Phailing in an Epic manner. Then lying about it.
For a group of sorry individuals (commonly called students), this time of the year is their most feared. These feeble-minded fools rack their brains to find something, anything that will serve as an excuse for them to not bring their disastrous exam results home.
Whether you've given A levels in January, half yearly exams, or even some pointless exam that doesn't matter (but your parents think it does), you're all likely to face it. Some go to mosre extreme measures to hide the extent of their moronic academic failures while others do it smooth and simple. While we at RS do not condone any of this, let's go on and have a look at some of the more common excuses these idiots come up with:
Maa, the exams were cancelled. No they weren't. You flunked, that's all. Since you managed to flunk something as simple as accounting, it's no wonder you can't come up with something better than this. What happens when your mom gets suspicious and finally ends up calling the school? Didn't think it through, did you? If you were smart, you would have gone a step further and removed every phone number of everyone even remotely connected to the school: your friends' moms, the school admins, the security guards, EVERYONE. Remove any and all items that may have the school's number on them. Then again, if she decides to go directly to the office, you're busted anyway. Hah.
Everyone failed too, believe me. Stop turning everyone in your class into the useless little nincompoop that you are. No one else did as bad as you. If you keep telling yourself that, you might even admit to yourself that you're too bad at studies and that you might have to keep on lying forever. Soon you'll realise it's better to admit you're the best at being the worst instead. You're already the best of the worst liars on the planet, so there.
The teacher hates me. Usually this is followed by your parents asking you why your teacher would ever hate a sweet little kid as yourself, to which you reply “Cause, he/she just does.” Some parents actually believe that the cute, innocent little ball of fur (from hell) is actually telling the truth and call up the teachers. Thus begins a Parent-Teacher Phone Call, even more dreaded than the Parent-Teacher Meeting. Like all the other excuses listed so far, this one ends badly. Guess who's in more trouble than before? I'll tell you, because you're incapable of a logical train of thought: you are.
I had a fever so I didn't give the exam. One of the few methods that might actually work, if you're careful in executing it. Plan ahead and be prepared for the worst. The easiest way to land yourself a good fever is by spending your cash on ice cream continuously. Get at least 4 or 5 of them each day, starting from at least two weeks before your test date. If it's your half yearlies, with consecutive test dates, it's all a matter of prolonging your sickness by chucking out the medicine and keeping yourself cold. This isn't a lie, so it might work. Or you might get yourself killed with pneumonia.
My A level/ O level grades doesn't matter in US college applications. Not true. Unless you apply to community colleges in Washington (the state) or Alaska, your A level and O level grades are just as important as your SAT score - which you're just as likely to flunk. Good news though, College Board awards you 300 points on 2400 if you can write your name and give your signature on your SAT answer sheet. Tell your parents 300 is a good score considering you're an idiot.
No matter how much you try, you're always going to get caught after lying about or manipulating the process that hands over your report card to your parents. Just man up (ladies, woman up) and face the music. It'll do you better in the long run if you do.
Regions, Rickshaws, and People Who Drive Them
Have you ever been cursed out by a rickshaw-puller in a language that sounds so very much like your mother tongue, yet you don't understand a word he's saying? Have you ever wondered if all rickshaw-pullers are the same? Did you ever go to Sylhet and be flabbergasted by the arrogance of rickshaw-pullers there, and wistfully think of the more foul-mouthed, but easier to handle, rickshaw-pullers of Dhaka?
Most of us are well aware of the ones in Dhaka. They're absurdly creative, leaving you awed at the sheer genius with which they come up with curses. This is one closed-up community, though. They could talk to you, but you won't find out much about them. They will be rude and dishonest, and you'll take it for granted. As once mentioned, if you want to learn how to mouth off, go listen to a Dhakaia rickshawalla versus private car driver argument. Over in Sylhet, though, the rickshaw-pullers are much more refined. Arrogance is in everything they say and do, arrogance is in the way they pull their rickshaws. They're not rickshawallas, by the way. They're drivers, or, if you want to be respectful, pilots (yes, the ones who fly airplanes).
Moving on to Dinajpur, you meet some really… absentminded people. It's not that they're ignoring you; it's just that they forgot you're standing there. It's actually heaven on earth for the cheapest kind of misers, since these rickshaw-pullers also have a tendency to forget the exact amount of the set fare. All things considered, how they manage to remember every last nook and cranny on the roads is a mystery.
Around Pabna, things are quite the opposite. Ishwardi contains rickshaw-pullers with freakishly good memories. They see you once; they'll know you again two years later. Natore boasts the gossip-mongers. The moment they realise which family you're from, you discover that they know more about your own parents than you do. They consider it extremely rude, by the way, if you don't answer their questions. Rumors claim they have a tendency to dump people in the middle of the road if they get too offended. And never get on a rickshaw in Bogra without firmly fixing up the price, or there will be serious trouble at the end of the ride. These rickshawallas also take pleasure in ignoring your desperate need for a lift, and more often than not tell you they're going left when you ask them to go right. If you fail to offer compensation, instead accusing them of lying, they will casually turn around and pull to the left, even though you saw them heading right just a moment ago.
Rajshahi is home to the most polite rickshawallas in the country. If they offer to split your 100 taka note and disappear for over 10 minutes, you need not fret. They will be back. They will also utter a polite salaam, bid you good day, and smile before pulling away. If you get lost, they'll help you find your destination and not even ask for the extra 25 taka that's their due after hauling you around for an additional half hour. Leaves you feeling bad about yourself. Also, they speak better Bangla than our own dear Tareq. So they give you insecurity issues too.
In Narayanganj the rickshawallas are practically Homer. They tell epic tales of war, survival, and battle-scars. Story-tellers are usually nice, and they are no exception. They never refuse a customer. Kushtia has story-tellers as well, but they're more of the emo kind. No rickshaw-puller in Kushtia has had a single happy moment in their lives. The ones in Brahmanbariya apparently lack spines. Standing entirely opposite from their Chittagong counterparts, they disappear when threatened.
Further below: It's practically impossible finding rickshaws in the hills of Bandarban. The pullers hang around large markets, and are only willing to take you from one store to the next. You need to walk to and from home. Chittagong rickshawallas, meanwhile, are dangerous men. They're known to start fights over nothing. Their community is extremely tight-knit; every rickshaw-puller in the vicinity will surround you in the blink of an eye (of course you didn't see them there) if you're stupid enough to threaten one of them back. On the plus side, wherever you go, the fare doesn't seem to change. Rickshawallas in Teknaf don't understand you; you don't understand them, hence nothing happens and everyone can go on with their lives.
In Cox's Bazar, rickshaw-pullers are master cut-throats. Their victims can't even tell when they ran out of blood.
And no, people from different regions and rickshawallas from different regions are not the same thing.
By Professor Spork
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