We Need To Talk About Todd: November 2011

The good news is that I've switched places of work for the summer. The bad news is that I have left behind Ben the maniac bogan; his polished coal eyes, his glossy-with-perpetual sweat skin and his hectic demeanour, as well as my boss Mal and his mouth that looks like a gunshot wound. This is something of a shame because they entertained the shit out of me. The situation, as it were, evolved daily, or on the days Ben showed up, anyways. Actually, the days he didn't show up were just as integral to the whole rich tapestry because they allowed Mal moments to really cut loose and indulge the voltage of discord that ran between them by raving expansively about what a filthy little flake Ben was. In a really booming voice. Like how you would imagine the voice of God to sound. If God was a slightly slow-witted, salt-of-the-earth hillbilly yokel. Who supported Collingwood. And came out with oddly perceptive if not slightly surreal truths such as "You drink like fuck as fast as yer can so ya save yaself some money and then yer fucken pay for it the next day when yer can't get out o'bed!" regarding happy hour at the Sporties.

Ben arrived early the other day and when Mal expressed astonishment, the veins of his forehead lively, Ben yelled, like really yelled "Fuck you Mal, you're the one who tells me I'm late every morning because I've been on the meth - I fucken wish I was on the meth every mornin' mate!" For a moment it was hard for me to tell whether he was really doing his nut or just being jovial but then he released a 'machine gun firing twenty rounds' type sound that loosely resembled a laugh, thereby allowing me to break in and ask if Mal really says that and, more importantly and halariously, if he really uses the word 'meth'. "Fucken oath he does! Every mornin'! And then he says 'awww don't worry I'm just jealous!'"

The next person I spoke to that day told me that he had killed one of his pet pigs and put it in the bath to bleed "It's in there now. But the shower's clear."

Later, I made a comment about being broke-down bone-tired and the pig-sticker said "well you did have a day off yesterday..." and when I asked him what he was implying he said hastily "Oh it's not me - it's Mal. But don't worry; he thinks everyone who has a day off has been on the meth." This took me aback. To say that my life at this point was not going so well would be to engage in heartless understatement but METH? On a WEEKDAY? Call me particular, but that's appalling.