foxymoron

I was a uni student. I had a day off on thursday, so on Wednesday night I went out with my friends. We basically got white girl wasted on $2 drinks from the uni bar and then strutted down to the clubs until the wee hours.

I eventually got home and attempted to read a note that was on my dresser. I was in no state to understand or remember it, so I went to sleep.

Two hours or so later, my mum was tapping my shoulder, asking me if I’d read the note and if it was okay for me to pay the power bill this morning. I said anything to get her to leave, and return to my drunken slumber.

Ten minutes later I woke to a pounding headache. I jumped up and sat, staring into the mirror opposite my bed, with half squinted eyes and cloudy thoughts.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOC

It was in fact a pounding on the front door, not my head. I looked at the time on my phone and saw it was 2pm. I had slept all day.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I quickly got up, wrapped myself in a towel and went to the door. En route I caught a closer glimpse at my face, but instead of hiding, I swallowed my pride and greeted the small, impatient man, sweetly

“Hi, how can I help?”

“Hi, I’m here from the power company, a bill was arranged to be paid this morning and wasn’t, so I’ve been sent to cut it, I’m afraid”, the man said

“OMG I was supposed to pay that this morning!! Please, I have the money in my room.. Can I just pay it now?”, I pleaded. The man looked at me with a smirk, as if I was lying. He apologised and proceeded to RUIN MY LIFE.

I went back inside, looked in the mirror and thought – FUCK! I will now have to call my mum at work and explain that I didn’t do what she asked, and now there is a reconnection fee on top of the bill zzzz

I calmed down and went to the have a shower. i looked in the mirror in natural light and saw that my makeup was completely smudged with black mascara and eyeliner on my cheeks and forehead,  red lipstick on my chin, I was wearing a towel and yawning at 2pm in the afternoon as I begged someone not to cut off my power.

No wonder he didn’t believe me – I looked like a drug addict and felt like a piece of shit. haha.

There was this male bus driver who used to give me the shits. His schedule was all over the place, so even when I deliberately tried to miss his route to or from uni, it would be just my luck that he was driving the bus I ended up catching.

There was something about the lingering stares he would give me as I paid my fare, and the sleazy looking smile he pulled from the moment he opened the bus’ doors, until I sat down. I named this guy “the arsehole”.

A few months out from Christmas, I was waiting for the bus to the city. It was a beautiful warm day and I was wearing a spaghetti strap dress, with black skinny jeans. The bus pulled up, and of course it was the arsehole. I took a deep breath and stepped up on to the bus.

“Wow, you look beautiful!” he said with black eyes and a greasy looking, gummy smile.

I said “Hello, to the city please”

He grabbed my wrist and stroked my upper arm tattoo while saying “I love you”

I snatched my arm from his grasp and said “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

He kept asking “why?”

I didn’t indulge him with a reply, but instead hopped off the bus and walked home. I was at the local shopping centre, so it was a good half hour walk along the main roads.

In this time I had a wave of emotions. I was shaking a bit, I felt violated. I was stressing that I now needed to catch a different bus from a new place everyday.

I was fuming with rage, that this bus driver felt he was allowed to touch me, and could say something completely inappropriate. I was also confused as to why this man could be totally unprofessional but I ended up feeling worthless.

It wasn’t until I got home and told a family member, that my concerns were validated and a call was made to the bus company.  Management asked if I would like him to be fired on the spot or moved to another route. It was almost Christmas and I empathised with the arsehole, not knowing whether or not he had a family to support, so I requested he be moved and never drive in  my neighborhood again.

One year later I was in the downtown mall after class, killing time with a little bit of retail shopping before heading to the bus. As I was coming down the escalators I locked eyes with THE ARSEHOLE on the escalator going up!

He pointed at me and yelled “YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

People around me gasped.

My heart started racing and I felt my face heating up.

When I got off the escalator, I briskly walked outside to the crossing. The city traffic is always busy so it was a bit of a wait for the lights to go green.  I was standing at the front of the group, but constantly checking over my shoulder to see if the arsehole was coming up behind me.

“WATCH OUT!” a female voice screamed

I immediately turned back to the road and saw a bus coming up along the footpath. IT WAS THE ARSEHOLE. He was speeding towards me, and wouldv’e hit me but another person nearby pulled me to the ground, out of the way.

The bus stopped on the footpath, the arsehole opened the window and said “I’LL KILL YOU !”

People in the crowd started lunging towards him, swearing, yelling , but the doors were locked and he was able to speed away.

I look back and think “Oh you’re gonna kill me? You couldn’t even kill me when you were in a bus and I was on the footpath, you useless bitch”.

They say hindsight is 20/20, but it also gives you strength. I over analysed that situation many times during reflection and would never allow him to make me feel weak or timid or sorry for him again. Come at me brah, see what happens.

One time I was walking on the wrong side of town. I knew I didn’t belong, and the bystanders knew that too. They watched me, they didn’t look away when I caught them staring. It actually made them stare more, as if my acknowledgement of their presence was an invite to speak as well. These people heckled and made me feel dirty. I was wearing a summery pink dress with yellow sunflowers; a stark contrast to the baggy dark clothing of my new stalkers.

I held my head high and continued to walk. I pretended to talk on my phone so I didn’t look alone, and to hopefully keep people from coming closer with their disgusting comments.

