Money Making Schemes

Why does every one have a bad view of teenagers?

I’m a 16 year old girl, living in Cambridge, England. As most of you know there is not a lot for teenagers to do really- apart from things that cost money, and as most of you also know teenagers don’t have much money. But there is nowhere for them to go Youth centres are for under 16’s so thats out the question for us to do, and unless we can all go round someone’s house which is unlikely. To be perfectly honest there is nothing really for us to do if we want to go out. Anyway if we do go out we try to stay out of trouble and out of other peoples way, we do drink, which yeas I know is illegal but we are NEVER drunk and disorderly, we are much more sensible than most adults- We know when to stop, we don’t pass out and we can still look after our selves. But my problem is the other night we were in a kebab shop waiting for a friend who was buying some chips, and another boy very gently and I mean V-E-R-Y gently tapped on the glass because he was curious the way the hinge was made and thought it opened towards us and not the shop keepers, at this point the man serving got angry and yelled at him asking what the FCUK he was doing, and if he was buying anything, my friend answered no but he was waiting for some one, then the shop keeper (a grown well built man ) came out from behind the counter grabbed my friends by the shoulders and began shaking him really hard. My friend obviously pushed him off and got defensive, and then three more men from behind the counter came out and began hitting at him and kicking at him. At which point I yelled at them to stop, so they got aggressive at me and told me to clear out, so i phoned the police- My friend had just been assaulted makes sense yes? apparently no it didn’t i got asked about 10 times why I was ringing not my friend, When i get stressed I talk really fast and they had to keep asking me to slow down, so it must have been obvious I was upset about something. I told the shop keepers we phoned the police and they called me a b!tch which was un-called for. Then when the police get there they talk to the shop keepers who say we tried to sat fire to it. WHICH WE DID NOT!! so my friend got searched and they found a zippo with no gas and no flint but the police didn’t believe the hysterical girl , or the boy who just got assaulted or any off us they believed the grown ups. When we complained we were threatened with arrest
HOW IS THIS FAIR????
sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes i typed this fast
a kebab shop is a fast food place that sells nasty food
i don’t eat there but friends do

I stole from wal mart. want to make things right agian.?

I do know that wal mart has people that dress normally and follow you.
and if they “SEE” you steal then your out of the money *figure of speech no pun intended* most of the time its easy to see them

ME and a friend did steal from wal mart. it went down like this.
1. took 2 games
1. we went to garden outdoor section that dont have sensors. hid behind anything possible while still moving to shake off any one who followed. *know one was in the area at all. dont think had cameras
2. got the stuf and walked out. no one followed.

3 second time i was alone. i found what i wanted. then walked around picking at the game making sure to walk fast and alone. took the game out walked away. *both steals i was stupid in hiding the cases wich in turn would alert them to maybe check the tapes or just next time they see me watch for me.

3rd time was today. i found wat i wanted did same as last time except it was busyer. picked at it.. but not enough to tell. maybe anough. either way they didnt se me take anything out **i had one guy following me. shady looking guy. kind of funny how easy to trace someone following you. then i knew the item was hot. so i ditched it behind some stuff i know theyll find. i went to the bathroom. they might of thought i still had it. another guy entered the bathroom i thought nothing of him *seen as i had nothing. i left. and that first guy followed me/found me. and then a person i knew found me. and i followed them then turned away. and oh and behold there he was with bathroom guy. they walked passed each other and whispered stuff. i took a picture on my cell phone. (( they didnt follow me after that. prob learning i had no hot item or i may have gotten to smart for them.

as an idiot i found my Girlfriend aunt who worked there and said. hey this was weird. i was being followed. she mite of gotten suspicious just like the guys and asked them. they said they thought i was trying to steal a game. wich i didnt anyway. my girlfriend called and asked what happen. i told her long time ago my friend stole something. which bothered me since i dont lie. Ever. i just lie to my self honestly.

so my question is.

1. the followed me. is that to scare me? to warn me?
they were about to stop me?
what can and could they do then. and what and could they do now?
do i have anything to worry about? in advance?
this was very stupid things to do. very awful ideas. i am just a silly teenager with awful influences. i did choose to do what i did. i understand this.

the cameras. do they actually record people all the times? and
do they check the camera tapes everday or alot at all?
i say no because thats 24 plus hours they need to fast forword i bet.

thank for all support wisdom and anyone wanting to dis me.

