"This is an important announcement to all teachers."

The headmaster's voice boomed over the speaker system, interrupting a very philosophical and intriguing debate between my students on whether Jeremy had banged Lisa or her brother. The attention to detail on this issue was fascinating, considering no one had first-hand knowledge on Jeremy's afternoon activities. I carried on pretending to enlighten the class about environmentally-friendly waste management systems. But filters and soil lining made for poor entertainment, so I found myself listening to Peter's prolific descriptions of Jeremy's sexual prowess, while moving on to waste-to-energy plants myself.

"All students at risk of failing the year are to be sent to Room 402 immediately with one of the red letters you will find on your desk. Please remember to use absolute discretion in accordance with the new Data Protection Act!"

I picked up the beacons of shame, walked over to the students and handed out imaginary letters alongside three real ones. Then I marched back to my desk and asked the three students with "a papery thingy" in their hands, to make their way to the room next to Room 401 for undisclosed reasons.

After Flunky Anonymous had left, I smiled. "So glad you have no idea who's likely to fail this year. My discretion is unrivalled."

The class grinned.

"Mrs Halstead, you have again given me back the wrong class test. Look, this one is for SmaLou, but I am SmiLou."

I grabbed the paper SmiLou was holding out to me. Of course, she was right. The second time I had messed this up. Unacceptable, but, oh, how I wished the NSA and various other international intelligence agencies around the globe stopped spying on innocent pupils via whiteboard panels and sending horrific monsters from Area 51 to eat those pupils who had uttered a politically-incorrect view on recycling. Then I could use proper names in the classroom again instead of these abbreviations, consisting of the three first letters of the surname, followed by the three first letters of the given name. It was pure genius. Even the NSA would be hard-pressed to find the decryption key for this elaborate system.

Next lesson: Modern conspiracy theories and how to reveal them. I had no idea myself, I admit, but I had this creepy feeling that maybe I was being forced to live one.

Muttering an apology, I stood up, watching the young generation jump up at the sign of the bell, fleeing the premises like bank robbers.

"I can't believe that FliMar has joined the thick crew this year!" I heard one student say.

"Yeah, also never expected BarAar to get a red letter, either," his mate answered.

I suppressed a laugh. They still forgot now and again that discussing information from data protection leaks was banned, but they could remember the six-letter name-soup like pros.

"Here are the student ID cards for your class." Mr Johnston, the headmaster, placed the little cards on my desk.

I looked at the top one and shook my head.

"Mr Johnston, where's the picture? I can only see a black square."

"Yeah, well, the kids didn't want their pics taken. Can't do anything about that. DPA, you know. Of course, there's no address either anymore. Or proper name."

Smart man. I just hoped that the NSA had never heard of Instagram or TikTok.