PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The following diary entry are a continuation from the ‘real estate promotion guy diary’ I started writing at Eastland (‘It’s Gonna Be a Long, Long Day’). It’s been copied verbatim and has not been altered in any way, hence the grammatical mistakes and poor expression. Each number corresponds to a page in the A5 note book I used to write all this rubbish in.





Wed 23/06/2004



1.



8:06am … at the tram stop… shoulda been here over an hour ago… I slept right through the alarm, don’t even know what woke me in the end. Conscience? You wouldn’t think so when it comes to Billy B, but I guess all humans are capable of it. Actually, must’ve just been my innate sense of [steps on to the tram] poverty and my longing to escape it. Every hour slept in means $20 less in my pay packet.



Fuck my mouth is dry. Almost polished off that Morris Special Blanc 4 litre cask last night. At $12.99 you can’t go wrong!



A schoolgirl keeps directing her gaze towards mine… she just got off. The freakshow started early today. I still have at least another hour and a half of public transport to go.



When I eventually come home from my Nigerian working adventure I’ll have to buy myself an old bomb. Any shitty car is infinitely better than the torture of public transport. Not that I have a license to drive… but that never stopped me.



2.



The only way to cure the public transport blues is to whack on some really loud music and get lost in a good book, or writing like this. Well, at least by sleeping in I missed the corporate schmuck rush-hour. Most people getting on the tram now are just school kids, who also slept in, people on flexi-time (god bless it) and unemployed bums off to their next failed interview.



It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.



I am living proof of this phrase. The job I’m currently heading off to, I never even had to speak to another human being to gain employment. Got the gig through my little sis. This is my second day and I have another seven lined up. I didn’t have to do anything to get this job, except provide my personal details and a bank account where they could deposit “my” money.



3.



8:29am  Tram’s getting crowded… might stop writing for a while and enjoy the views! ;o)



10:33am  Ok… settled and fed, I’m now sitting in my designated spot at the Southland Shopping Centre in Cheltenham… I got here around 10am but I knew I’d need some form of food in my belly to endure another day of this shit.

Today I’ve kicked off with breathing feet and Korn blaring on my headphones. I’ve decided to sit the entire day out with headphones, without shoes on. I forgot to bring a personal toilet roll though. *sigh* I hope I don’t need to go today, or at least that this shopping centre has A-grade public toilets.

Had a ham and cheese croissant for breakfast, washed down with apple and guava juice and my third dexter for the day. I can splurge today, as I still have another six left in my drug box.



4.



When I got here, to my embarrassment, I discovered the right half of my shirt drenched in sweat – the half covered by my backpack. I guess drinking three litres of wine, followed by just two hours of sleep, isn’t too good for the ole’ sweat glands.

This morning, before I left home, I gave S**** a sneak peek of my hung-over state. Actually, the hang-over is yet to kick in. I brought a drink flask full of wine, just in case. Best way to cure a hang-over is to just get drunk again. “How do my eyes look?” I asked S****, but I never waited for an answer, although she said I looked quite handsome ‘out’ of my bum persona. If everybody was blessed with a gift, then this is mine; the ability to look handsome after a night of binge-drinking and very little sleep. How long has it been now? Seventeen years of solid drinking and weed, and class A party drugs in the last seven of those years. I should look weathered like Charles Bronson… instead I look like I could be rubbing shoulders with baby-faces like Justin Timberlake. I tell everybody I’m “pickled”



5.



… conserved. There may actually be some truth in this theory. I always remember seeing those news stories of old codgers celebrating their 100th birthdays with a pint of Guinness, or a glass of sherry – what they confess has been a daily ritual for the past seventy or eighty years. You never hear such stories from cigarette smokers, do you? If so, it’s probably just a desperate fabrication of the evil tobacco companies. They seem to get more desperate every year. I’m surprised most CEO’s haven’t jumped ship and cut their losses before it’s too late. I would have by now. And shifted my interest towards Lenny’s Blue-Tic guard sheep.



10:59am  Well this shopping centre is certainly great for perving. Still yet to get any interest. For this real estate deal that is! This is a much richer area… but then again, that probably just means more stingy people. No moccasin’s here matey! All well-groomed and very well dressed… Well most are (just as I said it this fat chick in tracky daks and dirty runners walked past).



6.



11:09am  How long til this dexter kicks in? My eyes are falling asleep, though they just spotted a mid-sixties woman with a nose-stud. I love seeing shit like that. Old people who refuse to resign to the wrath of time. That’ll be me one day, going to the tattoo parlour for my 80th birthday.



“Falling away from me!” sings Jonathan…



Plenty of MILF’s in this part of town… plenty of prams… plenty of pensioners. My 30-something mindset forever scanning those left ring-fingers.



