Thursday, August 26, 2010

Taking the farm out of the boy - A monologue

Some days are like Chinese take-away, full of sweet crap. The problem is, it tastes so good you can’t stop eating.

‘What do you think, the red tie, or the yellow? Mmm.’
They’re so nice to you, those bank managers. When you are borrowing money its ‘No problem, we’ll take care of all the details, just like in the eighties, just sign here, and here and here’; they lend you the world when the interest rate is high enough. Its nice being called MR and SIR, until they have your signature and then its ‘goodbye, see you on the street, sucker!’ Worse than used car salesmen they are, after a morning of sucking up to you its ‘will that be cash or credit sir?’ and then they’re a stranger again.

‘Hey you, get off that box!’
Its the last of the good ones that box. It will be good for enlarging the living room. It has those double thick sides for packing books. It used to be full of books, leather- bound ones that were my grandfather’s, but I sold...
Its fun signing up for millions of dollars; even more fun writing the cheques; Ten thousand for this builder, and a hundred thousand for that, till the pen runs out and you excuse yourself smugly, knowing you’ve got more than they do. If only those lousy buggers who scoffed at me in school could see me now. Well no, not now, but then!... Oh hell it was good while it lasted.

‘Oi! I said leave it, now piss off yer little bastard!’ ‘Damn mud, I’ll have to get these shoes done before the court hearing. Where did I put that Vinny’s voucher?’
I have the nicest box house on the block; three beds, lounge, kitchen, and this huge outdoor space. That roof there has three layers of insulation, three! Not your everyday cardboard either, that’s the good stuff. That’s the stuff we used for flat packing our export things. See the size of those sheets with the...
Well, anyway, it keeps the rain out. The neighbours all come over here when it really pours, and the bridge keeps the worst of it off anyway.

‘Oh, look, I’m sorry, I haven’t even offered you a cuppa tea. How do you have it? Have a seat, I’ll just lift those folders off, here, okay.’
Bugger, I’m out of sugar. Don’t have many visitors now-a-days. That couch you’re on was from the farm, remember? Its nice. ‘In the family’ a hundred and fifty years. Its mum’s favourite... it was. They couldn’t take it away with the other stuff , when she proved it was hers and refused to get off it... sold the rest to pay the legals.

Look, ahh, I’m sorry, um, I have to be in court in an hour. Finish the tea, and I’ll see you next time you come down eh? When you go, just pull that bit of tin across the door so the dog can’t get out, alright? Nice to see you sis.

© Justyn W H Rowe 1999

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