Int. A supermarket, at the UHT Milk section. Afternoon.
MONIQUE is crouched to the floor, reading the back to soy milk labels, trying in vain to find a soy milk that doesn't have added sugar. Presently MONIQUE becomes aware of two people talking behind her. The two people have the following conversation.
VOICE 1 (very Australian, bogan voice)
Doesn't this milk last for ages? Like years?
Voice 2. (Also very Australian, but with a weaker, reedy quality.)
Nah, only if you don't open it.
Voice 1.
Aw, so like, if you open it, you have to drink it quick like normal milk.
Voice 2.
Yeah, you gotta drink it within 3 days, like normal milk bro.
Voice 1.
Nah, are you sure? Like I thought it lasted for ages, like months or some'hin'
Voice 2.
Nah, it's like normal if it's open, you gotta keep it in the fridge and drink it.
Voice 1. (To MONIQUE)
Excuse me...
MONIQUE turns around.
Two men in suits stand there. The first voice is that of ROSS. The second is of GABRIEL. ROSS is a stocky man, dark greased back hair. GABRIEL is thinner, with rapidly receding hair, glasses, and shoulders that seem to be constantly drawing up towards with ears, making his neck virtually disappear. The men introduce themselves and shake MONIQUE's hand.
ROSS
You seem to know about this milk, do you have to drink it quick after ya'open it?
MONIQUE
Yes, once you've opened it becomes like normal milk, it's only before you open it that it last for (she checks the used-by date) yeah, ages; this goes off in December next year.
GABRIEL
See I told you.
This sentiment and the comprehension of the facts goes on for a little while.
ROSS
You see the thing is, we sometimes need milk at our place of work – sometimes clients want milk, but most of the time we don't use a lot and it goes off and we have to throw it out.
MONIQUE
You could use powdered milk perhaps?
ROSS
Oh yeah, how does that work?
MONIQUE explain the ins and outs of powdered milk.
MONIQUE
Or (pointing out the 250ml individually packaged milks) you could perhaps just get those.
ROSS
Oh yeah, hey that's great. You know your really smart
GABRIEL
Oh yeah, you're one of the nicest people I've met!!
ROSS
What do you do?
MONIQUE
I'm just a student
ROSS asks what MONIQUE is studying, GABRIEL nods along in agreement.
ROSS
Well we work at the advertising agency around the corner (he digs around in his wallet, and produces a card)
If you ever need work experience, give's a call.
GABRIEL
Do you want my card too?
MONIQUE (Unsure)
Sure.
ROSS
Nice meeting you MONIQUE, we will let you get on with your day
GABRIEL
You are just so nice, really, have a lovely day. God bless you, you're so nice. Do you believe in God?
MONIQUE (internal groan)
No.
GABRIEL
Oh! Can I talk to you about God? Maybe over a coffee?
MONIQUE
No, thank you.
GABRIEL
But we all need God. Jesus can really improve your life.
MONIQUE
Thank you but I have my own beliefs
GABRIEL
And what do you believe?
MONIQUE (Thinking on her feet)
That one should treat others as they want to be treated
GABRIEL
That's what Jesus says! Are you sure I can't tell you about God
MONIQUE
Yes, thank you, I can think those things without the Jesus part
GABRIEL
Ok, well, if you change your mind, you have my card.
MONIQUE
Thanks.
MONIQUE turns back to the milk and the two men walk away.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
An Ode to Nic (558)
Nic (558) worked on the corner of Lonsdale and Elizabeth on the weekends; Hardware lane and Lygon street during the week. About four weeks before he died; and overdose, they think, he left Melbourne to work on a fishing trawler in the Northern Territory, or somethings like that.
Working around the Big Issue office, I saw him most mornings. He'd come in for a coffee and a cigarette with some others who were around. Then he'd buy some magazine to go out and sell. He'd often be listening to the radio, and he'd always say "It's Nic 558.com.au (558 was his Vendor number) when he called on the phone.
I only really knew him in such ephemeral ways until I really met him, and made a connexion with him one winter day last year.
I worked Saturday mornings, and would often go for walks around the city to see where the Vendors were working and see how they were going. Nic was working his usual pitch, and I said hello. Suddenly he was asking me about myself, and through this process, he began to tell me about his partner, Tania.
He spoke of her fondly, saying she used to play tennis, but she gave away doing it professionally to go back to university. He also told me, as I said I wanted to write, that she had also been a journalist before she started her Phd. I don't remember what he said she was writing on for her Phd., but I remember, him telling me, even toned, "The day before she handed in her Thesis, she had a brain aneurysm, and died." It was one of the most profound moments I had experienced, as he continued on, encouraging me to keep writing; "Just write a little something everyday."
