Let’s go back briefly to my school days to tell the tale of the Brown-Noser and the Little Arsehole. I tell this story for no other reason than that it just so happens to paint me as a rather noble figure: self-sacrificing, accepting, compassionate... almost Christ-like.

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Every morning in secondary school, I had to catch a minibus at the top of my road – about a ten-minute walk away. I was never on time, thanks to chronic tiredness and a deeply ingrained hatred of school. Despite my mum or dad rushing me there in the car, we missed it half of the time. Then we would have to desperately chase the bus to the next stop, our car hurtling after the bus. If we caught up, we’d swerve in front like the police in a budget TV show. If we didn’t, it was a white-knuckle race through country lanes all the way to school. Sometimes we won. Sometimes we lost – meaning I’d be late again, my sister would be late for school, my dad was late for work, and my mum while not late for anything, gained an excellent excuse to unleash her frustration on me.

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The bus driver knew I was always late, so for a while, he’d wait five or ten minutes before leaving. But one year, he stopped waiting. Rumour had it that a little Year 8 arsehole who sat at the front had been gleefully egging him on to leave without me, buzzing with excitement every time they left me in the dust.

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By the unspoken laws of the playground, this was a crime punishable by swift and merciless beatings. Strange, in hindsight, that common assault is just a normal part of life for boys at school. However, there were complications. This little weasel had friends – a gang of similarly smug, pint-sized sociopaths. I was bigger and stronger than him, sure, but I also suffered extreme social anxiety and was practically mute, so any confrontation would either end in me being outwitted with superior social skills or in me beating up a child – neither of which would do wonders for my already fragile street cred. Besides, any anger I had back then was buried deep, repressed. My gut told me to wait for revenge. And my gut was right… just not in the way I expected.

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I was a prefect. Not by merit – every Year 11 student not on the brink of expulsion got the badge. The only real perk was having permission to leave school at lunchtime, which most used as an excuse to hit the corner shop for chocolate or smoke in the park. I didn’t smoke and chocolate gave me a rash, so my prefect status felt somewhat wasted. But the real reason the school did this was to acquire a free and unpaid labour force. They used us to take over menial duties from the teachers during break times. One such duty was maintaining the lunch queue by stopping people from pushing in.

 

One day, I arrived late to my shift and saw that the school’s resident Brown-Noser was already doing my job. He was in the year below, not a prefect, and had no authority to be there. But if he wanted to do my work for me, who was I to stop him? I was about to leave when I noticed him embroiled in a confrontation.

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Brown-Noser was shoving and bullying of all people the little rat from my bus.

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“I didn’t push in! Leave me alone!” the little arsehole protested.

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“I know,” Brown-Noser sneered, “but get to the back anyway.” Another shove.

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“Help!” The little arsehole’s eyes darted around for a teacher but accidentally locked onto mine.

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In that second, I saw it: not just fear, but the potential resentment he’d have to carry afterwards. The same resentment I carried for him now.

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Now, Brown-Noser was universally despised. Even the teachers could barely tolerate his pandering. Somehow, he’d managed to rank lower than me in the social hierarchy – which was impressive considering I practically lived near rock bottom. Nevertheless, in that moment, I had a choice: I could sit back and enjoy some injustice myself, letting the little traitor get a taste of his own medicine or I could accept that what had happened on the bus was in the past and that holding onto it wouldn’t help me in any way.

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Considering Brown-Noser’s low social standing, it made my decision a lot easier. I decided to forgive that little sod from my bus and step in to deliver justice myself.

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I grabbed Brown-Noser by the collar, dragged him to the door, and shoved him outside.

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“You’re not on duty. Go away.” I told him.

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“You can’t do that!” he squeaked, adjusting his dishevelled collar. “Let me back in or I’m going to tell a teacher.”

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“Off you go then!” I blocked the door.

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He huffed, straightened his tie like a man who had just suffered a great humiliation, and stormed off. I turned back to resume my duty.

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“Thank you,” said the little bus goblin.

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Balance was restored. For the first time in my life, chaos had been conquered. Order once again descended upon the lunch queue.

 

The next morning something miraculous happened: the bus waited an extra ten minutes. And the morning after that. And the morning after that too. For weeks, I didn’t miss a single bus.

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Eventually, I got cocky. I figured out that the bus would wait ten minutes, so I adjusted my routine accordingly... and started missing it again. But something else had changed: the kid in the front seat, my former nemesis, had transformed from a little arsehole into a little angel. By simply accepting the situation rather than fighting it, by not reacting out of anger, by letting it go entirely, I’d been rewarded with something better than revenge: an extra ten minutes of sleep.