When I was a teenager in Sydney, it was really difficult to get into pubs.
I had several tactics in order to jump the hurdle that was getting carded and the night in question I had been putting on an English accent and saying I’d lost my passport to get past the bouncers.
At 3am, after eventually gaining access to Three Wise Monkeys or Scruffy Murphy’s or Shark Bar, I was waiting on George Street for a bus to Glebe with my friend Bec when I noticed the boy.
The incredibly handsome English boy.
It was the middle of summer and I was eating a magnum ego.
The incredibly handsome English boy strolled over and asked for a bite of my ice-cream.
I obliged and then without warning we were doing some of the best snogging of my life.
At a bus stop.
On George Street.
Whilst Bec looked on.
Eventually we let go of each other long enough to introduce ourselves, I can’t remember his name now but he worked at Dymocks in Pitt Street Mall. The following day I went to visit him but instead of walking up to him casually and saying hello LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, I opted to say the following:
“I am looking for a book. I do not know its title. It is about a boy and a girl who meet at a bus stop at 3am. I do not know how it ends. Can you help me finish the story?”
HE THEN LAUGHED IN MY FACE AND SAID “That is the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I gave him my number.
He did not call me.