Garrett & Sunny: Sometimes Love is Funny

by Peter Butler

  Culgawinya is about 500 kilometers from Brisbane so we'd be driving for most of the day. The sun was relentless and well and truly in control of the temperature, but thankfully it was at our backs and the air-conditioner was keeping us cool as we sped along the smooth bitumen surface. I wondered how long we would have the luxury of a bump free ride.

  The three of us were wearing sneakers, jeans and long sleeve denim shirts when we entered the camping store. A serious conversation with the salesman had seen the three of us exit the store in solid boots, fawn colored shorts and short sleeve shirts. We each had a Crocodile Dundee hat on our head, complete with a row of plastic croc teeth around the band. Kind of cliché; Englishmen go outback, stuff - but at least the hat should strike fear into any crocs we encountered.

  Assuming they had seen the movie.

  'Where are we stopping for lunch, Gary?' Tim asked.

  'Geez, Tim,' I snapped at him. Some paranoia tension finding its way to the surface. 'We've only been driving for fifteen minutes. I was planning on going for as long as we could, then stopping for coffee or maybe a beer, then driving some more before lunch came into the equation.'

  'I wasn't complaining, Gary.' His tone suggested hurt. 'I was just checking the map and we should be able to make it to a place called Roma for a late lunch. It's actually a big dot on the map so it must be a reasonable size.'

  'Okay. Sorry I snapped, Tim. A table for three at Roma's best restaurant. It might be our last decent meal for a while.' Maybe ever?

  I turned and looked at Truf, who had been conspicuous by his silence so far. 'You okay?' I asked.

  'Yeah' he nodded. 'I'm fine.'

  'Did you have a late night?' A loaded question - I know.

  'Nah.. I was in bed not long after you two buffoons worked out how to use the elevator.'

  Damn... Wrong question.

  'Think you'll be seeing Sammy again?' I can be relentless - like a terrier with a bone.

  'I'd say there's a 100% chance of that.' I sensed his eyes boring into the side of my face. I looked around at him and when I did he gave me a wink. He used the eye that was hidden from Tim. I grinned.

  That made me feel better. For a moment I thought he was trying to exclude me from his good news, but it was merely Tim he was trying to exclude.

  The miles began to build up, unlike the scenery which had become more and more desolate and flat. The paddocks and fields still had a greenish tinge to them so we were still a long way from what could be called the real outback. We could make out distant rocky ridges; they were more like hills than mountains, but the famous red color began to feature in the rocks. I began to get excited.

  Local radio stations were no longer an option this far from civilization and we had forgotten to bring any CD's. The Land Cruiser's radio didn't have an auxiliary jack to play music from our phones through it. I was at the point where I decided to start singing those ridiculous songs that people sing along to in situations where boredom is the only other option. Songs that I remembered my ancient uncle constantly singing to keep the good 'ol days fresh in his mind. Simple lyrics and a memorable tune - how could it fail? I began tentatively with a quiet rendition of a well-known chorus; so well known that I didn't know the songs title or the main verse. I should have paid more attention when Uncle Charlie was in full swing. I got some looks from the other two; the "kill me.. NOW!" type, but I pressed on, hoping the catchy stuff would eventually gain some momentum. Tim saved the day by rudely interrupting and introducing a game for us to play. He called it, "Would you rather...".

  Truf agreed with him instantly. Yes! He'd rather.

  'Here's the scene,' Tim said, 'You're on a first date with a girl who you really like. You've been trying for ages to get her to go out with you and she has finally agreed. You are going all-out to impress her. You take her to a nice restaurant, and one of the two following scenarios happen. You have to choose which one you'd rather happen.'

  Truf and I nodded that we understood.

  'The meal is nearly finished and you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. Sadly, a malfunctioning water tap causes a large splash of water to fall all over your inner thigh, leaving a wet patch on your trousers looking exactly like you've just peed your pants...'

  I grimaced at the thought. Truf seemed to be considering it carefully.

