Page 43 of Rafferty's Rules
‘No, thank you. I have my coffee.’ I raise the tiny cup as though I needed proof.
‘Cool.’ She pauses, a little hesitantly. ‘And cool T-shirt.’ She gestures to my chest with a smile before holding up her hand in expectation of me completing the high five. ‘Me, too, girl!’
As she walks away, I unravel the knot I placed at the hem and pull the cotton away from my chest to read (upside down) what has prompted that little outburst of sisterly love.
I might be a vegan, but I still love a sausage or two.
I find myself chuckling as I wonder where Rafferty took his proof-of-wearing photograph and why there seems to have been a bit of a homoerotic theme surrounding his brother’s choice of T-shirts. The embarrassment factor, I guess. And speaking of which, I guess I’d best look for a cheap looking clothes shop, rather than the surrounding boutiques because I can’t spend the day wandering cosmopolitan Sydney in this.
I venture farther into Sydney’s central business district after breakfast, a city of steep streets and towering buildings, using a tourist map I’d picked up at a shop selling tickets to local attractions.
No tours for me—I’m doing Sydney on a shoestring budget.
Following the map, I plot my way to a mall in the centre of the CBD, glad I’m wearing flats. I notice, as I walk, the occasional sight of a neatly piled camping mattress, along with a duvet and pillows. Sometimes, the addition of a red or blue milk crate filled with belongings sits next to it. It’s obvious these belong to the homeless of the city, but I’m heartened to see they’re not camped nearby protecting their worldly belongings. Instead, they’re out and about doing things.
As I wander along Pitt Street, I notice an older man sitting on a wall with a blue towel spread like a tablecloth over a couple of milk crates. He has a little bowl that passers-by are dropping coins in, some sending him small smiles. As I draw closer, I notice he’s not alone; he has a furry rodent sleeping curled on the towel next to a pile of crumbs and cut vegetables.
The man has a rat. An actual rat. A cute looking rat named Lucy, apparently, but a rat all the same. With a strained smile, I drop a couple of dollars into his bowl, but I don’t stop for a pat. A kitten, sure, but I’m not stopping to admire a rat, no matter how cute.
I eventually find the mall I’m looking for. Unfortunately, it’s filled with high-end designer stores like Gucci, Kate Spade, and Michael Kors. Good for window-shopping but not so much for budget shopping. I venture to the ladieswear section in a department store and grab a budget-priced five pack of cotton panties, and from the sale racks, I snag a pair of pale denim shorts, two T-shirts, and a bright yellow cotton sundress, which suits my sunny mood. A capsule wardrobe, kind of, and on the cheap. To celebrate, I head to Hyde Park where I’d spotted a café. I decide to order a glass of Chardonnay instead of a coffee, along with a salad in a bowl as big as my head, then people watch the inhabitants of Sydney enjoying their lunch break under the shade of massive fig trees.While also resting my feet.When I feel suitably refuelled, I head back off on my explorations.
This part of the Sydney CBD also has a lot of history to offer. Historic buildings flanked by towers of steel and glass, the old Mint building, sandstone churches, and century-old army barracks. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and the traffic is honking, when I realise I’ve passed a heavy yellow-looking bicycle with for the third time today. It can’t be the same one, surely?
Are they some kind of art installation?
They’re not very attractive, if so. Even if they do have a little basket on the front. This latest one even has a cycling helmet. My feet are starting to ache again. I could do with a drink and a Band-Aid for a growing blister, so I stop at a café for another coffee, a glass of water, and a slice of cake. At the counter, my plans go awry when a man in a suit, super full of his own importance, is hassling the barista.
‘An Americano,’ he grunts, without looking up from his phone.
‘Short or tall sir?’ the barista replies without one ounce of bite.
‘What?’ He looks up with a scowl, then dismissively adds, ‘Just a regular.’
‘They come in tall or short. Regular isn’t on the menu.’ He offers anI-don’t-make-up-the-menukind of shrug.
‘What’s the difference?’ This time, the douche in the suit has his weight balanced on one foot and has swapped his suit jacket for an invisible coat of superiority.
‘Size.’ The barista, who is kind of easy on the eyes, if not a little grungy looking, deadpans. ‘And strength.’
‘You know, I just spent a year in France, so just disappoint me with whatever you have.’
I think someone needs a decaf. Or a smack to the head.
The barista serves him, still smiling as the ass waves his credit card over the contactless payment receptacle, then demands his loyalty card stamp.
A cheap ass douche.
Then it’s my turn.
‘What can I get you, love?’ the barista asks.
‘I need coffee, and I’m open to suggestion.’ At this time of the day, a glass of sweet tea would be top of my list, but Australia doesn’t seem to be a fan.
‘What would I suggest?’ he replies with a hint of suggestion himself as his eyes dip to my chest, returning so quickly I’m not wholly convinced that’s where they’d been. ‘I’ve got just the thing,’ he adds with a wink. ‘Go sit down, darl. I’ll bring it over.’
A flirty look, a surprise drink, and table service. This is what I get for trying to make someone’s day a little better. I fiddle with my phone, taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi so I don’t give out any more wrong signals. I know I should check my messages and texts. Emails, probably, too.Pity I don’t have the heart.Ha!I googleSydney bike-maybe-art installationinstead.
Ah. Not a take on art I don’t understand but rather a service. You can hire these bikes and ride them anywhere, paying in advance for a certain period. They have GPS, I guess to protect against theft, and you can pretty much leave them anywhere once you’re done! They advocate leaving them in a city bike rack, but the ones I’ve seen today were left on sidewalks, the edge of the park, and even at the side of a traffic signal, so that can’t be set in stone.
