Antennas of puff came out of the exhausts of the 2 cars sitting in front of me in the cold air of the morning at the lights at Hoddle Street, like some sort of crazy dodgem car connection to the greater cosmos. We were like 3 chimneys, I thought, as I looked in the rear vision mirror at the back of my own car repeating the picture. There is something foreboding and animal about cars sitting at the lights in the dim light on a grey morning exhaling smoke like dragons, you can almost hear them growl, certainly there was a rumble, deep and guttural. Surely? I wasn’t imagining it, was I?
(The car fanatic has an extra frequency for automotive detail, like the ears of a dog, which can be sometimes confusing)
There was a champagne (read metallic beige) coloured Daihatsu Sirion GTVI, baby dragon, sitting in front of me at the lights at Hoddle Street, an uglier car there has not been, with its dinky little wheels and it’s faux claim to GTI greatness. It took off at a snail’s pace, of course, and I was stuck behind it all the way around the back streets of Abbotsford. Grr! Kid Peugeot surged with aggression.
I imagined some fat secretary behind the wheel, whose only grab at being special was the ill-conceived car purchase she was now piloting – slowly – through the back streets. A hot hatch on a budget, it was a contradiction in terms.
I could see her chunky calves in support hose nervously hovering over the accelerator, all the time fanaticising about how fast she could drive, how individual she could be, regretting the talent she had that was clearly going to waste.
The back of the car was shaped like her behind, a jelly mould, flaring over the hips. A hessian smock with a high neckline and sensible shoes completed the picture.
She took the standard route down the side of Carlton & United, I took my very own side street. “Ha, ha, I will beat you now, fat girl.”
As I came down my very own side street a white Commodore Station wagon was just sitting there... with the back half of a tram.
“Oh, come on!”
I thought Victoria Street was banked all the way back, but then I realised that it was just the truck and the tram I could see and nothing else in front, the tram had hit the back of a truck … right where I turn into Victoria Street. There was crumpled trim on the tram, kind of torn off the corner The white Commodore finally moved forward revealing that it could always have gone, the driver was just being stupid. The truck driver and the tram driver stood in the middle of the deserted road. Yes, the deserted road. The white Commodore driver just stopped and sat there, I’m sure with his mouth open and a blank look on his face.
Oh yes, one my favourite things, those drivers that just stop and sit. They just pull up behind whatever and sit like dummies.
Of course, neither did I think of, or see, the slow cow in the GTVI snail again.
I quite like where I am working, the people are nice and the days slip away quite easily. Funny, that the best most of us can say about the jobs we do is that the day passes quickly and we can get home quickly. Get it over with and return home. It is quite sad for something we spend so much time doing.
Still the days do seem to pass quickly and I am forever walking out through the sales centre to my car.
I get home at 5.30, before Sam.
I got changed and quickly got Buddy and we walked up Gertrude Street to meet Sam. We met him not far up the street. Buddy was doing his normal sniff sniff sniff. He had his head down and was walking. I could see Sam coming the other way. I wondered if Buddy would just keep sniff sniff sniffing right past Sam. But he didn’t. I don’t know if he smelt Sam, or if he saw Sam, but he did all of a sudden and he was very excited to see him.
It was lovely to see.
Sam is his favourite.
It is nice walking home with my boyfriend and my dog, arm in arm with the dog pulling on the lead gently out the front.
Sam claimed he had 5 supermarket credits and he wanted me to go to the supermarket.
“Really?”
“Totally!”
It was what he indicated, yesterday, when I deserted him in the street to head home to watch Britain’s best drives at Mark’s recommendation.
“No way! Not if you wouldn’t allow my one supermarket credit.”
He never did. At one stage, I had been to the supermarket twice without Sam, but he would never return the favour. He’d never go in return.
“Absolutely,” he said. He held up his five fingers. He smiled that smile that said his position was unassailable.
But I wanted to watch Britain’s Best Drives, still leaving a sour taste in his highness’ mouth, after my desertion last night. We set the recorder before we left and we both headed to the supermarket.
We had roast chicken and long beans.
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