Forget the Polar Express. This evening the loudspeakers at the Southern Cross train station all but crackled the announcement “All aboard the Bogan Express!”.

After a relaxing day out for Di and I we finished the evening by attending a fireworks display and then headed to the train station for the homeward journey. As per Murphy’s Law we missed our train by 1 minute and had to wait another 19 minutes for the next one. At the train station we were suddenly inundated with about 12-15 white trash bogans of the finest calibre.

Since the Werribee train was the one due before ours, we had assumed they were western suburb white trash but their subsequent conversation indicated they were instead bound for Dandenong - an outer eastern suburb with a similarly stereotypical reputation for car thefts, mullets, teenage pregnancies and 30-year-old grandmothers on welfare.

We were regaled with the dulcet tones of one obese girl crammed into a halter-neck top screaming out to the others in a voice that resembled shredded glass in a metal drum. Shrieking at her loudest, the others in her group moved away from her because even they felt she was being too loud.

Another girl had clearly decided that a mass of flesh was not going to be an impediment to her fashion. Bulging out of a pink strapless top which was designed to cleverly allow a two inch roll of waist fat to poke out from the bottom in a manner she evidently felt was acceptable, every seam of her clothing was straining to maintain her hefty frame within. The back of the top was cut low to show off the top half of her back. That look was somewhat ruined by the large beige granny-bra she wore which, with its wide straps and frayed elastic, was clearly designed for the functionality of supporting a heavy load rather than being attractive.

The chain-smoking peroxide-blonde mother of six children under 10 years old was constantly puffing on her cigarette as she repeatedly told the 8yo and 10yo girls that they were not to think about boys until she was dead. A couple of times a couple of the children got a bit cocky and gave too much lip, resulting in a minor sprint down the platform until the mother ran out of breath five or six metres later. Obviously realising the cigarettes were an impediment in her chasing, she handed her cigarette to a 25yo girl in the group. Until then I’d not been certain whether she was missing one or both front top teeth as I’d only seen the gap from a distance. When the cigarette fitted neatly into the gap and she turned our way to talk to the others I could see both teeth were missing.

The ultimate winner of the SPOTD award though was a young 16yo - 18yo man named Marcus. He arrived on the platform swigging on a can of Jack Daniels and Cola. When he finished the can, he was standing four feet from the nearest bin. However, due to his strong bogan heritage he was unable to grasp the concept of this and instead gracefully hurled the can over his shoulder onto the train tracks behind him in a move that demonstrated years of practice. Later, in the general throng of shrieking and baying that the group was participating in, one of the girls said something that offended him. Using all the intellect he could muster, he brought forth a counter-argument he clearly felt would restore his power in the circle - he hoisted up his stained T-shirt and dropped his pants to his knees, waving his genitalia at the obese girls mentioned earlier. Fortunately, although the girls were on the bench seat beside ours, another bogan blocked the view for Di and I and we were spared seeing considerably more of Marcus than we would have wanted.

About five minutes later, he had moved up to sit on the seat next to the bench seat with the girls and the other girl with no front teeth screamed something unintelligible at him from where he had previously been standing. Once more Marcus knew he had to respond and this time the pants went to his ankles and the hips were gyrated in a horrifying fashion. Di was sitting facing me so didn’t see this event taking place less than three feet away behind her back and I was desperately looking at something - ANYTHING!! - in the middle distance so I was spared the need to pluck out both eyeballs. The mother of six roared up the platform toward Marcus screaming at him not to do it again - “there’s f**king kids here, ya know! f**king kids!”. From that outburst we could only conclude that - according to bogan philosophy - it is perfectly acceptable to refer to the task in front of children but not show them the equipment…

Categories: SPOTD