Junkies: A love hate relationship

So there I was, awaiting the onslaught of the footy aftermath, and the fantastical failure of a final it was, when I am approached by a small woman missing her two front teeth.

Alliteration aside, I am reminded once more that life, and everything in, around and associated with it... is simply ridiculous.

"One Beer please", squawks the little commission dwelling creature.

"That'll be six dollars thanks" I say, or something to that effect.

"Six dollars", she retorts; "but I only have four!"

(awkward silence)

It should be noted that the concept of capitalism, and our lovely system of trade requiring 'capital' to be exchanged for goods and services permits me to reject the goodwill of said junkie, who in offering me financial capital, has failed to see the underwhelming connotations behind her monetary offering.

"Yeah sorry, Becks is normally 3.50 a schooner but that's just for Happy Hour, which is every day from 4 till 8pm. But that finished about 45mins ago. Sorry."

"Oh, ok. But can I get a becks on happy hour?"

"Yeahhhh.... You see Happy hour runs from 4- 8pm. It's on every day so you have 28 hrs a week of cheap drinks. But I'm afraid now the price is six dollars"

"Well, do you mind if I borrow two dollars? Or I could just ask someone here for two dollars!"

"I really don't think its appropriate I'm sorry."

"Let me just ask someone to see if they have a spare two dollars"

"You know what, don't worry about it"

I oblidged.

Junkie :1

Salts:0

Now, in most cases the brutal nature of myself as a bartender would happily see the denying of alcohol to someone of this caliber as a small victory for society. However, the nature of said junkie, being in her 40s, perhaps slightly brain dead from years of drug an alcohol abuse, and missing her prized front chompers, struck a chord with me. Surrounded by heavy applications of eye liner, the lonely, vacant look in her eyes cried out for company... or was it meth?

Clearly in this instance, the decision to allow a discounted beer prevented little miss methadone from approaching the other customers in the venue. There was greater utilty in this measure as a preventative one. At least, she would only be able to afford one beer, and would be gone soon.
I think it began to look more along the lines of;

Junkie: 1

Salts: 1

I watched as she awkwardly tried to mingle with various social groups, staring at the ceiling and inspiring me to write about ridiculous things. Her return visits to the bar requesting water led us into extra time, and she returned to the fray still clutching the same initial beer yet to be consumed over the course of an hour. Then, while I engaged in other bar-like activities, she had disappeared. No longer seated atop the deep maroon ottoman she was perverting.

Junkie: 1

Salts: 2

Despite extra time, and a minor victory for society, I am certain that this game of cat and junkie will be repeated next week.

Day: Sunday
Time: 8:30 am
Location: chapel street
players: big issue seller, regular customer at RT's, party animal.

Its Sunday morning on chapel street, and as you may know this is an interesting time on the strip. Cafes are buzzing, tourists and families are feening for a good breaky and a ripper latte. Whilst many others are still feening from the night before.

Party animals that have had a ripper night are beginning the walk of shame. Having to conquer two flights of stairs, without tumbling down them. (Maybe revolver should do something about that.) and then trying to make it all the way to their abode without anyone sighting them.

RT’’s was pretty busy, families spanning across all of the tables. As per normal customers eating breakfast are observing party goers in discuss, but don’t dare say anything. Although this particular morning a party animal is racing, and takes it upon himself to mouth off to the peaceful man selling the big issue, a regular customer at RT’s has observed this occurring and takes matters into his own hands….


And belts the daylight out of the party animal. Why didn’t he just put his head down and made the walk of shame back to his abode, every one else has to.

Just a side note: the man who sells the big issue on chapel street is a absolute legend, please buy the magazine, it makes for a good coffee table mag.