Creatives

Window washers at intersections are not so frequent these days due to constant police harassment. Those that remain are generally hard core, colourful characters ranging from the industrious to complete wastes of space.

There is rarely any innovation or creativity by window washers, usually white males aged between 30 and 50 years of age employing the same old shtick.

Too many have lousy presentation and/or attitude issues which really turns motorists off. An idiot in Darlinghurst once even offered to wash my windows in the rain. That’s addiction for you.

In comparison an elderly bloke on the corner of Liverpool Road at Parramatta Road used to make an absolute killing using good cheer, enthusiasm and hard work. He wore a Santa hat and would wildly wave his extended squeegee pole to greet approaching motorists. The man knew the importance of first impressions. 

Still, whilst I only ever pay for a wash if it’s needed I don’t mind these grifters, even though they can earn more per hour than a cabbie. I take the view that at least they’re out there creating work and not jumping the back fence to rob me whilst I’m at work.  

Aside from the aforementioned Santa, one of the few times I’ve been impressed by squeegee jockeys was watching a couple of young women in cut-off shorts and bikini tops. No further explanation needed.

Another creative example of exploiting stationary traffic occurred one night this week in Surry Hills. During dinner at an Indian cafe a white middle-aged bloke entered and offered patrons a printed sheet of A4 paper in exchange for a ‘small donation’.

Not wanting to be disturbed whilst eating I instinctively brushed him so he approached an aboriginal mother and daughter waiting to be served. Not only did he get lucky but as he wandered outside they called him back and gave him extra spare change.

After dinner I noticed this character waiting in the middle of the intersection of Cleveland Street, which was pretty safe due to negligible traffic at that time of night. So instead of pulling a U-turn and heading backing into town I rolled down to the intersection.

"Whaddya got?” I asked. He handing over a sheet of paper and said, “I write poetry and I’m trying to get enough money to get me book published.” “Mate, forget the publisher,” I told him, “just do it yourself, online.” But he was already one step ahead of me. “Yeah, I’ve got them on Facebook,” he said, “But right now I just need four bucks for a kebab.” Whatever.

The poem was original and not some cut and paste scam off the Web so I gave him a buck. His name is Andrew and here’s his poem, The Silver Limousine...

THE SILVERLIMOUSINE

The train bound for some where or nowhere at 6.45pm

people crowd the train at peak hr

some read the paper , some sleep, some on a lap top but little do they know this train is

bound for somewhere or no where,

it travels at 80 km hr past sandstone country in too the granite belt high in the blue mts,

its now 8.45 pm

and the next stop is Lithgow

change for connecting train to dubbo

well we are away again on a train bound for some where or nowhere

next stop i don’t know,

out of the granite belt into the the flat red dirt country,

the silver limousine keep a hurried pace

now 11.45pm

it slows to a stop in the middle of no where and the guard said this is the end or the beginning,

the train bound for some where or no where,    

Comments

[Sarah]

I like the line 'some where or no where' It's an interesting way of selling your writing - I wonder how much he makes. He might be better off getting into spoken word type performace writing so he can busk it

[Rainer the cabbie]

"squeegee jockeys" Nice one.

I liked the guy that used to be down at Woolloomooloo, sometimes at 4 am, speeding of his head, cleaning windscreens and bludging smokes. One day he had a sign next to him that read :
"Thanks to all my regular customers. I'd rather clean windows than climb through them."

I gave him a rather large tip that day.

[Art]

I think I've met the same poetry guy, or if not he had a similar thing going. Guy handing out poems in front of Redfern station for a "small donation". It wasn't a bad poem either, so I gave him one of my CDs. Still have it and I think about him sometimes.