  Tim continued, giving us his second scenario. 'The waiter has just presented the bill to you and in an effort to impress your date you call him back to give him your Gold Card immediately. In your haste to get the card out and show her it's a "Gold" card you not only manage to make a condom fall out of your wallet and land on the table in plain view of both her and the waiter, but along with it a well known blue, diamond shaped Viagra tablet goes bouncing across the table and stops just in front of her.' He grinned at the two of us. 'Which would you rather, gentleman?'

  'Sounds just like every date I've ever been on,' I laughed. 'I think I'd choose the first option. I reckon I could talk my way out of that. I'd even make a point of getting the manager out and complaining about his faulty tap.' I smiled to myself, confident I'd aced it.

  'I'd go with B,' Truf announced. 'At that stage of the date you'd have to have a good idea of where you stood with her. If the magic wasn't there, it makes no difference - there wouldn't have been any "After-dinner mints" for you anyway. On the plus side, you've just shown her you have money and a deep interest in making things extra enjoyable and safe for her.'

  'That's the biggest load of horse-shit I've heard in ages,' I said, laughing out loud. 'The only girls who'd accept that logic are paid by the hour.'

  Truf joined in the laughter. 'I know... but you pushed in and grabbed the first option, so I had to make a go of the second one.'

  Tim was smiling and laughing in the back seat. Smug bastard. He knew his game had trumped my Sinatra impersonation.

  Laughing chews up miles on a road trip faster than anything I know, and it was good that the three of us were all doing it. My task as moderator between Truf and Tim was looking to be easier than I'd thought. We were, as the psycho-babble set would say - bonding. Who'da guessed.

  'Okay, give us another,' Truf said.

  Tim thought for a moment, then smiled. 'Same deal as before. First date, girl you really like and don't want to cock it up. This time you arrive at her door and just as you ring the bell your stomach goes into spasm and you fart, uncontrollably. You pray that the door won't open mid-fart and luckily it doesn't. But that's the total extent of your luck. Your bodily expulsion is loud and long but there's a chance the noise of the doorbell has covered it. Then you're engulfed with the smell - it's positively awful - and no amount of arm waving is moving it on. She opens the door and gives you a wide smile. That quickly fades when she is confronted with you standing, with a look of horror on your face, in the middle of an aroma that you'd get if a five day old corpse stepped in a fresh pile of dog shit.'

  'Ouch,' Truf squirmed.

  Tim just grinned, raised his eyebrows and went straight into his alternate scenario. He was enjoying being at the core of our interest. Why wasn't that a surprise? 'Okay fellas. This time when you ring the bell you're suddenly struck with a fit of sneezing. You feel something moist touch your face just as the door opens. She looks at you in shock. You have a giant gooey slimy greenish lump of snot, about six inches long, dangling from the end of your nose. As you lift your head to look at her it drapes itself against your lower face, covering your mouth and chin.'

  'Where the hell did you find these... things! Tim?' I laughed. 'I can't even think of a word for them.'

  'Ha Ha... The girls have a kids book that's full of mildly embarrassing, slightly risqué situations for under-fives. They love it when I read it to them at bedtime. All I did was ramp it up to an AO rating for you boys.'

  Truf and I pondered our choice as the miles continued to flick by. The countryside was mainly flat and dry, trees were thin on the ground and we hadn't even seen a kangaroo yet. We were comfortable and sweat-free in
side our air-conditioned car. I got the impression that ten seconds outside would be enough to change that.

  'Well, I think your chances of getting laid that night are about the same as getting a pig to fly,' Truf said. 'But I'm going to go with the snot problem. Maybe you could make a case for hay-fever. The first scenario only leaves you explaining you have stomach issues, possibly diarrhea, and I've got nothing to make that acceptable.'

  I agreed with Truf on that one.

  Our childish little game continued for another half an hour or so, at which time we began to see scattered houses start to line the road. This was just as well because we had run out of ridiculous scenarios to entertain ourselves with. The ones that Truf and I added were pretty lame given that we had to devise them on-the-run, so to speak. Tim had clearly been preparing his, but good on him for trying. He seemed to be a different guy at the moment.

  We still had quite a way to travel so I decided it was time to give them a paradox to ponder: 'Okay boys, let's see you chew on this little mathematical problem for a while. Three guys check into a hotel for the night, they plan on saving money so they decide to share a room. The receptionist tells them it will cost them $300 which they pay and head off to their room. After they have left, the receptionist realizes he has made a mistake; the hotel has a promotion on at the moment and the room should have only cost the men $250. He takes $50 out of the till to refund them the overpayment. On the way up he realizes he can't equally divide the $50 by three so he comes up with a solution; He puts $20 into his own pocket, leaving each of the men $10 which he reasons they will be happy enough with. The men each paid $100 for the room, with their $10 discount it became $90. 3 times $90 is $270, plus the $20 the receptionist pocketed comes to $290. What happened to the missing $10?'

  I loved the looks on their faces as they did grade school math and couldn't find out what was wrong.

  Tim folded first. 'Okay, I give in, explain it Gary.'

  I gave him a superior look and said, 'No Tim. I want you to work on it, it will help fill in the time.'

  I'm pretty sure I saw him mouth asshole.

  We arrived at Roma around 1:30 and, ironically, settled for a couple of pies each for lunch. I say ironic because the heat was tangible and our shirts soaked in sweat and a hot pie would have been my last choice. As it was, it was our only choice: all the restaurants and pubs had shut down their lunch menus. We consoled our rotten luck by each having a beer or two to counteract the heat of the pies. We decided to keep our lunch break short before we attacked the bitumen again - in our air-conditioned car.

  By 4:00 we had arrived at Culgawinya and were in luck as the local pub, called the Drover's Dog, had rooms available for us, giving us a reprieve from becoming campers.

  I was wrong about the countryside, it wasn't red at all. They had had some rain a few days ago and grass had begun to poke through all over the place. George Jenkins, the local publican, assured us that without follow up rain the grass would be dead in a day or two. The weather forecast for the area read: Grass will be dead within two days.

  My first floor room was acceptable and very welcome after the long road trip. I bounced on the bed and decided it was almost okay. It was surprisingly cool in the room, given the heat outside. Two ceiling fans did their best to keep the air inside circulating, which simulated cooling. An air conditioner poked invitingly out from one of the walls. I turned it on only to be greeted with a blast of air that seemed hotter than the air I was standing in. The unit made as much noise as a 747 on take-off, so I gave up and switched it off.

  To compensate me for the faulty air conditioner, the hotel had provided a balcony. No privacy here - it was the same balcony that was shared by all the guests, as it ran around the entire front of the hotel. Each room had a deck chair sitting beside the window-door and the veranda looked like it would be a nice place to watch the sun go down, with a beer in my hand. The deep roof-line ensured the balcony remained in shade for a large portion of the day. All the guest-rooms accessed it through an identical huge sash window that was also each rooms main source of light, except for the single light bulb that dangled from an ornate ceiling rose. The shadeless bulb hung at arm's length over my head in the middle of the room. All the guests shared a bathroom, which was at the end of the hall.

  Everything considered, our accommodation was good enough.

  We had arranged to meet in my room at 6:00 and then go for a walk around the town. The heat was still stifling even though the sun was fast approaching the horizon, so our walk didn't last long. The flies were getting ready to make way for the mosquitoes and moths so we were able to walk with a reduced need to wave our arms to keep the insect life off our faces. The shops we strolled in front of all had overhanging verandas providing shade to the footpath. As soon as we ran out of shops on our side of the street we crossed over and walked back under different verandas to the Drover's Dog. We still managed to see most of the town in that minute.

  To the left of the main entrance of the pub, in the shadow of the upstairs veranda, stood a bronze statue of a dog. Actually it sat; it was life-size and the dog weirdly wore a hat. The hat was polished brightly unlike the rest of his body which was coated in dust and a greenish patina. To a casual observer he looked just like a real pooch sitting outside the pub waiting faithfully for his owner to emerge through the double saloon doors.