Fuck this! Might have some fun and pop another dexter. They are so much more fun beyond that magic four barrier. Within it they just keep you awake. Beyond it they provide for quite a jaw-clenching day of fun and nervous twitches. Besides, I’m getting a bit heavy-metalled out… about to make the psy-trance switch. After this home-made “best of” Korn CD finishes…



7.



I wonder if anybody I know will kick-start the names list like F**** did last time? But then, this isn’t really my part of town. I’ve lived all around Melbourne except the southern parts. Too rich for a bum like me. :op

Ten years of Nigeria-like contracts may very well change this scenario. If I keep getting contracts like this, solidly, for the next ten years, I’ll be able to buy myself a house – with cash! Then again, in reality I’ll probably blow the vast majority on good times, CD’s and music/computer equipment. Still, it’s the thought that counts right?

When this Korn CD finishes I’m popping another dexter and whacking on ‘Time:Re-evolution / disc 3’ from the White Rhino label. Just love that ‘Psychological FX’ track.

“psy, psy, psy, psychological effects!”



Some elderly Indian fella just asked: “Where is Office Works?”

Do I look like some general information guy? I’ve never been in this shopping centre before.



8.



Man… speaking of Indians, there’s a gorgeous one working in the clothes store next to me. Well, it was only a matter of time before this hot-blooded, sex-starved male jumped back on the sex-train.



Just spotted a midget coming out of the same store. Oops! I meant ‘vertically challenged’… gotta be politically correct.



11:37am Still don’t have a single name.

This spot isn’t as good as the Eastland one, which was in front of the food court; plenty of people with idle time passing by. I must inform my employer of this strategical error in placement.

HILTONS

FASHION THAT CLICKS

www.hiltons.com.au



Reads the sign… she sure is a babe. Probably the best I’ve seen today thus far. I should tell her that. I bet it’d make her day. Perhaps I will… after I wash down my lunch with that plastic flask filled with wine.



9.



Lucky I brought my own notepad with me today, for there were none under the desk to steal. They didn’t even provide any pens! If somebody ever stops to note down their details it will be my ink that they use. Good thing I had a couple spare in my bag, cause they sure aint using this luxurious gel-grip, uni-ball pen I purchased specifically for my passport application. Seeing the application is complete and lodged, I have promoted this pen to dribble duties.



Right! Time for another dexter and some psy-trance… (11:53am)

If the dexter-effect becomes too intense I came armed with some NRG. Just in case. Green Nuns of the Revolution’s ‘Rock Bitch Mafia’ should suffice.



Ok, time for a perving break.

Might go to the toilet too.



10.



12:10pm  Ahh! That’s better… rectal relief!



A woman came by earlier and asked about the golf memberships. “I don’t need a house” she said, “I already got two.” This is Cheltenham, not Ringwood. Here they’re too rich. They already have investment properties.



“Hot Bread! Hot Pies!”



“Expensive resort apartments! Golf resort memberships!”



Still not a single interest. Plenty of babes though. Just spotted another in the shoe store to my left. Not quite in the same league as the Indian girl. But still, very fuckable.



“Is there a Dick Smith Powerhouse?” asks a retarded guy. Once again I reply “I have no idea”. I hate having to take my headphones off for stupid enquiries. They disturb my wine and dexter infested equilibrium.



11.



12:26pm

Just took a swig from my water bottle that I topped up at the public toilet sinks. The water better be safe drinking. Perhaps I should switch to wine? Never actually drank on the job. Billy Boarster is reaching to new heights.



In four minutes it’ll be 12:33pm, that magic mark where I jotted down my first name last time I did this gig.



“Oh… wrong one… I was actually gonna ask where the food court is…” asks a woman. Having purchased my croissant there earlier I replied “it’s actually upstairs… down that way” pointing my finger.

“I told you it was!” whined on of her two young boys.



My breath must stink. Better invest in some breath fresheners when I go for lunch. Don’t really wanna drink my wine until I have this ‘insurance’ safely in my pocket.



12.



12:44pm  Eleven minutes off.

And now, ‘Psychological FX’ has kicked in. So has the dexter(s). ;o)



Just ‘rewound’ ‘Psy FX’, I always do. One listen is never enough.



I’ve always hated the way women shop at shopping centres. Aimlessly wandering round, with no sense of efficiency or structure. This is why us men hate shopping with our girlfriends/wives. When we want a new piece of clothing we just enter the first best clothes store that has large and visible price displays, and that has current sales/specials on. We buy what we want, then we fuck off home. But today my opinion of this random shopping mode is the opposite. I love it! It allows for multiple pervs of the same babes, as they drift past me on their 8th circling of the complex.



13.



13:07pm

CONGRATULATIONS!

YOU HAVE WON THE

“BABE OF THE DAY”

AWARD!!!



