Mistaken for a Lawyer … or a Factory Worker

So far, I’m really enjoying teaching primary school. It’s endlessly entertaining. Kids say the darndest things. I had a class of year twos that really liked my black Armani tie that looks like it has small yellow coffee beans on it. Some of them asked why I wore a suit. Then one young girl said: “You look like you work in a factory.” I laughed and asked why on Earth she thought that. She replied “That’s where they make money.” As with anything small children say, it may well be imbued with hidden meanings and strategies for better living. I suppose there’s two ways of looking at her statement. Either factories actually make money, or people who work there make money – or perhaps the factory workers make money and in turn take the money home as a reward for having made it in the first place. If only life were so simple. Ah, to see the world through a child’s eyes! At any rate, I was the one who got educated on that occasion. Comments like these are innocent enough. However, I have  noticed a disturbing trend – I am being mistaken for a lawyer.

I arrived at one school and got a bit confused when they ushered me into a room where adults seemed to be teaching students one-on-one. Turns out they thought I was another lawyer arriving to expose students to careers in law. An innocent enough case of mistaken identity. However, a recent event had far more serious ramifications.

Last week, while walking through East London, on the way to work, I was snatched off the street and dragged kicking and screaming into a meeting with several lawyers. To make a long story short, before I could explain who I was, I spent four days in court handling the case of a man who had sex with a giraffe. I was able to get the giraffe off the charges, but the man ran away and is still at large. If you have a giraffe, and live in the East London area, I recommend you keep it indoors until further notice. To those members of the public who have criticized my handling of the case, I’d like to state for the record that – despite the fact I am not a lawyer – somewhere in London there is at least one satisfied giraffe, free to roam the … whatever it is he is roaming. That alone is my reward. I rest my case.