It was getting close to Christmas, which prompted me to call in sick from work. I was still naked, so slipped into some underpants. I went to light up a cigarette, but I had run out of the regular type and rolled my own instead. I picked up a cookie and a cup of coffee and that was my breakfast.
It was perfect weather and I wondered if my friends from the boondocks wanted to hang out with me at a barbecue in Brisbane, the city.
I got on the phone to call my friends. I rang Rich, Steve, Pat, Rob, John, Dave, Dick, Watson, Jack, Karen, Sharon, Garry, Lindy, Mindy, Bindie, Macca and Bluey, who has red hair, which is where he gets his nickname.
My friends come from a mixed background. We’re all surfers and genuine Queenslanders, but among our professions there is a taxi driver, a politician, an electrician, a teacher, a truck driver, a dock worker, a builder, a bricklayer, a conservationist and even a prostitute. No, actually, she’s from Western Australia. And today I also called a refugee – who barely speaks English but is as typically Australian as they come — an ambulance paramedic, a gynecologist, a dermatologist, a trash collector, and an employee of the Salvation Army.
“Hey, what are you doing this afternoon?” I asked them all. “Would you like to come to a barbecue? I’m cooking chicken, sausages, hamburger steaks and meat pies with ketchup. We’ll have a Pavlova cake for dessert.”
“You bet,” was the general reply and they decided to visit straight away. I soon realized it was going to be a big night when people began asking me if they could also bring their parents, relatives or children.
“Sure,” I told anyone who wanted to bring somebody else. “Don’t forget that it’s pot luck, though.”
I filled an icebox with cans and bottles of XXXX (a beer popular in Queensland especially).
“I’d really love a cold beer now,” I thought to myself.
I was going to go shopping at a delicatessen, but my car registration was invalid after I had been in an accident in my pickup truck. I had to settle for riding my bicycle to the gas station to shop there. I needed to buy some presents, too. I bought sunglasses for the guys and lipstick for the women. I also bought chewing gum, chocolates and candy for the children. Gas stations charge a premium and it cost me a lot of money, which wasn’t good because my salary is not great. I was broke when I left. Buying a lottery ticket and having a bet on horse races were in order to rectify the situation.
When I got home, it was time for a break. I got a good position in front of the TV to relax without thinking and watch a football game. Then it was time for everyone to arrive, so I went into the bathroom to change into a pair of board shorts, but they were not well-made and the zipper didn’t work, so I had to wear a swimsuit instead. I walked out and bumped into Sharon, the good-looking woman who works at a kindergarten with Lindy. I don’t know how she got into college, because I remember her struggling at remedial math.
“Hey, nice swimsuit,” she said and took a sip of her Bundaberg rum as she looked me up and down.
“Shut up, Sharon,” I told her with a smile.
As more people arrived, I changed out of my swimsuit, putting on some trousers, but staying in my flip-flops. We put on some music and were soon having a wild time. There were people everywhere and the party was kicking into gear, apart from the flies and mosquitoes flying about.
But, wouldn’t you know it, just as we were about to start eating dinner and it seemed the party was going to become a night to remember, some motorbike gang members rolled up wearing their leather outfits. They chugged down a 24-pack of beer in minutes and began behaving boisterously, boasting, teasing us about wearing only swimsuits, rifling through the cooler and making it seem like a fight was in the air. The drunker they got, the more they leered lecherously at the women and it was the final straw when I caught one of the bikers trying to kiss Bindie, who is five months’ pregnant. I was furious.
“All right, you guys. Shut up,” I yelled at the idiots. “It’s time for you guys to leave.”
Well, that made one of them go mad. And it was the start of a huge fight.
“C’mon,” Bluey shouted and hit one of the goofballs over the head. Now, I don’t want to criticize Bluey, especially as he is so well-built (muscular) and has a short temper, but he’s not the kind of person you want to be around when he’s angry and he sometimes doesn’t think too much. He had no chance of winning the fight, but Bluey will try anything, especially if he has been drinking a lot. Today, though, he had too much to drink and was already drunk. One lout hit him and then all the other bikers joined in to attack Bluey until he was beaten. Wow, they sure gave him a beating. Poor Bluey looked absolutely shocked. He was exhausted. I thought for a second that he might even die.
By this time, the kids were starting to cry and it looked like becoming a genuine disaster. I sneaked out and called the police.
That made the thugs really angry.
“C’mon dude, be fair, man. Why’d you call the cops?” one of the losers said as he saw the flashing lights of a police car coming into the driveway of my house. “We were only messing around.”
Cops can be a bit lax at times, but tonight they were truly saviors, getting to my house in no time at all. A well-built detective got really angry at the bikers and escorted them into the rear of a police van.
Bluey was feeling sick and vomited on the back lawn. I thought he’d be really angry, but the fool had a big smile on his face, which shouldn’t have surprised me as he’s not the type to complain and certainly does not put on airs.
“Wow, I’ve got to thank you so much,” he said. “It was awesome! It was the most fun I’ve had at Christmastime in years.”
“Hell, Bluey. You can be a real idiot,” I told him, realizing he’s not the type to be spoiled.
Bluey ignored me. He stood up and watched with a delighted look on his face as the police van drove off with the wild bikers in the back. He waved at them, blew a kiss and shouted, like the absolute tease he is: