Dramatic Monologue based upon Bed Among The Lentils

Mr John Fisher is a secondary school teacher. He teaches Science and Mathematics at Kingstone High in England. He is sat slumped over a large brown desk, in an empty classroom, staring out the window.

I have never been more depressed in my entire 51 years of being alive. But then again, i have a well paid job, with holiday time as well. Which not many people can say they get included with the tedious strain of working endless hours for someone you don't even like, and most likely doesn't give a single shit about the fact your wife, who you've invested 21 years of your life with, has left you for another woman, or that she took all your savings with her in one go.

Kids. Children. Young people is whom i spend my time with. Not in an unprofessional manner, no. Although saying that, rumour has it that Mr Finch the music teacher, has a slight, mmm how do they put it...perversion? To young people. But that's none of my business. I mean i don't think I'd care if it was either. No But at work. Young people who don't want to learn about how the world works or that maths is involved with every single thing that they do. No! On a daily basis I hear "Sir, what's even the point in this" or "sir what's even the point in that" screeched in a tiring, illiterate tone across the empty, echoing, white walled classroom. Mr Bishop, the creative arts teacher suggested in a surprisingly camp manner of someone who looks like a bodybuilder, that i should "make the kids use their creative brains, create some kind of mind map poster type thing". I don't know how to do that and I'm 51. The way we see people or first impressions is always important. I mean, if you saw me walking towards you now you would probably cross the road. Who wants to cross paths with a tired looking, middle aged man with a five o clock shadow and clothes he hasn't washed in a week. Because his wife took all his other belongings as well. God knows why. Jenny said that "she was going through an emotionally unstable phase and just wanted to rid you out of her life". I said that she didn't really need to rid me of my life though did she. I always wonder what peoples first impressions of me were before i gracefully slumped my way into a dark depression. Did they think i was funny? Did i carry myself well? Intelligent? I can't imagine anyone thinking positively now about the old man in the brown suit with the black shoes, carrying an antique leather briefcase which once belonged to a Mr A Patel. Musty, old, leathery, wrinkled man. Carrying a briefcase that was significantly more presentable than myself. But i suppose one can't have everything. I remember one of my primary school teachers telling me that i should "stop believing that i could achieve everything because you can't" and that i had "such a small, insignificant soul that no one would want you" Untalented and unwanted that was me. And i suppose he was right.

Self Analysis Poem

Self Analysis Poem

If I was to describe myself in rhyming word,

The things I say might sound quite absurd.

Early mornings and late nights are what I like,

Tall drops, high climbs, and vertigo inducing heights.

The sound of rain upon the glass,

But being in the rain…id rather pass.

Brown hair, brown eyes and a waitress by trade,

Big feet, false eyelashes, and the smell of suede?

Although it may sound stressful to you,

Public transport is what I always use.

When I’m not walking or swimming or spending my cash,

I’m seeing how long I can make the bus pass last.

With laddered tights, freckles and big eyes to see ya’,

Can’t say I don’t like sunshine tequila!

But I can say that I don’t like math’,

Physics, chemistry or pointless lined graphs.

My favourite things include English, Art and Social Study,

Long elongated, unprecedented, words found in the dictionary.

I collect books about architecture and breaking the 4^th wall,

But I cant really say I’ve read them all.

I love apricots, green bananas and squishy mango,

But bread, pasta and potatoes are a no go!

With so many plans and not enough time,

(bearing in mind I’m not having a whine!)

My hectic schedule makes it hard to write poetry for language,

So I wrote this on the train home from my 3^rd day at St Brendans college.

I don’t know what else to write about me...

So I suppose we’ll just stop now shall we. 

My Linguistic Fingerprints

My Linguistic Fingerprints.

 

SUBJECT: “Could you explain the way you talk to me? Including your favourite fillers and phrases?”

 

ME: Urm…My favourite fillers? Hmm you know when you like fill in places with like ‘um’s’ and ‘er’s’? Which to be honest can be a little awkward at times. I guess you could say I use those like a lot? I don’t know…it’s difficult to explain to you um like the way I talk. Writing it down is making most of it clear, but I still don’t know. I don’t know a single person who can accurately remember every filler they’ve used in sentences throughout the day and stuff? You know what I mean?

 

When it comes to words I use for ‘good’ and ‘bad’ terms, I swear way too much. It doesn’t even matter what like situation I’m  in. It can be good or bad I will just change the tone of it I suppose? To fit what I need it for. Sometimes, the tone of my voice is like way too sarcastic. I don’t mean it to be but some people take it the wrong way.

 

Oh and for phrases and words that I hate, anything that involves the letters ‘CK’ in the middle. For example, right, ‘Packed, whacked, smacked’ ugh! Just no! It makes me shiver so much! Also words like ‘Sandwich’? I think it’s the sound of the ‘CH’ at the end? It’s just a horrible noise.

 

Um okay, In terms of my favourite swear word…mm um I don’t think I’ll tell you.  It just feels too rude. But I’m sure you’ll hear me say it more than you’d fucking like.

 

I don’t think I really have trouble pronouncing words. Unless they usually end in an ‘ING’ and then somehow  turn into a ‘TION’ ending?!  Which is silly really. Because it’s not that hard.  My brother couldn’t pronounce ‘Vanilla’ or ‘Ambulance’ until he was like, 11 years old or something?

 

Oh and also, when I answer the telephone to my friends I think I just use my normal voice? Although I have been known to answer the phone with a higher pitched slightly American accent when it comes to strangers. That can be either on the phone or face to face. It’s more embarrassing that I know what I’m doing and I still can’t stop. I'm pretty sure everyone puts on a 'phone voice' when they're on the phone really.

 

I don’t think I have an accent or anything? I probably sound more or less how a stereotypical English person would sound. You know when foreigner’s try and impersonate an English person? Kinda’ like that.  I like my accent. I definitely don’t have much of a low voice. But it’s not high and squeaky either.

 

Mmmm what else do I need to tell you…? Gosh my elbows…I’ve really got to stop leaning on things when I talk…Anything else you need?

 

SUBJECT: “No….I think we’ve got um,  most of that. Thanks”.