Schoolie class

It’s high-school formal season in Sydney. It kicked off shortly after the final Higher School Certificate exam last month. Various City venues from the Opera House down have been solidly booked with hordes of 18 year old kids celebrating their end of regular schooling.

Last night, after a 2 week break for Schoolies holiday rages, the formals resumed. I worked the Wentworth Hotel, a five star establishment and favourite victory venue for the Prime Minister. An eastern suburbs private boys school had the joint booked for over 400 guests. Earlier in the day they had booked the Opera House for their awards ceremony...

Around midnight I ferried home proud and tired parents to exclusive houses and apartments on the North Shore and eastern suburbs. In the past I’ve worked in this world, as a groundsman on gold medal properties and had no trouble talking the talk. Indeed, it’s talk much like any other.

Parents related their kids school achievements in both academia and sports. One has a champion rugby player already signed up for the Waratahs. Another has a daughter headed for law at university. All expected the kids to kick back for a year, working in bars, travelling and generally enjoy a well-deserved year of wanderlust.

A particularly interesting fare was farmers from central western New South Wales. They hailed from a district I've worked in previously surveying phone cables. They lamented, without rancour, drought-affected wheat yields of a paltry 3 bags per acre. Plus not being able to restock a cattle herd, sold during hardship, due to cattle prices now being off the wall.

As the parents headed home the kids, or rather young adults, contently ambled a couple of City blocks to a private party at a nightclub. The girls wore the latest fashions with some going for as little fabric as a formal do would allow. Stilettoes were de rigeur. The guys were just as impressive in cool black and white formal attire. All the young couples seemed relaxed and mature, and very close.

Of course, in their excitement many drank too much, though I didn’t see any yelling, high jinks or brawling. Many left, disappearing wherever, only to return quiet and subdued after some fresh air on the City streets. The mandatory security character was relaxed and bored without a worry.

In the end two girls hopped in for a trip over the Bridge to an apartment block on the lower North Shore. As they climbed in the back seat I thought they were giggling, then on pulling away realised one was gently weeping. Within 100 metres, a sound much feared by cabbies had me turn to see her quietly throwing-up into a paper bag, ably held by her girlfriend. In the cab game, that’s real class. No harm done.

Comments

[Simon]

Love your blog. I visit often but never feel like commenting as the stories you tell do not neeed any addition, probably because I am not offended or enraged by what you say.

Just noticed that your blog doesn't draw a lot of comments and thought I'd give you my feelings on why. Keep up the good work.

[James]

Motion Seconded. Often after a long day it's nice to just listen to what other people are doing. You've always got interesting stories. Cheers mate, you're doing a great job!

[adrian]

Simon and James, thanks for the lovely commendations. Such appreciation truly makes it worthwhile. Cheers,

[Darlene Taylor at Blogspot]

Ditto! You should compile your stuff, or write some longer short stories (perhaps you do). You write with a lot of humanity and respect, which is a skill not everybody has. This piece made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

[adrian]

Many thanks Darlene, now you have me thinking...