a view of the rubbish bin. I'd switch the briefcase to my right hand, walk through the door and knock the rubbish bin over with the briefcase. Laughter from the class and frozen disapproval from Mr Anderson. This went on for months.

And then one night, as I approached the classroom I could see that the rubbish bin wasn't there. Aha! Abrupt reversal to approach the door from the other side. Brief case in the left hand. And there it was, on the other side of the door. I knocked it over as I entered, apologising profusely but with the telltale smirk on my face. Loud laughter from the class and impotent disapproval from Mr Anderson.