A lone figure occupies the lounge, contemplating the exquisite wretchedness of group work. Quiet and in the dark, she takes sanctuary from the school. She is surrounded by typically ironic knickknacks abandoned on the retro shelving. The misused carcass of a Bob the Builder doll enshrines the memory of forgotten students.
Click. The light comes on, her group walks in. They gather around the table, and soon what began as a steady banter erupts into a fiendish battle of pomp.
On Friday afternoon, the lounge fills and the privacy screen slides open. The week’s drizzle of moans turns into a full torrent of complaints. Where one person previously lolled senselessly along the length of the bench, dozens now crowd the room and converse through the forest of quasi-structure. What was once the coffee table is now a bench. The corridor becomes a destination, and regaling students perch on the ends of benches to preach in all directions. Some smart alec dangles a mirrorball from the remnants of the drop ceiling. »