TO CLAIM YOUR PRIZE, A ROMANTIC DINNER WITH ROBBIE, PLEASE CALL 0415 583 *** AFTER HOURS, AND STATE YOUR PREFERENCE OF WEEKDAY, AND PREFERRED INTERNATIONAL CUISINE, IN ORDER TO MAXIMISE YOUR ENJOYMENT OF THIS AWARD.



NOTE: PRIZE WILL ONLY BE AVAILABLE ON, OR AFTER, ROBBIE’S PAY DAY.



I just wrote this on one of the brochures. If I have enough balls I’m gonna hand it to the Indian girl, before she goes home. I’m getting a blister on my finger. Writing too vigorously! Damn dexters… will have to take a break.



These damn plastic chairs make my ass sweaty. Good thing I brought that knitted jumper mum made me. It makes an excellent sweat-absorbing cushion.



14.



13:25 and still only one name…



Fucking hell! All my CD’s are becoming unplayable. Will have to invest in a decent mp3 player. Duty free, when I fly to Nigeria.



Maybe I should hand the “Babe of the day” award to the chick in the shoe store? Would probably have a better chance with her anyway. Either way, it’s quite an original way to attempt a pick-up, don’t you think? They must give me points for originality.



Damn I need a band-aid for my finger. Just can’t stop writing. “You are a born story-teller” commented C*****. Perhaps she’s right.



“Is this the middle level? Asks a very old and frail man in a motorised chair/scooter thingy.

“Can you tell me where Target is?” asks an equally aged woman.



Does this look like an information desk? Can’t you read? Or at least see the pretty golf resort posters behind me?



15.



“Can you tell me where the information desk is?” No. You better go ask at the information desk.



14:15pm  Might go get some lunch.



14:53pm  A chicken kebab roll with cheese and bbq sauce now resides in my belly. Washed down with a 1/3 of the wine I brought. It kinda looks like a flask full of apple juice, so I’m not really worried about polishing it off in public.



Hmm… perhaps handing that “award” to a store employee isn’t such a good idea. What if I get rejected? I have to work here another seven days.



15:01pm … getting crankily tired… better have another dexter… or some more wine. Hey, why not both?



Five dexters, a triple coffee and a cappuccino. I better stop before I have a heart attack! It’ll be me flapping around on the floor this time round.



16.



“Do not take more than four tablets in a 24-hour period.”

I’ve had five in seven, with loads of caffeine and some alcohol. No wonder I’m getting cranky. Could also be because my archaic portable CD player refuses to play my favourite CD’s.



Just watched a potential winner of my “award” walk by. Should’ve seized the opportunity while I had the chance.



15:26pm  Jesus Christ! I just peeked over the back of my poster walls and whaddya know? The fucking information desk is right behind me!!! And still the morons keep approaching me!



“Is this the second level?”



“No, but here, have an overdose of dexters, the world could do with one less moron!”



17.



15:54… the 5th dexter’s kicked in… Once again sitting here merrily tapping away to psy-trance, scribbling away…

The Indian girl’s given me a few smiles, so I think I must hand her the award.



And yes, I did pick up a packet of cool mint Listerine ‘PocketPaks™’ oral care strips, so wine-breath is no longer an issue. Speaking of which, it’s been [diary stops suddenly]

But my sweaty butt smells… better stand up for a while and let it breathe.



16:14 “D’you know where Harvey Norman is?” asks yet another near-sighted chronologically challenged person.



18.



TONGUE-STUD FELLATIO



My ex was the first girl I’d been with who wore a stud in her tongue. But I think I was also the first man she’d performed fellatio on, after she’d pierced her tongue.

We were both drunk, making passionate love. After viciously eating her pussy, making her climax several times, she wanted to return the favour. After some gentle licking and sucking, I felt a sharp, sudden stabbing pain on the head of my erect penis – like an instant urinal tract infection.

She was forcing the fucking stud into my pee-hole!!

I let it go, not wanting to upset or embarrass her. I told her later about my painful experience and she just replied “I thought that was what we were supposed to do with it!”

Like a child fitting the round peg in the round hole. She was only eighteen.

“No sense of cock!” like the detective in the movie ‘In the cut’ exclaimed to Meg Ryan.



19.



16:26pm  Well, well, well… reached the end of this notebook… may as well wrap the day up on this page, lean back in my cheap plastic chair and polish off my cheap plastic wine.



Selling expensive resort apartments in a cheap plastic world.



At least building telephone exchanges in Nigeria isn’t so bad, morally. I’m helping bring telecommunications facilities to a very deprived 3rd world. Just gotta dodge those AK-47 bullets from the warlords. And the scammers. And the thieves. And the mosquitos.



Well, enough for today I think! 16:39pm