Vale Nic, Vale.
Working around the Big Issue office, I saw him most mornings. He'd come in for a coffee and a cigarette with some others who were around. Then he'd buy some magazine to go out and sell. He'd often be listening to the radio, and he'd always say "It's Nic 558.com.au (558 was his Vendor number) when he called on the phone.
I only really knew him in such ephemeral ways until I really met him, and made a connexion with him one winter day last year.
I worked Saturday mornings, and would often go for walks around the city to see where the Vendors were working and see how they were going. Nic was working his usual pitch, and I said hello. Suddenly he was asking me about myself, and through this process, he began to tell me about his partner, Tania.
He spoke of her fondly, saying she used to play tennis, but she gave away doing it professionally to go back to university. He also told me, as I said I wanted to write, that she had also been a journalist before she started her Phd. I don't remember what he said she was writing on for her Phd., but I remember, him telling me, even toned, "The day before she handed in her Thesis, she had a brain aneurysm, and died." It was one of the most profound moments I had experienced, as he continued on, encouraging me to keep writing; "Just write a little something everyday."
Vale Nic, Vale.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Angie
I often go down to The Gem. A bar in Collingwood, it's tucked away on Wellington street, away from the more popular joints, The Tote, The Rochester, The Birmingham.
It's decor is ridiculous and charming. Elvis adorns the walls in various forms; a rug, a framed copy of TV week, a watermarked mirror, a photograph from is 1968 comeback tour.
The same band has played Sunday nights for the last 4 months. Small groups of dedicated followers of the simple, rockabilly band come almost every week. As one a part of one of those groups, I have slowly met a few of the other devotees, recognising them and saying hollow the weeks that I go.
Angie was relatively new to the weekly ritual. I'd only seen her since January or so. Tonight I sat beside her at the bar. She'd already met another friend of mine - Ezbon, who was a much more dedicated attendee than myself. Ezbon had been the impetus to myself and many of our friends attending in the first place.
In her early fifties at a guess, and very well kept and well dressed, Angie leaned over and ask,
"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."
That broke the ice, and as she tapped her foot along to the music, we passed banter about the evening back and forth.
One moment struck me, was when she looked over after a quip from the Double-bassist about Mother's day.
She laughed. "He's been going on about mother's day all weekend! I'm not a mother! I was almost once. My son would have been thirty-nine if he has lived."
Then she just went back to dancing in her seat, cat-calling the lead guitarist.
Amazing.
It's decor is ridiculous and charming. Elvis adorns the walls in various forms; a rug, a framed copy of TV week, a watermarked mirror, a photograph from is 1968 comeback tour.
The same band has played Sunday nights for the last 4 months. Small groups of dedicated followers of the simple, rockabilly band come almost every week. As one a part of one of those groups, I have slowly met a few of the other devotees, recognising them and saying hollow the weeks that I go.
Angie was relatively new to the weekly ritual. I'd only seen her since January or so. Tonight I sat beside her at the bar. She'd already met another friend of mine - Ezbon, who was a much more dedicated attendee than myself. Ezbon had been the impetus to myself and many of our friends attending in the first place.
In her early fifties at a guess, and very well kept and well dressed, Angie leaned over and ask,
"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."
That broke the ice, and as she tapped her foot along to the music, we passed banter about the evening back and forth.
One moment struck me, was when she looked over after a quip from the Double-bassist about Mother's day.
She laughed. "He's been going on about mother's day all weekend! I'm not a mother! I was almost once. My son would have been thirty-nine if he has lived."
Then she just went back to dancing in her seat, cat-calling the lead guitarist.
Amazing.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Maria
The room pulsed with the collective heart of a Friday night. I could barely hear Maria over the noise or the bar, glasses clinking, people talking, shoes shuffling, coat cast aside, laughter, instruments being tuned for the next band.
Maria was a friend of a friend of mine, Who I had bumped into that night at random. She was more interested in talking to him than to me. She suggested they go to a house party after the bar, and I don't remember how, but I heard mention of VCA.
Steeled by beer and atmosphere, I bullishly tried to assert myself in the conversation.
"What do you do at VCA?" I asked.
"Music" Maria said.
And that was that.
Maria was a friend of a friend of mine, Who I had bumped into that night at random. She was more interested in talking to him than to me. She suggested they go to a house party after the bar, and I don't remember how, but I heard mention of VCA.
Steeled by beer and atmosphere, I bullishly tried to assert myself in the conversation.
"What do you do at VCA?" I asked.
"Music" Maria said.
