Young at heart

I kicked off the shift with a return visit to the radio station of Wednesday’s interview to collect a copy. My plan to post it for those who missed the program was short-lived when the producer reminded me of Copyright Law. Something I’d completely overlooked. So in the next 24 hours I’ll provide a transcript of the interview instead.

Being a Thursday night, work was relatively busy with a decided increase in activity in the run-up to Christmas. Finally. Despite interludes of light to moderate rain it was humid all night and into the morning. Summer is not far away. The shift was notable for two interesting, yet different passengers. One young, the other not so young.

Around 8 pm outside the Marrickville Hotel, a fella of 25-30 years hailed me and opened the front door. He was a big man carrying a sports bag and white tube which appeared to be a rolled up newspaper. In the early evening gloom I picked him to be a Pacific Islander. Leaning in he asked, ‘Wanna take me to Blacktown, bro ?’. This was way out in the western suburbs, a good 45 minutes away.

I hesitated, not so much over the destination but rather due to the tube he was carrying. He took the cue and said, ‘It’s cool bro, I’ll give you a $100...’. Something in his voice, gentle and plaintive, told me he was okay. ‘Yeah righto’, I told him, ‘hop in’. He’d sensed my hesitancy and immediately produced two $50 notes, which I took and put on the instrument panel.

At first he attempted to recline his front seat, intending to snooze through the trip, but the adjustment function was buggered. Instead I engaged him in light chat which he was only too happy to reciprocate. It wasn’t hard to tell he was well educated and intelligent, being an easy conversationalist with a soft and warm voice.

He quickly volunteered the tube was holding drawing plans, from his studies in a Building Diploma at a Technical and Further Education College. This was a two year course which he was very near to completing. Like all young blokes undertaking further education, he lamented the workload yet saw it for what it was. A ticket to the future, which would set him up for a relatively comfortable life.

His parents had emigrated to Australia when he was six years old. They hailed from Tripoli, in the Lebanon. ‘Why did they decide to come here’, I asked, ‘were they looking for a safer place to bring up the family or was it an economic decision ?’. ‘Nah’, he responded, ‘it was because my brother’s autistic, and they wanted access to better health facilities. My Dad came here first to check it out for a couple of years, in order to get the passport, then go back and live in Lebanon. But he fell in love with Australia, and so moved the whole family out here.’.

In the last few years my passenger had returned to his birthplace for a visit. ‘What did you think,’ I asked, ‘did you like it ?’. ‘Yeah,’ he replied, ‘Lebanon is beautiful’. And he described a place of snow-covered peaks in winter and beautiful beaches in summer. ‘But it was really different to Australia’, he concluded, ‘I couldn’t live there, after growing up here’.

‘So are you a Muslim or a Christian ?’, I asked. ‘Nah, we’re Muslim’. ‘Do you practise ?’, I inquired. ‘Yeah’, pretty much’, he replied. ‘How’s Ramadan going ?’. ‘Aw, it’s hard sometimes bro’, he told me, ‘but I do most of the fasting and praying’. And he spoke of a few obligations, such as the daily prayer schedule and, not checking out the girls, as young blokes do.

When he told me had four brother and no sisters, I replied that his mother must be a saint, to raise four sons. He paused and thought about this, before quietly replying, ‘Yeah bro, it’s pretty tough for her - it’s a really hard job with just boys.’ The warm affection in his voice demonstrated his obvious love for her.

In the end, we arrived at his home a few suburbs beyond Blacktown, in around 40 minutes. He offered his hand for a genuine handshake and I wished him all the best for the rest of his studies, and also Ramadan. When we locked eyes in the weak cabin light, his eyes sparkled as he thanked me for the chat. I departed thinking what a comfortable and charming travelling companion he was.

At the end of the night, camped outside the Basement nightclub in the City, an attractive woman surprised me as I read the paper. I hadn’t seen her approach. She opened the door and inquired if I was free. ‘Yeah, no worries lady, jump in’, I told her. She lived down on Botany Bay and opted for the back seat as I got organised.

She had just been to see the legendary Aussie band, The Angels. I didn’t need to ask her anything twice, ‘Aw, they were fantastic’, she replied, ‘all -the original line-up’, and started rattling off names. However the main front man, Doc Nielsen, wasn’t playing. On inquiring about him she became vague and wouldn’t elaborate. She reported they were all seated, playing an acoustic set only.

‘I’m nearly 50', she told me, ‘and it was such a great night with all the oldies. Not one young person there. Just all the fans from years ago. There’s not many venues catering to us oldies !’ Then she rattled off the old hits they’d performed. An Angels acoustic set sounded interesting to me, as I hadn’t really gone for their hard-assed rock ‘n roll, all those years ago. The psychedelic rock of Jimi Hendrix and Pink Floyd was more my go, way back then.

In fact, I can’t recall ever really getting into Aussie rock and pop in my twenties. Living in the Eastern Suburbs, my mates and I would scoff at getting off our asses to see AC/DC, up at the Bondi Lifesaver. To us, they were just a head-banging, yobbo band from the western suburbs. And INXS were North Shore wankers with pouncing front man, Michael Hutcheson, simply a Mick Jagger rip-off. History proved us to be the wankers !

After reminiscing on The Angels, my passenger decided to tell me all about her life. Where she was from, why and when she moved to Sydney, her ex-husband and son, her apartment, job, car, hopes, and aspirations for retirement.

Why was she telling me all this, unsolicited, I wondered somewhat bemused. Was she hitting on me ? Nah, surely not. She was a little tipsy, yet this manic outpouring to a stranger, spoke of a certain loneliness. Or worse.

At the end after paying, she lingered with the change and asked me about my life. ‘Aw, I live with me wife and kids out at Blacktown,’ I fibbed sheepishly, ‘but everything’s good - I mean, life has it’s ups and downs, but I’m happy man.’ ‘Well’, she replied, ‘get someone to look after the kids, and take your wife to see The Angels. You’ll love it.’ With that she was gone, and so was I.

Comments

[Patty]

Nicely written, thanks for sharing your life with us. (ps, I am an Angels fan, what do ya mean Doc wasn't playing, crumbs!)