May I introduce myself? My name is Gisela.
No. That's not my real name. But I'm not that stupid and tell you my name!
That's why I call myself Gisela. The name is stupid, I know, but sometimes I feel like I'm from the century this name originated from.
Only grandmas have names like that, and that's how I feel.

Why it is like that?
Because I have terrible lower back pain! Anyone carrying a five-pound school bag would have that.
Now to my person.
I, Gisela, am nineteen and, for reasons inexplicable, I have decided to take the advanced technical college entrance qualification.
Since of course none of you know what a school looks like from the inside (sarcasm), I will explain to you how it works with us, or with me in the class, because I am the victim here!

So let's start the sightseeing tour through my normal school life where every student begins: When getting up.
If I, Gisela, are torn from my sleep in the most brutal way by my mobile phone alarm clock, the stupid thing will be chilled for the first time.I don't know how that happens. I just imagine that the hated device is smashed by a hammer. In reality, I would never do that. This shitty cell phone cost way too much for that.

Now to step two:
I, Gisela, managed to get over my murderous thoughts on my cell phone again. Because as my mother always says: "If you get stuck with shit, you won't get any further in your life".
Wise words. I just don't know what that means ...

Gisela (that's me) is now on her way to the bathroom to do her daily bowel movements. Since this is part of my privacy, I will not go into details. Nobody would want to hear it anyway ...
Of course I freeze my bum off in the bathroom because my father is a curmudgeon and wants us to heat less.
He is never cold himself. He is very hairy, like a bear ...
Eventually I manage to change clothes and step out the front door.Strangely, it's warmer outside than in our bathroom.
Did I mention it's winter?

Since this story is about my knowledge, I now change the scenario and switch to the next place of horror: the train station.
Although I come from a small town, our train station puts any major city train station in the shade.
Broken beer bottles, drunk people sleeping off their intoxication on the benches, cigarette butts where the eye can see and not to forget the nationalities that meet here.
Of course, I don't want to take my mouth too full of these people, after all, I'm a foreigner myself. But even a native of Australia would find someone at our small train station with whom he could converse in his mother tongue.

When the train finally thinks to stop in front of me after a six-minute delay, the usual jostling comes into the train, and I thoroughly participate.
It doesn't matter if an old lady wants to get on the train, the old woman should wait until I'm inside!Then I don't care that she insults me ...

Next scenario: the bus.
Even worse than the train, because there you at least have a chance of a seat. I almost got one, but the old box from the train snatched my place out of sheer malice and is now grinning at me confident of victory.
Okay, Mother Theresa! This round went to you. Next time I'll ram you into the ground unsharpened!

If you look around twice, you immediately notice that the bus is full again.
Unfortunately, Rodd and Todd are also sitting in their usual place.
So. Attention!
Rodd and Todd. It should ring every bell who knows the Simpsons.
But if you think that they got this made up name from me because they are little angels like the children of Ned Flanders, then you are wrong!
No no no…
Rodd and Todd look like little angels, but they are little plague balls!
Why do I think that?

RULPS!

Therefore…No seats available, the bus is full and I, Gisela, have to hold on to the bar next to the seats of Rodd and Todd, who are having another fart and burp concert.
Although they have often been pissed off because of this, I have come to the realization that the two are clearly masochists. Of course, Rodd and Todd, who consider themselves to be real gangsters, find what they're doing there really funny and still laugh stupid.
I take a few steps back to move away from the two monkeys and discover ... a seat!
Joy, beautiful spark of gods, immediately plays through my head. One seat for two and one seat is still available. Oh, what luck!
But immediately my joy is dampened when I see that a cross-eyed girl is sitting in the other seat and is picking her nose with relish.
Disgusted, I have to watch the girl penetrate into depths that no one has explored before, pulling out one of her green slimy treasures and looking at it with interest between her sticky fingers.When she sees me, she smiles innocently and taps the free space next to her with the hand she used to dig her nose with.
"Have a seat! Don't worry, I won't bite."
I feel sick…


Next scenario: the way from the bus stop to the school.
Like every day, the way has not become shorter and this stupid "mountain" on which the school is located has not become any lower. Sometimes I think the architect of our school wanted to compete with Hogwarts. Who builds a school on a mountain ???

