Just Like a Chocolate Milkshake, Only Blokey
I don’t consider myself someone who lives by many imperatives. I am afflicted with the dreaded ‘value of tolerance’ many in our community, with the help of some expert leadership, now find so offensive. And yet, every now and again, I realise that I am shocked by what I am seeing. An incident, however small and seemingly insignificant, can make me suddenly aware of assumptions that underpin, or at least inform, my worldview.
Recently I was stuck at some traffic lights in Coburg when I noticed a small, elderly woman at the bus stop. She wore a calf-length black coat with fur trim. On her legs she wore pantyhose and her feet sat comfortably in low-heeled leather pumps. They were shiny shoes that looked as though they had been expensive, and were well maintained. Her hair was dyed an auburn colour and had recently been seen to by the hairdresser. It was soft-permed, short and tidy. In her ears were fine gold antique earrings and her hardworking hands clasped a crocodile-skin clutch purse.
I was distracted by my kids for a few moments and when I looked back at this elegant lady, she was getting something out of her bag. It was a long roll wrapped in white paper and before she put it to her mouth, she tucked her purse under one arm. With two hands gripping the roll, she began to eat what appeared to be a souvlaki. After she took a couple of bites and loosened the paper that held the whole thing together, there was white sauce dripping onto her fur stole. She didn’t care. She was wolfing this souvlaki like she hadn’t eaten in a week. A soggy piece of lettuce, or onion, dropped onto her shiny shoe. Without taking her head out of the white paper, she flicked it off and planted her feet wide apart so that the runoff of garlic and yoghurt, and the usual souvlaki debris, would land on the footpath and not on her pantyhose or footwear. It was an amazing sight. As I watched her, I sensed I had seen this manner of eating before. It occurred to me that only teenage boys, labourers and young drunk women at hot dog stands eat food like that.
Not a week had passed before I was struck by another incongruous eating incident that forced me to rethink my stereotypes. I was on the road and had pulled up at the traffic lights next to a big utility truck. The truck was loaded with five burly blokes wearing orange safety vests with only singlets underneath. They all wore shorts and boots. One fella had his feet sticking out of the window. (Maybe his safety vest gave him an inflated sense of security.) Some of the men had tattoos and one of them had a most delightfully round beer gut that stuck out so far it touched the glove box. The back of the vehicle was covered in stickers intended to amuse, threaten and inspire other drivers. They said things like ‘Please don’t honk, as a smack in the face is likely to offend’, ‘Gun owners vote’, ‘Australian Pitbull Terrier Club’, ‘No Root, No Ride’ and the timeless, hilarious ‘No Fat Chicks’.
All the windows of the cabin were down, and the smells and noises of the ute streamed into my car. Fearful of what my kids might overhear from these men, who were unaware of our presence, and of the questions the kids might ask me as a result of what the men might say, I was about to close the windows of my car and play some music.
It was lunchtime and the men were opening their various lunchboxes and bags of pies, chips and sausage rolls. They were laughing and the radio was playing some music. Suddenly a voice rose in excitement above the din. I heard one of the men say, ‘Chocolate Crackles’. My kids heard the announcement and turned to see. The other men swung their faces to look at ‘Chocolate Crackle’ boy, while I waited for the derisive laughter that I felt sure was going to follow. None came. Instead, the little blue lunch box with baking paper lining was handed around the cabin and the party treats were consumed in respectful near silence.
I laughed to myself. The kids were jealous and two started to cry. I explained that when they were big grownup men, they’d be able to have choccy crackles for lunch too. Despite what you might think, it seems that’s what blokes do.
George McEncroe is a Melbourne-based writer, comedian and broadcaster, who occasionally pops up on ‘Spicks and Specks’ and ‘ADbc’. She will be performing her new show, ‘The Care Factor’, at the Melbourne Fringe Festival, September 29 to October 2.
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