Saturday, June 16

I'M A MAGNET FOR FUCKWITS

How's that for a killer statement? It’s a grand, sweeping generalisation and honestly, most of the people in my life are some of this planets most amazing individuals. I feel completely privileged and honoured to hold them close and treasure them like the delightful things that they are. People like that are few and far between and because I've managed to assemble a massive collection worthy of the museum of funky friends or some other badly named collective like that, it is only natural that amongst the beauty, occasionally, security is breached and a random gets through. Let’s face it, there happens to be some out and out randoms wandering this planet who do your fucken head in and for some reason, yet to be categorised by science, they naturally gravitate to me. Boy do I have fun when they step into my personal space, like this woman I met a few weeks back whilst waiting for a tram to rescue me.

For the purposes of this story I will change her name and call her Beryl, mostly because I’m fucked if I can actually remember her name. Anyway as I approached the tram stop she was deep in conversation with a group of teenage guys who had moved well away from the tram stop and we’re hardly reacting to her enquiries. Now a smarter, more aware person would recognise this as a warning but I’m clueless and dim at the best of times so I wandered up to the tram stop and sat down to wait for its arrival. Like a lamb to the slaughter I couldn’t smell the stink of nut bar in the air as she departed her teenage victims and settled down alongside me. Foolishly I smiled at her, which for most people is common courtesy, but for her was an open invitation to start chatting.

Beryl was clearly a drug abuser, aside from her slurred speech, she was a head to toe example of why you should never dress yourself if you are a drug abuser…did someone say Britney? She was wearing a far too short denim mini, black stockings, a hideous shirt that looked like it had been wiped across Ken Done’s arse and a jacket that once belonged to some kind of synthetic animal who’s fur had been torn from it and stitched into something that may have been cool in the 90’s, emphasis on ‘maybe’. She also had a huge pair of 70’s sunnies on and fire engine red lipstick that had made the progression to her teeth sometime through the day and had decided to stay there. The first thing Beryl said to me was

‘My names Beryl, what’s yours?’

It was at that moment that I realised I was trapped. A braver person would have stood up and walked away but I chose to open the fucken floodgates with this reply

‘I’m Benjamin how are ya going?’

IDIOT! What the fuck are you doing? That’s what was echoing through the interior of my skull, but by that stage it was too late. Beryl answered by telling me ‘

‘I’m ok but the tram seems to be running late so lucky I’ve got you to talk to while I wait’.

Damn it all to hell is what I thought. So the next thing she asked me was

‘Do you like my sunnies? I bought them today at the op shop and I think they’re pretty cool’.

Rather than say

‘Hmm they look pretty shitty but at least they distract you from the car crash of collected clothing you have assembled for the public today’

I said

‘They’re pretty cool, they suit you too’

She came back with a

‘Wow do you think? Thanks so much, oh you’re really nice’

It was around this time that she jumped from her seat and leaned hard against the inner wall of the tram stop alcove and looked at me with dread in my eyes, I looked at her and asked if she was alright to which she replied

‘Can you see that guy with the blond mullet? Is he coming over here? Quick go check’

Of course I’m thinking are you fucking serious? Her intent stare confirmed for me that she was, so I got up, walked forward of the tram stop and had a good look around, the whole time Beryl is whispering to me with the loudest, drug fucked voice you’ve ever heard

‘He’s the one with the blond mullet, the baseball cap and tracksuit, if he sees me he’s probably gonna try and bash me the fucken arsehole, I can’t believe he is wandering around here, Jesus, do you see him? Is he coming over?

Of course at the mention of the bashing and coupled with her over the top reaction I was freaking out. The last thing I wanted to get involved in was a street fight between some doped up slapper and the man who financed the aborting of all her ill gotten babies. Fortunately he kept on walking and disappeared around the corner but even after my assurances she was reluctant to step away from the wall. I resumed my position on the seat, hugging my backpack close to me and perhaps it was the wind but I’m sure I was rocking backwards and forwards a bit too. I do remember wondering when the fucken tram was gonna arrive and get me away from her. Beryl stepped out from her hiding place and tentatively walked out to check her surrounds, I spent the time staring up the street trying to imagine a tram into being.

Once she felt sure he wasn’t around she sat back down next to me and launched into telling me about how she was an artist and that the shelter up the road was having an exhibition of her paintings. She said they were being shown for the next few weeks, proceeded to tell me the opening times and enquired about when I might be going to see them cos she would love to know what I thought of her work. That sort of questioning implied that she would like to hear from me once I actually had viewed them, which wasn’t NEVER going to be on my to do list. I told her yeah I’ll definitely try and get there. It was at this stage that I stood up and said

‘Well it looks like the tram isn’t gonna come so I’m gonna walk, nice to meet you Beryl and best of luck’

I didn’t wait for her reply, just walked straight towards the corner of the street and waited for the traffic lights to change so I could escape. As the lights changed and I stepped into the street to cross I heard her yell out

‘Wait for me! I may as well walk with you cos you’re probably right so hang on’

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! The interior of my head screamed, now she’s gonna fucken follow me. I of course kept on walking in the sad hope I could make it across the road before she caught up with me but it wasn’t to be. I then proceeded to walk up the street at double time while she walked a step behind me talking all the fucken way. This continued for 10 minutes until finally an out presented itself, as we approached an intersection she turned to me and said well this is my street, thanked me for walking her up the street and sauntered off into the distance. I of course breathed a sigh of relief and watched her to make sure she didn’t change her mind and return. Suddenly I understood what it was like for her when she was pressed against the tram stop wall losing her shit. As much as I would have loved to ignore her and divorce myself from her issues and her conversation I realised I’m not that sort of person, I never will be and I probably don’t wanna be either. I managed to bump into her at the service station around the corner from work a few weeks later and said hi and she said in a loud voice, in front of all the people in the queue waiting to pay

‘Hi love did we screw once or something?’

I just said no and added in a rather meek voice

‘We met at the trams top a few weeks back’

She just shrugged her shoulders and walked away leaving me red faced and wishing I’d never even bothered.