Blokes

Melbourne Cup day was particularly punishing yesterday, mainly due to the record temperatures which reached 39°C at Sydney Airport. And with Randwick Racecourse only a few suburbs away you can imagine how hot it was for the thousands in attendance.

The order of the day was ‘rehydrate’ and racegoers didn’t need to be told twice as they absorbed fluids with relish. Yet many unaccompanied ‘suits’, blokes well into their thirties and forties misjudged the deadly combination of rehydrating with mates and the oppressive heat. One would have thought they knew better.

The extended celebrations which started at lunch time claimed other victims too, punters’ wives, families and loved ones. The fact it was a Tuesday meant revellers had other responsibilities to consider, unlike a Friday night piss-up when the weekend allows time to recover.

Then there was the gambling element on top of a day when interest rates increased. More than a few blokes went home to sheepishly confess that next month’s mortgage payment was gone.

A passenger described what would happen. “My missus will say, ‘You blew the money because you were so fuckin’ drunk you lost all self control’. And you know what?” he said. “I won’t be able to argue with that because she’s dead right. It’s going to be a long month,” he moaned.

If I carried one punter in trouble for going home late, tired and emotional, I carried a dozen. It was a constant refrain: ‘I’m an idiot; I’m dead; this is divorce; here comes a week of misery, etc.’

One punter climbed in at Cargo Bar for Manly and announced he’d won four grand. “But I’ve had enough,” he sighed. "'It’s time to be a good boy and go home.” Just then his phone beeped with a message from some mates at Ivy. “Oh, shit,” he said, “I don’t know what to do, go home or kick on? It’s your call, driver.”

Actually, I didn’t want to go to Manly so I goaded him, “Mate, ya can’t let ya mates down!” As he climbed out at Ivy I called, “I’ll see you in the Cross, at dawn!” Cruel, I know. 

Another over-stayer told of receiving a text message at 8pm whilst batting on with mates. It was unambiguous: Is this how you value our marriage? He quickly downed his beer and hailed me.

Finally, the last fare of the shift restored my faith in boozing blokes. For this fella, aged around forty, Melbourne Cup day was an annual ritual when he joined old friends with whom he’d grown up. They spend the day at the track, thence to dinner and finally, after dinner drinks.

Wisely, he’d retained enough sense to pace himself. “How come you’re not drunk?” I asked. “I stopped drinking after the races,” he explained, “and only drank water for the rest of the night, even though my mates gave me heaps.”

He continued, “But all day I kept thinking about my wife and kids. She never rang once ‘cause she trusts me, unlike some of the other blokes’ missuses. So next year I’ll be bringing her along with us because she’s my best friend. And if they don’t like it then they’re not real mates.” 

What a man.

Comments

[James]

Jesus, there are some horrible women out there! I mean, I'm divorced, and my ex was ten kinds of nuts, but who begrudges a fellow going out on the piss on Melbourne Cup Day? Ladies, getting on the grog and acting silly and blowing a few hudred bucks every now and then is NOT, repeat NOT, a reflection of a man's commitment to matrimony! If he sticks his tongue down a co-worker's throat, OK, but good Lord. Lighten up!

[Epskee]

Sheesh some women go too far! Honestly, what kind of marriage is it if you cant go out and get pissed? Blow the mortgage? yeah, thats too far. But a bit of a flutter and one or two too many beers? Where's the harm? If your stuck at home with the kids, then its your turn out with the girls next time, but let your fella be a fella ffs! If a marriage cant survive a night out, or if your marriage doesnt allow for negotiating whose turn it is to have a life today, then wtf are you doing being married to start with???

[Rainer the cabbie]

Poor fellows. My wife never rang me all night, but then she knew I was earning a few dollars driving the cab.

But all those bloke deserve some time out and should be left alone.
All that guilt alone did spoil their night.

Unlike our little Prince and Princesses of Eastern Suburb Gen Y descent. They pissed, coked and gambled it up all day, discussing how to get a new credit card to pay of the one they hammered on the night.
As they say, youth is wasted on the young.
But thanks for all the fares.

[Recession Taxi]

Really enjoy the writing on your site. I write a blog called http://recessiontaxi.org, about my recent adventures driving a cab in the Chicago suburbs. Driving is a big city is a whole different ball of whacks!

[manly cabbie]

you didn't want a fare to manly(gods country)adrian you really don't know where the money is in cabs.