For all teenagers. Do you enjoy my writing?

Fiona was on her way back home. Her backpack was hurting her so much she took it off and held it in her hand. Her shoulders slung down at the weight of the bag. Bored, she threw the bag at the pavement and blew at the air. Oh, I wish Dad would appear out of nowhere in his majestic Mercedes and take me back home. This monologue repeated itself everyday in Fiona’s head. She hated walking back from school and especially during those summer months in which the air felt like stones against her chest and her heart beat two times faster than its normal pace.

Today was her 13th birthday and Fiona decided to make it at home. For the last eight years, she celebrated her birthday in restaurants like MacDonald’s or Hardees, but this year she decided to make it at home to be able to invite her ever-increasing number of friends.

During the last year, Fiona started to open up so much. She turned from whimsical little girl who sat alone in a corner reading a book, into a sociable, and even sometimes, funny girl whom everyone likes to be around. Normally, new friends flew at her from all around the neighborhood that sometimes she hoped she would disappear and return to her old life with a book and an mp3.

Fiona reached back home. It took her nearly half an hour. Her feet hurt her so much. After throwing her pack at the couch, she collapsed beside it then She took off her shoes and whiff of her damp socks reeked at her. “Yuck.” She said, waving with a newspaper against her feet.

Something clicked behind her. She turned to find her mother standing at the kitchen washing some dishes and preparing lunch for her. Her mum was tall, slim with orange short hair. She always liked to wear her high heels even at home.

“Mum,”

“Yeah honey,”

“Is everything ready?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s ready. Your father will bring with him the cake.”

Fiona’s eyes brightened and she sat with her knees at the couch. “It’s a chocolate cake, correct?”

“No, sorry; it’s strawberry.”

Fiona frowned. “Oh Mum I told you I wanted the chocolate.”

“Yeah,” her mother seemed a bit embarrassed to explain, “ you see darling, we can’t pay for the chocolate one.”

“Mum,” Fiona yelled, “I don’t have a birthday every week; I want the chocolate one.”

“It seems we’re having a big problem with money this month,” her mother said, “There was this tailleur I asked your dad to bring me and he said no, and you see I’m still smiling.” She grinned at Fiona.

“Mum, I don’t care, just do something about it.”

Fiona got to her feet and walked into the kitchen. “I don’t care; I hate strawberries.” she bunched the marble stand.

Her mother pressed her lips, raising her gaze from the cucumber at her hand. “Darling calm down,” she said, “You must be thankful that we cared to make you a birthday in the first place. “

Euhh, she would begin Fiona thought. With a frown, Fiona ran to her room, closed the door and slouched on her bed. What if her friends did not like the strawberry cakes and what if her mother…wait….what if her mother was lying and they were really bringing her a chocolate cake and they were just making it a surprise, she thought

Fiona got her feet and smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. “They’re just making fun,” She said to her reflection. “I’m sure they’ll bring a chocolate one.” And she began imagining the chocolate cake on the wooden, round table; its creamy brown color oily against the yellow light of the lamp overhead. Fiona would bow against the table and blow at the flickering candles then she would have a quick lick of the toothsome chocolate.

Some hours later, her father returned. Fiona was having a shower when she heard the sound of his keys against the glass table. “Honey; I’m home.” He said,

Fiona could not believe her ears. He must have bought the chocolate cake. She toweled herself quickly then put on her clothes and ran down into the living room. Her father was sitting at the couch; his bald head oily and his armpits damp.

“Dad,” she said, “you brought the chocolate cake correct?”

He did not look at her. He took the remote control, turned on TV and said, “Darling, please stop this noise. Be calm…”

“Dad,” She blurted out,” I am not kidding. It is a chocolate cake; I know. Show it to me, where is it?”

“It’s a strawberry cake,”

“Father…i…Iii”words choked in her throat.

She ran into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Inside she looked at the mirror, tears rolling down her eyes. They never cared about you, she thought. How much she wanted to eat a chocolate cake; she would give anything to eat a chocolate cake.

She washed her face; afraid to show her tears to anyone especially her mother who usually scrutinized her whenever she cried and said, “stop being ridiculous never cry, never.”

From these words, Fiona expected her mother to never cry, but one evening after returning from a ball with her father, her mother flashed into the bathroom,

For all teenagers. What do you think of my writing?

