Boredom and monotony are the parents of reality TV

I had high hopes for my blog. I wanted it to be more philosophical and enlightening than a line out of The Great Gatsby-

“to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning— So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”

But no. A friend said she enjoyed it for light reading. So here I am bringing it down to Keeping Up With the Kardashians level.

Here’s a few stories about some inconsequential things that have happened to me in the past few days.

  • As I strode quickly across the Pyrmont Bridge, on my way home, I heard a gruff, manly voice shouting in the distance. It turned out to be a stout old lady shouting at a Ranger. God knows what she was shouting about but as I walked past I heard him say “I’m here… because I’m protecting people like you, from getting run over by bikes.” I stopped in my tracks and waited till the old lady waddled away before I approached the ranger. I said to him, “Don’t worry. That lady was a massive gronk. As a victim of being run over by a bike myself, I can say I truly appreciate the work you do”. To end the story, there may have been a tear or two of gratitude shed, or not.

  • So as I was strolling through Town Hall station, I became extremely thirsty. Because I was too lazy to make a trip to the Commbank ATM (right outside Woolworths), I decided to get a drink at the Asian convenience store because they accepted EFTPOS. But… oh no. There was a minimum spend of $10. So at the height of my laziness, instead of getting my ass 50 meters up to the ATM, I decided I’d just buy $10 worth of Asian snacks to reach the minimum. Fast forward thirty minutes, my train arrives in Hurstville. As usual, I was in lala land and I didn’t realise I had reached my destination. That is until I looked outside the window and thought to myself, “hey, this platform kinda looks like Hurstville. Oh shit, it is Hurstville”. To my relief, the train was doing that thing where they stop on the platform for five minutes or so before going anywhere. I hurriedly grabbed my sack of gold and ran up the stairs towards my freedom. This next part of the story is the vertex to the inverse parabola that represents this story: As I exited the train my plastic bag, carrying my goodies, broke and my $10 fell in to the eternal darkness of the train tracks. That day, I’m pretty sure my inner happy died a little. I think God was trying to send me a message.

  • This story isn’t just something that’s happened to me in the past few days, but something I’ve begun to do within the past few weeks. There’s a cafe two doors down from my work place. I used to get coffee from them pretty much every single day. That is until I discovered a better cafe just upstairs from them. So now – every day- after I get my coffee, I take the long way around to get to work just so I don’t have to walk past the first cafe and hurt the barista’s feelings.
  • That’s probably how the barista feels, though. And probably how you all feel about my stories.


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