Today was a hard slog at work. I found it difficult to make inroads into anything I was doing. Probably shouldn’t have stayed up all night watching Youtube videos of magicians trying to fool Penn and Teller. I’m fucking addicted to whatever show that is. Penn and Teller are expert magicians and other magicians show them tricks and if they fool those two, they get a prize or a holiday, or something…

I’m tired, alright.

It’s as if I angered the public transport Gods today after my earlier rant and they were out for vengeance on the lines today. There were public transport douches littered throughout my journeys by train and tram today more strategically than Russian Jupiter Missile installations along the Turkish coastline circa 1961. I couldn’t avoid them. Luckily I had a fully-charged iPhone this time.

I was standing in the doorway of an absolutely packed tram this morning on my way to a client meeting in Elsternwick (so packed that I couldn’t move my arms from my sides without accidentally touching someone inappropriately), earphones in, completely oblivious. Suddenly, I felt a sharp nudge in my right side, as if someone was punching me in the arm. Surely not?

Cocks: prevalent.

I took a headphone out and did my best to turn around. Yep, a total stranger was punching my arm to get my attention. What the fuck? I took a headphone out and prepared for the inevitable;

“Geez you’re tall mate, what are ya, like six foot eight or six foot ten?”

“Six foot seven actually, these shoes just make me look taller”.

“Awww Jesus mate! Ya massive! Ya play a sport do ya? Basketball? Badminton?”

Badminton? Fucking badminton? What the fuck? Do tall people even play badminton?

The situation went from the sublime to the ridiculous later on this morning when I took the chance to quickly visit the men’s room at Flinders Street Station to ‘shake hands with the President’ (or take a leak, depending on how self-indulgent I’m feeling).

The ceiling inside the men’s room was pitched quite low, making an already inhospitable space appear somewhat more sinister. There was a plinth at the urinal that one had to step up onto in order to relieve himself (very gentlemanly of course) which I proceeded to ascend. Due to the low-slung roof, my head was almost hitting the ceiling when I stood on this plinth.

I was halfway through relieving myself when what could aptly be described as a cretin suddenly materialised to my left as if from thin air, turned to me at the trough (actually turned) and stated (not even a question);

“Geez, you’re tall mate. You’re so tall that you’re nearly hitting the roof. Watch ya head mate! (crack-addled laugh)”

Now, there’s a golden rule when you’re in the men’s room (awful use of the word golden… now you’re picturing it, I’m sorry). Keep your eyes front. That’s it. Pretty simple. There’s no more vulnerable position to accost a man than midway through taking a leak. We’re a captive audience for at least another 15 seconds, making any attempt at immediate escape futile. What am I meant to say to this urchin? Thanks? Yes sir, good observation?

I’ve got my dick in my hand, for fuck’s sake. Leave me alone!

/end communication

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