Fiona was on her way back home. Her backpack was hurting her so much she took it off and held it in her hand. Her shoulders slung down at the weight of the bag. Bored, she threw the bag at the pavement and blew at the air. Oh, I wish Dad would appear out of nowhere in his majestic Mercedes and take me back home. This monologue repeated itself everyday in Fiona’s head. She hated walking back from school and especially during those summer months in which the air felt like stones against her chest and her heart beat two times faster than its normal pace.

Today was her 13th birthday and Fiona decided to make it at home. For the last eight years, she celebrated her birthday in restaurants like MacDonald’s or Hardees, but this year she decided to make it at home to be able to invite her ever-increasing number of friends.

During the last year, Fiona started to open up so much. She turned from whimsical little girl who sat alone in a corner reading a book, into a sociable, and even sometimes, funny girl whom everyone likes to be around. Normally, new friends flew at her from all around the neighborhood that sometimes she hoped she would disappear and return to her old life with a book and an mp3.

Fiona reached back home. It took her nearly half an hour. Her feet hurt her so much. After throwing her pack at the couch, she collapsed beside it then She took off her shoes and whiff of her damp socks reeked at her. “Yuck.” She said, waving with a newspaper against her feet.

Something clicked behind her. She turned to find her mother standing at the kitchen washing some dishes and preparing lunch for her. Her mum was tall, slim with orange short hair. She always liked to wear her high heels even at home.

“Mum,”

“Yeah honey,”

“Is everything ready?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s ready. Your father will bring with him the cake.”

Fiona’s eyes brightened and she sat with her knees at the couch. “It’s a chocolate cake, correct?”

“No, sorry; it’s strawberry.”

Fiona frowned. “Oh Mum I told you I wanted the chocolate.”

“Yeah,” her mother seemed a bit embarrassed to explain, “ you see darling, we can’t pay for the chocolate one.”

“Mum,” Fiona yelled, “I don’t have a birthday every week; I want the chocolate one.”

“It seems we’re having a big problem with money this month,” her mother said, “There was this tailleur I asked your dad to bring me and he said no, and you see I’m still smiling.” She grinned at Fiona.

“Mum, I don’t care, just do something about it.”

Fiona got to her feet and walked into the kitchen. “I don’t care; I hate strawberries.” she bunched the marble stand.

Her mother pressed her lips, raising her gaze from the cucumber at her hand. “Darling calm down,” she said, “You must be thankful that we cared to make you a birthday in the first place. “

Euhh, she would begin Fiona thought. With a frown, Fiona ran to her room, closed the door and slouched on her bed. What if her friends did not like the strawberry cakes and what if her mother…wait….what if her mother was lying and they were really bringing her a chocolate cake and they were just making it a surprise, she thought

Fiona got her feet and smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. “They’re just making fun,” She said to her reflection. “I’m sure they’ll bring a chocolate one.” And she began imagining the chocolate cake on the wooden, round table; its creamy brown color oily against the yellow light of the lamp overhead. Fiona would bow against the table and blow at the flickering candles then she would have a quick lick of the toothsome chocolate.

Some hours later, her father returned. Fiona was having a shower when she heard the sound of his keys against the glass table. “Honey; I’m home.” He said,

Fiona could not believe her ears. He must have bought the chocolate cake. She toweled herself quickly then put on her clothes and ran down into the living room. Her father was sitting at the couch; his bald head oily and his armpits damp.

“Dad,” she said, “you brought the chocolate cake correct?”

He did not look at her. He took the remote control, turned on TV and said, “Darling, please stop this noise. Be calm…”

“Dad,” She blurted out,” I am not kidding. It is a chocolate cake; I know. Show it to me, where is it?”

“It’s a strawberry cake,”

“Father…i…Iii”words choked in her throat.

She ran into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Inside she looked at the mirror, tears rolling down her eyes. They never cared about you, she thought. How much she wanted to eat a chocolate cake; she would give anything to eat a chocolate cake.

She washed her face; afraid to show her tears to anyone especially her mother who usually scrutinized her whenever she cried and said, “stop being ridiculous never cry, never.”

From these words, Fiona expected her mother to never cry, but one evening after returning from a ball with her father, her mother flashed into the bathroom,

whats a good way…?

for a teenager to make money either from home or some way other than getting like a super market or fast food job?