Trash

The evocative term, 'white trash' has reared it’s ugly head in the press this past week. That it was used to describe support staff for indigenous communities was somewhat bemusing to anyone familiar with real white trash. The following is an example.

During my recent train journey to Queanbeyan I had occasion to witness such a specimen at close quarters. A few hours into the trip a father and daughter boarded and made their way to a booked seat, opposite my own and one forward. This gave me a direct view of their situation, even via the reflections on my window.

The girl was around seven or eight years old and lugging a small backpack. She was reasonably well dressed in clean jeans and a sweat top, with long, straight hair tied in a pony tail.

Her father was aged in his mid twenties and dressed in the sartorial splendour of a rural scumbag – terylene tracksuit, white runners and a baseball cap. He stood in the window seat and turned to survey the near-deserted carriage. As he removed his jacket to reveal emaciated arms I instinctively pinned him as a classic amphetamine abuser....

Jutting out his chin, partly covered in a wispy goatee beard, his bleary, sunken eyes located and stared down each passenger, like a junkyard dog staking out its territory. Then he bunched the jacket between the seat and window to serve as a pillow, sat down and promptly fell asleep. It was 9:30am.

For the next hour he remained totally immobilised, hunched into the window with tightly folded arms as if paralysed. From the time he boarded the train he had not said one word to his daughter, who by default was relegated to the aisle seat. Surely, I thought, a parent automatically gives his child the window seat. But it was like she didn’t exist.

For her part she seemed content enough, as she sorted through the railway promotional material, settling on a map of the train route. She spent some time inspecting this, feet swinging aimlessly a foot above the floor before reaching into her bag and removing their tickets. These she also studied intently and I realised that, in attempting to locate their destination on the map, she could barely read.

After a while she curled her feet up on the seat and fell asleep with her head resting on the aisle arm-rest. Yet there was no item of clothing to cushion her head against the jolting of the train’s movements. Clearly she was so exhausted that rest came easily, despite her head bumping on the seat arm, thanks to her selfish father.

For the next two hours the train stopped every twenty minutes and as it slowed she would bolt upright, craning her neck at the passing platform to see the station name. Then she'd check the map. As her father never stirred once it was obvious that she had assumed responsibility for ensuring they didn't miss their stop.

At one of these stops, an hour into their journey, she woke him by pulling on his arm. At first he resisted, turning away like a spoilt child to burrow deeper into his sociopathic cave. “Daddy, Daddy,” she quietly persisted until he awoke and grumpily responded. “I’m hungry,” she simpered. So he reached into a bag, found a small, squashed package and silently plonked it on her seat tray before returning to his coma.

She slowly unfolded a greasy packet of half-eaten hot chips, by now cold and congealed with fat. These she delicately extracted one by one, placing them gently in her mouth to chew without enthusiasm. With no drink to wash them down, even though a buffet car was available in the next carriage, it was painful to watch and my contempt for her father reached boiling point.

Once the chips were finished she re-checked the map, then once again curled up and fell asleep, head bouncing on the arm rest. Watching all this I imagined a scenario whereby I leant across the aisle and handed her a ten dollar note. “Go up to the buffet car and buy yourself a hot breakfast,” I whispered.

After she had left I rose from my seat and approached the sleeping father. Reaching down I seized his throat with a suffocating grip and dragged him down the aisle to the doorway. Opening it I held the flailing scumbag airborne above the adjoining tracks, until a speeding freight train roared past.

It was just like putting out the trash.

Comments

[newlywed]

blah bla blah blah great blah blah blah card blah blah

[faz]

no you didn't

[Rainer the cabbie]

I am pleased it was just a fantasy, pity the person having to scrape the sh!t of the freight trains windscreen.
What gets me is the thought of the young girl in 10 years time. Is she going to be a well adjusted young person eager to make the best out of her life?
The more I think about it the more I am convinced that we should pay the dysfunctional people in society not to have children. A short term investment that will save us heaps in the future. What do you think?

[Caroline]

Good idea Rainer.

