The English version of my editorial (which will be printed in my school's yearbook). It's not an exact translation - a few adjustments had to be made for it to still make sense - and the Dutch version is way better, but it'll have to do. At least it's better than what one of my English speaking friends got when she entered the original into an online translator. xD

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The conspiracy: everyday woes of a senior.

First years are great fun, they're tiny, naïve and sometimes they're so cute you'd almost adopt them. But they are actually a bunch of saboteurs! They conspire! Conspire? With whom? With the lunchroom ladies! Yes! It might sound paranoid, but you know I'm right.

It's just before lunch break and, somehow, you managed to get out of class early (so you'll have enough time to buy a sandwich). You arrive at the canteen, everything smells just wonderful and – lucky you – you have money on you! You wait in line like the good kid that you are. Five, ten minutes? But there's just no use, those little squirts slip around you like eels and, before you know it, you're last in line again! Honestly!

And that one time you shove them back or say "Excuse me, but I think it's my – ", you'll be shouted down immediately, because "I really think they were here first!" (Followed by the Evil Eye of the Middle-aged). Then who are 'they'? The first years, of course! Those sweet, small things that never do any harm.

And if, if, by some form of divine intervention, you do manage to get to the front of the line; don't forget your manners! "Could I, maybe, please, pretty please have a club sandwich, please?" Because, naturally, if you're rude, you won't get a thing. For those who control the food, control the universe. (Even if it's just a part-time job of four hours a week.)

It almost makes you say "You should've just learned a trade, then you'd be able to boss (terrorise?) people your own age around."

Ah, well, I'll just avoid the canteen and make my dietist proud.