It Was Like Watching A Cretin Beat His Head Against A Brick Wall Mindlessly

As I stood on the corner of Brunswick Street and Victoria Parade in my blue checked short sleeved shirt, the one in which I think I look rather smart, the temperature dropped and the rain started to fall finely, like a mist, and I wondered to myself, as the cold pierced my skin, maybe I misjudged this outfit rather badly. Suddenly, it was grey and wet. I scanned the street for similarly dressed people, safety in numbers, but there were none. Oh well, nothing I could do at that point, except forge ahead and hope the bad weather doesn't get any worse.

I walked to Spring Street and caught the tram, it was one of the old single cars. When we got to 101 Collins Street, a guy standing on the stop tried to board the car at the very last minute, as he stepped to the door, the doors closed in his face. He recoiled and the doors opened again automatically. He stood back and then again he tried to enter at the last minute. Again, the doors closed in his face and he recoiled, again the doors opened again automatically. For the third time, he attempted to board the tram at the last minute, the doors again closed in his face, again the doors opened automatically. It was like watching a cretin beat his head against a brick wall mindlessly. And a tram full of people were held up, stationary, and all they could do was gaze out the window with their mouths open. Or was that just me?