Narn

There comes a time when a girl has to decide:

Should I buy new ladder-free stockings?

Or should I just shave my legs?

I’m at the crossroads.

Is all about people in power making stupid decisions.

Fuck the principles…

...Let’s talk about Practicle Legal Training - the mandatory course one must do to become a lawyer in Queensland.

In order to become a lawyer in Queensland you have to do this course, or else prove that you cover all the areas covered in the course while working. “Hmmm, what a good idea”, you may say. “This will ensure a level of skill and competency in the legal profession”. I’m sure this certainly was what the law society people thought when they made the descision to put us gradutes through at least two weeks of torture.

But NO! This shite has nothing to do with anything that will make me a more capable lawyer, or a better still, a more capable person.

I do not give a shit about trust accounting, civil litigation, advocacy skills, or formulaic order drafting. If I need to do that stuff, I will learn how.

What I want to know, which is of course what the law society does not deem as worthwhile to teach me is....

What do you do when a person who trusts in you cries?
What do you do when their mother cries?
Good people do bad things; how do you rationalise that?
How do you hold on to the beauty in life when there is so much disgusting injustice in this world?

It’s all about the journey.

It doesn’t take much to make me feel like a princess. For example, I caught the 9:49pm 385 bus from Ashgrove into the City on Friday night, just missing the 9:16pm, which is something I am grateful for in retrospect. I asked the driver to let me know the closest stop to Eagle Street. By Adelaide Street I was the last person on the bus. He asked me where I was heading and we chatted. He drove the bus off his regular route and dropped me outside where I was going, like a regular chauffeur. So a shout out to you, Mr Bus-Driver-Man.

But that was not the end of my befriending of strangers on my journey. I caught a cab home and shared my last two fortune cookies with the taxi driver. He received a message about making your own destiny, which meant something to him. He was from India and was working as a cab driver to save up enough money to support his fiancé who is in still in India. He needed to make sure that they would be totally secure, as their marriage would ostrascise both of their families. He is Muslim, she is Hindu, and they will never be able to marry openly. His story made my silly problems and silly fortune-cookie message seem irrelevant. Good luck to you, and your dearly loved fiancé, Mr Taxi-Driver.

Scene:
Want-to-be jazz bar. Packed. Noisy. Shite music. Girl is pacing down the length of the bar, looking for spare seats, vulture-like, clinging desperately to her rusty nail, and taking large gulps. Boy is leaning against booth, casually listening to the band, sipping beer.

Girl: (yelling) Is this seat taken?

Boy: Yes, I think it is...(moderately lecherous look) Are you from Brisbane?

Girl: Errr...yes?

Boy: ......*Small talk*

Girl: .......*More small talk*

(laughing)

(banter)

Boy: So, do you have a boyfriend?

Girl: No. But I’m in love with someone who doesn’t love me, which makes me even more unavailable to you, if that’s where you were going with that.

(short silence - Boy looks momentarily confused)

Boy: (laughing) Oh, I’m sure that’s not true...?

Girl: (defensively) What the hell would you know? I mean, you don’t even know me! For all you know I am totally unstable and screwed up!

(long silence - both parties stare at the ground)

Boy: Ok then, well you have a good night.

What chance of happiness do I have when my personality is working so forcefully against me?

What is more fun that Coles on a Thursday evening? Nothing, when you find treasure in the discount bin.

Oh, yes,I struck oil when I found vibrating condoms for just $1.99!!!

“Why would no one else want this?” I pondered. And despite the fact I do not quite know how such a device works, and there is, sadly, zero to no chance of me using such a thing any time soon, I decided to take the plunge and make the purchase. This was mostly due to my desire to face my irrational fear of purchasing condoms, a job that I have been able to delegate quite successfully for the most part.

When it came to the point of the checkout there were two queues. The first led to a regular looking 17ish year old girl and the second a pimply 15ish year old boy. For maximum embarrassment I had to go with the latter. Unfortunately the choice was out of my hands as a new register was opened where the person serving was a very normal, unshockable-looking checkout chick. Incidentally, her name was Christy.

And she certainly had a sense of humour, leaving the vibrating condom packet lingering until it was the very last item to be taken from my basket. This would not have been quite so effective had I not been lucky enough to have been followed in line by a religious zealot. He happily engaged Christy in conversation about the likeness of her name to the name of Our Lord. There is no way he could have missed the very deliberate scanning of the last item by my friend Christy.

The only way I could have perhaps enhanced this experience for myself would be to have included a large cucumber or carrot in my shopping. Maybe next time.