A sudden gust of wind lifted the bottom of my dress above my head. I dropped my phone as I scrambled to cover myself. It was hopeless. After a good five seconds of showing EVERYTHING to EVERYONE, I flattened my dress down against my legs.

Before I could look and see who was watching, I heard them. There was laughter coming from every angle. It was deafening almost. There were small deep grunts, there were high pitched cackles, it was like a philharmonic range of comedic appreciation.

One voice bellowed above the rest. I heard “Hey! I’m wearing the same undies as you, girl!”

I scanned around for the voice and spotted a homeless geriatric person across the road, lifting up their top to show some high-waist, loose cotton underwear – granny undies if you will, almost identical to mine.

If the laughter was deafening before, my ears were bleeding at the noise now.

I picked up my phone, nodded at my undie- twin across the road and fake laughed my way back to the car and proceeded to die.

The bathroom was being renovated at my parents house. Everyone was at work or school, and I didn’t have any morning Uni classes, so responsibility fell upon me, to ensure the tradesman was able to come in and finish the job.

He was late. I was pacing up and down the lounge, peering out the window, sending irritated texts to my sister, who had hired her friend to do this plumbing job.

He finally arrived and I opened the door to greet him. I acted uncomfortably, unsure of how much to smile, and what to say because I had a tiny crush on him and his uneven dimples. We sort of knew each other, as he had been friends with my sister for many years, but he was a lot older than me so I’d never really engaged with him more than a greeting. He sort of leaned in with his handshake, to kiss me on the cheek, but I wasn’t expecting that and didn’t lean in myself, so there was this mid-air pause, like a freeze frame of sorts, until he forced a small giggle and retracted his face. I day-dreamingly refer to this act as our ‘almost’ first kiss. haha.

It was his third and final day sorting out the bathroom and was familiar with where and what he needed to do.

I tried to busy myself with some pre-lecture readings, and constant mirror checks because I could not stop blushing to save my life! My rosacea was an unhealthy mix of embarrassment and a school-girl crush. I think I must have caked on 4 layers of foundation in an attempt to keep the “feels” at bay.

An hour must have passed, and he FINALLY walked around to the van, with his gear to leave. I had left the front door held open about ten centimeters in an effort to not be rude, while I peered out from behind the living room curtains like an actual CREEP, waiting for him t go so I could head down to the bus stop. I was literally willing him to leave, as I mumbled “get in the van, get in the van, get in the van”. He looked up at the house and must have noticed the door was ajar and started approaching. I was hiding in a place which meant if I moved, he would see me through the glass door and know I was standing there watching, so I was stuck!!

As he walked up the steps, my heart was palpitating so quickly that I think I died for a second. I was just hoping he wouldn’t call me and see I was standing RIGHT NEXT TO THE DOOR, watching him from the curtain!! I held my breath as he popped his mouth into the crack of the door and yelled “I’M LEAVING”

I screamed “AGGHHH!!!” and jumped about a foot into the air.

He screamed “AGGHH!!!” because he got a fright from me yelling, right next to his mouth.

He pushed the door open, saw me standing exactly where I didn’t want him to see me standing and again, forced an awkward giggle with his hand resting on his head with what I assume was confusion, and eyes as wide as my blushing cheeks. I joined in the laugh this time, reluctantly, to cut the silent tension and said “see ya” as I slowly, but surely, melted into the old wooden entrance way and died another embarrassing death.

 

I was working in town as a new staff trainer.. I had to go in early to open the classrooms which meant leaving home at what felt like the crack of dawn to get a seat on the express bus.

I was running late this fateful morning, as my hair took longer than normal to style. I paused my “getting ready” music to check the time, freaked out and ran down the street as quickly as one can, in uncomfortable but beautiful, 3inch heels.

Having missed the express bus, I was mentally preparing myself for an awkward journey, standing in the aisle. I was pleasantly surprised when a seat was available next to a thin, old lady. She had a bag on the chair and was avoiding eye contact. I said “excuse me, may I sit down please?” with my sweetest smile. She looked me up and down, sniggered and snatched her bag. I said “Thank you” instead of “f you”, but she ignored me.

It was an uncomfortable ride in to the city. I was half off the seat, to avoid touching her, my ear phones were itching my neck but I was too afraid to move my arm, and the traffic could not have been any more congested.

It was finally time to press the buzzer for my stop.. The only buzzer near by, was on the wall next to the lady i was sitting with. FANTASTIC. I asked nicely if she could push it. She ignored me. So I asked again. Still no response. Time was running out. I went to lean over her, to press the buzzer but my hand got caught in my itchy ear phones and my hand accidentally fell onto the ladies leg.

She YELLED “Oh for f***s sake!!”, and finally pressed the buzzer for me, just in time before the driver missed my stop. I apologised and thanked her, before tripping off the bus, falling onto my hands and knees and slamming my handbag into the footpath which shattered my makeup application mirror and spread teensy shards of sharp, blood causing glass all throughout the main part of my bag, which I would learn later, in the classroom, as I dipped in for a pen.

So… I love writing, and talking. For an average human, of grassroots status, I have many awkward and strange stories to share. I sensor myself on facebook out of non-existent peer pressure from all of the extended family or acquaintances I have acquired in my friends list over the years. There is literally no real reason why I feel uncomfortable to go into detail about risque topics, but I do.

So this, this blog will house my thoughts.

If you are a lover of raw unprocessed, barely coherent, virtually subconscious dribble, then this now, is your house too.

cue *welcome mat*