Following on from my SPOTD experience only a few hours earlier, you can imagine how delighted I was to find that the camera I needed to take a few pictures with for my research (to calibrate some image measurements) turned out to have a flat battery. Having sat in the cupboard for a few months, the little LCD screen that states how much battery is left, basically ran the battery down to zero. What a fantastic design flaw. Perhaps the SPOTD should go to the folks at Canon for that one?

Anyway, in order to take my images, I had to then go and buy a $25 battery. In order to make it to Glenormiston before midday, I decided to go via Geelong and stop at a camera store there. Now, for those that don’t know the area, Geelong is what Victorians would unanimously agree is “Bogan Ground Zero”. If you have a need to see young men get excited over a motor car, wear flannelette and tight black jeans, go to Geelong. It’s the second largest city in the state, and probably not a great loss if the whole lot fell into the ocean. Oh, and Diana comes from Geelong, and will completely verify everything I’ve just said…*grin*

I found the camera store, parked the car just around the corner and walked back down the street to buy the battery. Naturally, I was wearing my hat, and as I rounded the corner, this proved to be like a nice shiny object for two Geelong lads. Their simple brains started to get excited about it and they decided they wanted to talk to me. Given I was still seething inside at the SPOTDs in my faculty from the previous day, I was in the mood for a good conversation with a pair of bogans, as you might imagine.

The first (“B1”) was attired in a black T-shirt and tight black jeans, as is the wont of bogan fashion. The other (“B2”) was wearing a dirty white T-shirt bearing a caption like “North Queensland Shark Hunters Club” (it may have be “Crocodile Wrestlers Club” - I’m not sure) which had designer rips across it, exposing the scrawny white flesh of his belly. The rips were in the shape a big bite mark, so you could see he was *really* in a club that dealt with dangerous animals. His jeans were also black, but tighter, to the point where I was not entirely sure how he had managed to squeeze himself into them. At least his wedding tackle was being compressed severely also, hopefully preventing his likelihood of breeding.

Both young men were sporting the footwear of choice for any real bogan - moccasins. Yes, nothing says “f**k you!” to the authorities more than slipping on a pair of moccies and going down the street to the welfare office. To complete the picture, the first had a cigarette behind his right ear, while the second had an entire packet of cigarettes lodged under his shirt, perched on his left shoulder, creating that distinctive cigarette box shaped lump that one tends to find on the shoulders of bogans. And, like so many people who smoke, they shared a trait I will never understand - no source of fire for lighting the cigarettes.

B1: Got a light mate?

Me: I don’t smoke.

B1: Why not? Is it bad for your horse? Hahaha!

Ah yes, the old classic “there is a guy in a hat, he must be a cowboy” routine that just *never* wears thin… I decided to just confuse them, since I had the upper hand in this battle of wits - they were obviously unarmed. 

Me: What horse?…*looking around*

B1: You know, like, your horse, mate…

Me: I don’t see any horse…*puzzled look*

B1: No, mate, it’s ‘cos, like, you look like you’re ridin’ a horse.

Me: Hmmm… Look, I happen to know that if you go two blocks up and one across, there’s a good optometrist there. Go have a word to him. It does not look like I’m riding a horse. It looks like I’m walking. But, if you think it looks like I’m riding a horse, you should probably just go have an eye check, I’d say.

B2: Get f**ked, mate.

Me: Ah, a witty rejoinder. It’s a pity we don’t have more eloquent people like you, isn’t it?

B2 (aggressive tone): Get f**ked!

Me: Personally, not a bad idea. Given the choice between talking to you two and having sex, I’d rather be doing the latter. But if we go with that for a second, you’ll be aware that there’s more to a bed than just sex. There’s sleeping too. And, just before people go to bed, they often put on some moccasins. Of course, the more intelligent people actually remember to take them OFF before they leave the house the next day. This might be a difficult concept, but you might like to try those new-fangled “shoe” things. They’re really good, you know…

B1: Hey mate! You want a f**kin’ go do ya, f**kin’?

Me: I don’t honestly think either of you are worth my time, my effort, or in fact oxygen. I’ll just take my imaginary horse up this way, go about my business. You go check out the optometrist and footwear stores - you might be pleasantly surprised at what you find.

B2 (more aggressive tone): Oi mate! Get f**ked!

Me: And on *that* intellectual note, I’ll bid you farewell.

As I was walking up the street, I decided it had been actually kind of therapeutic to play with them, allowing me to rid myself of some ire over yesterday’s SPOTDs. I don’t know why I attract them, but I do. There seems to be nothing I can do to avoid them, so I might as well try to enjoy the experience.

Still, you have to wonder about the sort of person that can use the word “f**kin’” as punctuation…*grin* The most annoying thing I had a camera hanging off my shoulder but could not take a picture of them because the battery was flat…*sigh*

Categories: SPOTD