I commenced last nights post describing the current weather conditions, intending a brief summary leading into some fares worth mentioning. So exciting was the overdue rain however, I got carried away. Here now is a report, detailing the dominant feature from the last couple of nights fares.
Passengers once again were significant for exhibiting The Sydney Angst, found largely amongst heterosexual women of the dateable type. A few years ago I was inclined to bemusement, regarding the dilemma such girls have in this town. Namely, the abject lack of available men. Now however, I find their condition singularly depressing, as they do too.
Saturday night was an endless succession of grief, tears, frustration and despair. This really surprised me as it was only a waning moon, having peaked last weekend. Maybe the onset of grey skies and halting showers over the last few days magnified the situation for the girls. If it wasn’t girlfriends workshopping nuances of a bar, club or party encounter with indifferent men, then it was either shameless treason, outright fighting or back-seat breakups. Sheeesh...
Camped at a red light on Oxford Street, I observed a late night couple wandering and window gazing. Willing them to turn and spot me, they finally did and jumped in, seemingly happy. She was lovely, contently chatting for a few minutes, whilst he was tired and detached, a typical bloke.
A few blocks further on, the quite mood changed as he expressed frustration she had joined him for the night. By Paddington, she was justifiably challenging his invitation. ‘If that’s the way you felt darling’, she stated calmly, ‘you should have told me - I would happily have gone out with the girls’. Arriving at their Edgecliff home, it was obvious the relationship was now over. Done in the space of a ten minute cab ride. Quietly and clinically, with a chilling finality.
Two Double Bay girls bail out of a Balmain pub, disappointed and shitty their promised male encounters had not eventuated. For them Balmain is 'boganville', the pub band 'pathetic', and some after-party invitation deemed laughable. They’re philosophical however, and ease each others embarrassment, at leaving the eastern suburbs, by planning a pyjama party.
On reaching the City they have resolved to get smashed at home instead. Then a text message arrives. The blokes have finally arrived at the pub, after all. Where are they ? Within 30 seconds, buoyed by the belated interest from their dates, plans are reversed and they’ve decided to continue home, grab the car and return to Balmain. It’s 2 am.
Three girlfriends after midnight, return to Manly from the City, unlucky and intent on hitting the Steyne Hotel, to save the night. One rings an old, recalcitrant boyfriend, who’s in bed asleep. Ten minutes of cajoling and promises by the three of them, has him reluctantly agreeing to get out of bed, and meet them in Manly to join the party.
Three more girlfriends from the Clovelly Hotel to Paddington, spend the entire trip demolishing a rival, over a desired male. On arrival, the hot favourite refuses to get out in the light rain, for fear her classic hair job will be ruined. Myself and her friends tried everything, short of a cattle prod, to get her out of the cab, so neurotic was she over the trendy hairstyle. One that looks like a porn star would adopt.
The rare trip with blokes on the make, had them discussing possible conquests, comparing bedroom mannerisms and swapping text messages from women with unflattering nicknames. Otherwise the conversation topics were evenly dispersed between footy, work and outrageous party stunts. The fairer sex were generally mentioned in passing. There was no anxiety involved, confident as they were of guaranteed attention, awaiting them at trips end.
Tonight from the Clovelly Hotel once again, a casual couple jump in for Bondi. She’s happy, laughing and really pissed, an all too common feature of the Sydney Angst. He’s quite, under control and displaying a cautious reserve. In the space of one question from her, and his resulting remark, she totally comes apart. Immediately she collapses in the corner, howling tears of despair, rent with heartbreaking sobbing. Finally, only when he slides across the seat to cuddle her, with some quite and tender reassurances, does she regain a semblance of control.
I dunno, I think if I were in the position lots of Sydney girls find themselves in, I’d be seriously considering homosexuality. But that’s another story, from other nights in the cab.
Give 'em my email address, I do housecalls.
Posted by: Dirk Thruster | July 12, 2004 at 07:37 PM
Consider this, Dirk - often women going home alone, complain, 'There's no decent men in this town...'. My standard response is, 'You oughta go to Queensland - there's too many men up there..'. To which they reply, 'Nah, they're all rednecks..'.
Men I've discussed this issue with, insist too many Sydney women, have unrealistic expectations.
Namely, a bloke has to have the right looks, job, car, locality, etc, etc.
If I was a young fella, faced with such superficial demands, I'd hook up with a backpacker. All they want is some holiday fun. Plus they've got return air tickets !
Posted by: adrian | July 13, 2004 at 02:46 AM
Backpackers,been there, done that. It's a whole big bunch'o'fun, but you've got to be fit. The redneck thing is a common remark, though. It's mostly a matter of getting past the 'first impressions' stage of not knowing which venues are fashionable today or wearing clothes which went out of style in like, May, or something.
Posted by: Dirk Thruster | July 13, 2004 at 05:06 PM
Yeah, they don't like rednecks, or Yobbos. What they want is a gay guy who likes to fuck women. Good luck!
The trick is to ignore them altogether and go after the Japanese exchange students and backpackers. They're thinner and they speak less english, so are less annoying.
Posted by: Mark Latham | July 20, 2004 at 06:57 AM