  We all deduced that the pub must have been named after him, and as we walked beside him each of us automatically reached out and patted his hat, which explained why it was polished. Something about a dog sitting with its head at hip height invited patting. Especially when the risk of being bitten was small. The dog statue was doubly comforting for us as our hats seemed to be very similar to his, giving us the impression we'd fit-in seamlessly with the locals. And, seeing that we were here to snoop, that had to be a good thing.

  We slipped into the bar invisibly, like three cold-war spies, and I studied the room. I estimated there were about fifteen patrons, spread out in small groups around the room. Only four of them were women. That part I did count. The room buzzed, and not just from the flies that still swarmed in here, it was filled with loud conversations and raucous laughter. A jukebox played a song from the Fifties, I think it's called Rock Around The Clock.

  I was wrong about us being able to blend in. The "buzzing" noise level dropped noticeably as we entered, then rose again just as quickly. The men certainly all wore hats like ours, even though they were inside and the sun had basically finished work for the day. The difference between their hats and ours was that theirs were dirty and work-sweat stained. They looked like they had been bought when the song that was playing in the background had been first released, and the family dog regularly chewed on them. Ours looked a lot like the one on the dog outside; kind of shiny and new - and unchewed. Our sweat-stains didn't measure up either. In short: we couldn't be more obvious if there was a spotlight focused on us.

  George, the publican, took our order for three beers, which he delivered to us with practiced ease. 'There you go, fellas. That should hit the spot.'

  'Thanks George,' I said and took a large gulp of the icy cold liquid and felt better almost immediately. 'Are we the only strangers here, tonight?'

  'You're the only Poms,' he laughed. 'The rest of them are strange in their own special ways. Most of 'em are nice, though.' He glanced over to the pool table where a stocky man in filthy clothes was lining up his cue to sink a ball into a side pocket, then added with a sneer, 'most of 'em.'

  'We bought the hats hoping to blend in,' Tim added.

  'No hope of that in a small town like this,' George offered. 'Everyone knows everyone - and everything about 'em, too.' He gave an accepting shrug of his shoulders.

  Truf picked up George's inference about the man playing pool. He had his back to us and seemed to be playing by himself. 'I was thinking of having a game of pool. Do you think that chap would like some company?'

  'I'd prefer it if you didn't do that,' George said. '
He's a mean son-of-a-bitch, that one. His name's Felix, he lives in the room beside yours, number five.' He shook his head. 'Every time someone plays pool with him it ends badly. If he wins he wants to keep playing, but for money. When he gets rejected he usually starts a fight. If he loses he usually starts a fight then, also. Either way I end up with broken cues and smashed glasses and it takes half a dozen of us to pull him off his victim.'

  'If he's such a bad-ass why do you let him stay here?' Truf asked.

  'Stupidly, I rented out the room to his company for six months. Took the money up front. That was a mistake. Now it's gunna take a team of lawyers to get the bastard out. I'm stuck with the prick for another two months. My wife and I just give him minimal service and keep as far away from him as possible.'

  'So, pool is out of the question,' Truf said, and he took a long drink of beer. 'What about dinner? Is he going to start a fight if we eat near him?' He grinned at George, clearly not concerned about Felix and any threat he might pose to us.

  'You're probably safe, as long as you don't make eye contact with him. You know what they say about wild animals, they take that as a threat or a challenge.' He grinned at the three of us. 'Bev, my wife, does a damn fine steak and chips. Or if you Poms prefer, sausages and chips.' The cheeky bastard had us stereotyped. 'I'm afraid we're fresh out of lobster and caviar,' He said, covering his ass by going up-market. 'Sold them all to the same bloke who bought my last bottle of vintage Bollinger.' He laughed at his joke. 'In 1959.'

  We looked at each other, then simultaneously nodded and said, 'Steak.'

  'Three steaks it is, gentlemen. Medium or rare?'

  Three voices said, 'Medium,' in unison.

  We were beginning to sound like The Three Stooges.

  ***

  Sunny and Simon had endured another day of editing and the program was looking very slick. Ashleigh was even looking quite acceptable, Sunny had to admit. They had left a lot earlier than the day before as Simon had some calls to make and Sunny needed to work on her computer.