Wednesday, September 27, 2006

i used to love her

O say 3 weeks ago i was down in Melbourne for a short sojourn, away from its Northern brother (evil or otherwise).

After filling 4 days, sardine style, full of the la familia and work it was time to sling the bag, don the hat and exit stage left. What follows is a breakdown of my last 3 hours in Melbourne.


"Farewell so long my family you will be missed"
I set off from Edithvale at approx 3:45. Those of you who know me know im not amongst the most organized of fellows however in this case my flight is not until 6:50. 150 minutes surely will be more than ample to have me on my merry way.
I kiss the family goodbye.


"Timing is everything"
Upon arriving at Edithvale station I hear the man in the box tell me i should expect the train in exactly one minute. Nothing short of bee's dick precision i tip-toe the yellow line, satisfied and look down the belly that is the Frankston line in eager anticipation for the steel with yellow and blue accents.


Well it seems the train is running late, nothing to fear of course, what’s one minute between old friends like myself and the Frankston line? sure, ill take a seat, stretch the legs, even observe the newly arrived local female inhabitants. It seems my oversized zebra-print backpack has aroused their attention.
"Fucking faggot"
Oh joy.


"Where for art thou o man-in-box?"
I feel the vice of time slowly tightening when the speakers come alive and tell me the train is running 40 minutes late due to some Frankston fauna pulling the doors off one of the carriages. I decide it best to leave in search of a taxi as the 2 Edithvale harlots have began some form of predatory circle where one will ask me for a cigarette (no doubt some attention diversion method) while the other directs her energy to some un foreseen project behind me.
As I leave hilarity ensues, although the laughs sound somewhat depressed, like some has-been, it could have been so much more.


"Frankston you cruel mistress"
As I wait for a taxi I notice that the snake that is the Neapean Highway has become bloated from a recent feed of pre peak hour traffic. This does not bode well for our young traveler.


"A hypnotist you say"
The taxi driver is confident that he can get me into the city by 5:15. Not my original plan, the time for pirates and Willy Wonka would have to be cut short, but the cards had been dealt and they had to be played.
He had one of those afternoon channel 9 game-show credits voices, enthusiastic yet controlled. After some foreplay back n forth conversations I learn that my new wheel-steering friend is actually a clinical hypnotheripist and his taxi driving career is nothing more than social experimentation gone farce.
Interesting fellow and ill take this chance to plug him

Yuri Runcis M.A.H.T.C
Clincal Hypnotherapist
0417 032 834
(By the way, Hypno-the-rapist)

Anyway our travels are sluggish which gives me plenty of time to act as intellectual vampire and take my fill of answers to questions such as “So what came first the hypnotherapist or the comedian?”


“Beep beep”
Phone dies.


“From sluggish to the slug has died”
Traffic is tied-up for 8 city blocks.
A police man informs us someone had jumped in front of traffic.
Much (much) later that day back in Sydney I tell a Bangladeshi Muslim cab driver of the suicide in which he responds “ I bet he was Christian, Christians die for no reason”


“4 o’clock appointments”
Coffee with a girl in a red dress.
Everything was good including the coffee.


“For you no problems for me no problems”
By this time I’m doubtful that I can reach Avalon in 30mins. Regardless I hail Mary and ask the Lebanese father of 5 what the chances are.


“I’m sorry sir, there’s just no way I can do that”
Well maybe it was 6:45 but the fucker was still on the ground. After the 3rd refused entry and the 100th curse on Jetstar, its staff, family and unborn child I walk, defeated, to the public phone and call the boss.
By the time I find a cab to take me to Tullamarine the plane was just taking off.


“Light at the end of the muddle”
Well after the Frankston line, Yuri the Hynotherapist, a suicide, a cunt of a Jetstar employee and over 300 dollars on cab fairs Ive made it. Virgin-blue books me in for a 9 o’clock flight and a pretty attendant walks me all the way to the plane.

I wrote this as an apology to those people I was supposed to see on my last day in Melbourne.

1 comment:

Pete Le Creep said...

its all love

see u soon