I think this little girl's main cross to bear was not that she had a dead beat father necessarily, but that she was a good little girl, and could look after herself (up to a point) and look after him (up to a point). Were she a son, I daren't say the scenario you witnessed would be somewhat different.

[Epskee]

Being a single mum after my sane partner turned to drugs and turned into the exact specimen your describing, I have a very similar theory. Centrelink should offer them all a new car in order to be made sterile.

Not only would they gladly take it up, but surely say $50K would be cheaper than the single parent pension and the other costs involved in supporting these kids and their deadbeat parents, not to mention the benefit to society in general, and those poor children raising themselves in particular to not have to grow up like that.

No wonder places like Macquarie Fields and Redfern etc have generations of welfare recipients, how can anyone with that sort of upbringing ever manage to break out? Poor buggers never stood a chance.

(and to those who like to twist peoples comments, by "poor buggers" I meant those born into the culture, not everyone receiving benefits)

[Daniel]

Essentially we (as a society) do encourage these sort of people not to have children. There's been study after study that directly links accessible abortion to (in ten years time) a dramatic drop in youth crime and disadvantage.

Obviously this sort of guy never wanted a family, and it all happened by his own incompetence. I know it's an ethically divisive course of action, but what are the moral consequences of forcing children into the parentage of those least capable or interested in raising a family?

[adrian]

Newlywed, glad you liked it. With much respect, here's the original.

Scott, are you the 'devout campaign coordinator' concerned with stabilising population ?

...(crickets chirp)...

[Lostlegionnaire]

Hey, are you turning into Travis Bickle? "Hey, are you talkin' to ME?"

[Lee]

I can't help but think a whole bunch of assumptions have been made here. How do you know he is a bad father and a junky? Because he sleeps past 9.30am, because he's skinny because he has facial hair, because of what clothing he wears, because he didnt give his daughter the isle seat and because he gave her old greasy chips i dont think its fair to label and judge someone purely on appearance only. No words were spoken to this man or his daughter, and no prior knowledge is known of them either, i think its unfair to immediately assume he is a 'bad man' so to speak and his daughter is doomed.

Its interesting to think that this is the first assumption made - one that i myself would probably have come too, but how justified is this? How can we pidgeon hole people like this and think that its ok?

[adrian]

Lee, these observations were based on experience, knowledge and intuition. I stand by my pigeonholing with confidence.

[Ex Brisbane Cabbie]

Hello All,
Adrian is 100% correct.
As a cab driver you need to make fast decisions on people.... will this customer give me trouble? will this customer try and do a runner....

Mistakes in the taxi business are very very expensive.... as the rate of pay is so low.

Adrian is telling you what you probably arleady know.... when this guy approaches your BMW at the traffic lights - you probably hit the AUTO LOCK button like you life depended on it!

Adrian - keep the TROLLS away.... Keep up the good work.

Kind regards,

PS - I want to send you an X-mas gift for all your hard work on this blog.... how can I send you a small gift?

[adrian]

Paul, that's a wonderful request but, really, it's not necessary. This is a hobby which I love doing, anyway, so the sentiment is reward enough. Much appreciated, Adrian.

[Rainer the cabbie]

WHY DON'T YOU WANT A GIFT!!!!!! ARE YOU CHICKEN OR SOMETHING??????? MOST FELLOWS DRINK, PLAY CARDS, GO TO THE FOOTY OR SHOOT THINGS THAT MOVE, AND YOU WRITE A BLOG FOR A HOBBY????????
TELL YOU WANT, NEXT TIME I SEE YOUR SH!TBOX PARKED OUTSIDE THAT SLEASY COFFEE JOINT YOU FREQUENT I COME INSIDE AND YOU HAVE TO BUY ME A BEVERAGE FOR MAKING YOUR HOBBY WORTHWHILE!!!!!!
:) :) :) ;) ;) ;) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[adrian]

Classic, Rainer. Bloggers should be rounded up and have, UNAUSTRALIAN tattooed on their foreheads.