Okay ... The route doesn't go by itself. Let's go!
My first steps are brimming with optimism. I've made it this way for the past few days and will do it again!
But after just five minutes I don't feel like it anymore.
I start to sweat and that on a cold winter day!
When I'm in my class I'll definitely smell like a walrus, just like the rest of my classmates.
But as mother always says: "If you get stuck with a piece of shit, you won't get any further in your life".Unfortunately I still don't know what this saying should mean ...
After more agonizing minutes of hiking, I finally managed to climb the mountain on which our school is located and sit down on a bench in the smoking area of ​​the schoolyard, where some of my classmates are already sitting and puffing.


Part three or four ... Oh, I don't know!
Gisela, that's me, is finally in her classroom.
I sit down in my seat and take out my deodorant to scare away the smell of sweat from the mountain hike. Half of the class does the same thing.
You can smell Ax from one corner, Rexona from the other, and somewhere over there a guy is using impulses, which is actually intended for girls.

The time until the lessons begin, I and my clique do not spend unpacking the learning accessories, but play with cards.
After ten minutes, the teacher comes, whom I will call Ms. A in order not to be reported for character assassination.Okay, Mrs. A is here. Everyone notices that, because she has a habit of slamming the door so loudly that one has to fear she will fall off its hinges.
The first lesson is math. Logically, Ms. A is a math teacher. Today she is in a particularly good mood. Because we write math.
So the day starts really well (sarcasm).

The worksheets are handed out and we have to wait until everyone has one before we can turn them over to see the terrible tasks that Ms. A picked out for us from Devil's Kitchen (math book).
"Turn around!" Echoes Ms. A's voice through the classroom. As with the Bundeswehr, we all listen to what is said and two seconds later a groan goes through the class, just like from my mouth.
The tasks are really nice again.
Thank you Ms. A! Many Thanks! Now I can definitely get a five plus!
Not that I'm not used to it, but you will probably still be able to dream ...

Okay, I'll remind myself of my mother's phrase.But it still doesn't make sense to me, so I'll look at Task One.
I don't look ...
So to task two.
I don't look either ...
Task three.
What is the saddle point?
Task four ... does not exist.
A day that I love.


Forty minutes later we have to hand in, then Ms. A says it's our own fault that we didn't finish, after all, we didn't prepare for the lesson.
My head smokes.
I started learning for this work four days earlier, but when it came to putting my specialist knowledge (which is still zero) about the turning points, extreme points, matrices, straight lines and zeros into practice, I failed miserably.
While everyone is handing in, my best friend whispers a few correct answers to me and I hand in the next time the teacher requests it.

Just in time for the gong, Ms. A disappears from the classroom to take her break. While she was supervising us at work, she had a coffee, munched an apple and read a book, but she still seems to want another cappuccino.Three rows from the bench in front of me, our class representative Jens is freaking out.
"The zeros! I didn't calculate the zeros! I will get a five, then I will fail math, then fail my degree and then end up on the street !!!", and the first tears roll down his face.
Another one who can't withstand the pressure ...
It's tragic.


Next lesson: Business Administration.
I would like to explain what this subject is, but to this day I have no idea.
Our teacher, Ms. B, is a really boring person with a pretty laughable voice. Every time towards the end of her sentences, her voice gets high and squeaky and half the class makes fun of her.
We are not saints! Students are only human, just imagine.
The good thing about Ms. B is that she drags everything down like a radio play cassette and then hands out the sheets of paper. Mrs. A is different.
This pseudo math teacher always tells us which task to do in the book and has been scribbling it on the blackboard after just five minutes.Then she explains the calculation method. In any case, I believe that it is the arithmetic process, because Ms. A speaks at such a breathtaking speed that one feels like a waterfall.
Before you have finished copying the first task for her, she starts the next one.
If you ask her about it, she only means that for the technical college entrance qualification it