26 April 2012

Industrial Arts

We moved from the UK to the United States when I was twelve. I experienced culture shock, to say the least. I went from attending a traditional London primary school to a midwestern American junior high school in the middle of nowhere.

One of the many curious new circumstances in the American school was something called "industrial arts," where boys made rickety bird houses and wobbly stools. We were required to take four years of IA, if memory serves me correctly. The lads all called it "shop" but the school never did.

I know that the teachers were decidedly not hot like Sam here because I've forgotten them entirely. I remember all the eye candy during school, but the rest are lost in the haze of memory.

The last year I had to take IA, my "shop partner" was an exchange student from Denmark. I remember him very well. How much I would have liked to roll around in the shavings with him. The hayseed teacher, in his infinite wisdom, decided to pair us as partners because we were both "foreign," but I certainly did not complain about being stereotyped.


  1. Damn! Hot pics! Good story!

  2. I'd have a got at that bottom any time! Just my size! (... I should be so lucky ... !!!)


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