And that was that.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Nurse Claire
Early morning fasting-blood tests
Cast a vague tissue-paper
Feeling over the day, standing
On the porch of the nicely
Disguised clinic - a Terrace
On a street in Brunswick.
She opens the door, 8am.
I'm first in the cold lab,
Take off my coat, she takes
My form. Now she has
My name, written next to
Signatures, abbreviations and
Boxes for ticking.
I don't know hers, and she
Never says, yet I think
Of her as Claire, through
The rest of the moment,
Sitting in the chair, needle
Sucking earnestly blood from
My arm.
Claire is Gentle, efficient.
We talk of TV awards and
Police Shootings, the radio news
Colouring our conversation.
Then the question - what are you?
A Student, of what you ask -
And I say, and I say 'to learn'.
I'm rare, she said, and elaborates -
'My problem is,
That I want to do everything'.
She goes back to study,
Every now and then.
Stuck full of holes,
Both arms pricked and taped
Back together, the goodbye
Is so between Nurse Claire,
And I, the student.
Thank you, good day
And good luck.
Cast a vague tissue-paper
Feeling over the day, standing
On the porch of the nicely
Disguised clinic - a Terrace
On a street in Brunswick.
She opens the door, 8am.
I'm first in the cold lab,
Take off my coat, she takes
My form. Now she has
My name, written next to
Signatures, abbreviations and
Boxes for ticking.
I don't know hers, and she
Never says, yet I think
Of her as Claire, through
The rest of the moment,
Sitting in the chair, needle
Sucking earnestly blood from
My arm.
Claire is Gentle, efficient.
We talk of TV awards and
Police Shootings, the radio news
Colouring our conversation.
Then the question - what are you?
A Student, of what you ask -
And I say, and I say 'to learn'.
I'm rare, she said, and elaborates -
'My problem is,
That I want to do everything'.
She goes back to study,
Every now and then.
Stuck full of holes,
Both arms pricked and taped
Back together, the goodbye
Is so between Nurse Claire,
And I, the student.
Thank you, good day
And good luck.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Adrian and Christian
Murky night with
An awkward date -
Two brothers are friends
Of the one I am with,
Adrian has tattoos that
They speak about
But don't include
Me in the
Conversation, so I
Sip my Gin
And become accused
Of being quiet
By Christian, who
Has a moustache that
Matches his curly hair
And his
Beige sports coat, and
I feel like I'm the younger
Out of all the
Company I'm keeping this night.
Then we go dancing,
And there is no need
For speaking,
But I still feel alone,
Even though I then meet
Tedo, and Laura and Harry.
An awkward date -
Two brothers are friends
Of the one I am with,
Adrian has tattoos that
They speak about
But don't include
Me in the
Conversation, so I
Sip my Gin
And become accused
Of being quiet
By Christian, who
Has a moustache that
Matches his curly hair
And his
Beige sports coat, and
I feel like I'm the younger
Out of all the
Company I'm keeping this night.
Then we go dancing,
And there is no need
For speaking,
But I still feel alone,
Even though I then meet
Tedo, and Laura and Harry.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Phillip, Nick
Bars are not often the best place to meet people, I have found.
I was out with a friend, in the city, rain falling outside.
The band played pop covers to an adoring crowd - mostly friends who'd come in support.
I was introduced to Phillip - he was in the band - but I learned more about Phillip from Nick.
Nick was drunk and enthusiastic, he introduced himself when he sat down next to me, waiting for a drink to come back for him from the bar. He indicated Phillip after both Nick and I, and Phillip and I had exchanged names. Phillip began to pack up the band gear.
"He's just so amazing." Nick began.
I nodded.
"He plays violin," he began to number things off on his fingers. "Guitar, piano, and he can sing," his voice when up a notch. "And he's Austrian, and he can speak French, and Dutch and German."
Nick flailed his arms in admiration.
"I want his babies."
I was out with a friend, in the city, rain falling outside.
The band played pop covers to an adoring crowd - mostly friends who'd come in support.
I was introduced to Phillip - he was in the band - but I learned more about Phillip from Nick.
Nick was drunk and enthusiastic, he introduced himself when he sat down next to me, waiting for a drink to come back for him from the bar. He indicated Phillip after both Nick and I, and Phillip and I had exchanged names. Phillip began to pack up the band gear.
"He's just so amazing." Nick began.
I nodded.
"He plays violin," he began to number things off on his fingers. "Guitar, piano, and he can sing," his voice when up a notch. "And he's Austrian, and he can speak French, and Dutch and German."
Nick flailed his arms in admiration.
"I want his babies."
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