Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
It’s Saturday morning and I’m sitting in a room full of strangers. Fast forward a few hours and they are strangers no more. That’s what good coffee, fabulous food, and Catherine Deveny can do. There’s a palpable energy in the room as ambitions are shared. But wait, what’s this? We actually have to write something? Stands to reason given it’s a writing class but I was enjoying my coffee and feeling lulled by the conversation around me. Hang on! Not only do we have to write something that features the words on two random cards being handed to each of us but six lines will be read out to us as we’re writing and we have to include that as well! Time is of the essence. Go! You be the judge of how I went.
The first time I went to the Hipsters Bar was an absolute disaster. I was so out of place I’d felt like I’d “died in the arse” (an expression I had picked up in a seedy bar but that’s another story).
Firstly, the dress was all wrong. Sure, it was from my favourite store in Newtown but that wasn’t it. I’d had my hair cut and coloured the week before so all was in order up top; and for once my eyebrows were bang on. The dress cost $500! What a waste, I thought dismally.
What was missing? One word – attitude. Everyone in Hipsters Bar had attitude. From head to toe. But I oozed “tried too hard” from every one of my recently exfoliated pores. This has been a problem all my life. I worked too hard to get things just right. I couldn’t just relax and look like I belonged. I was incapable of showing any Hipsters style attitude.
What to do? I clutched my mineral water like my life depended on it. I was in the middle of a month of abstinence but no amount of alcohol would have helped. Wait, what’s this? A bloke in the corner is looking at me. I straightened my shoulders. Ahhh, of course. He’s waving to the bloke behind me. It’s that sort of night.
It was stupid to come alone I thought. But I’d just moved in around the corner and it was a Thursday night after a long day at work. I didn’t know anyone in the neighbourhood so I thought why not?
Bloody hell these shoes hurt. I thought I’d spoken under my breath but the guy next to me leaned in and said “Sorry, what did you say?” My first thought was how the hell did he hear me? The music was blaring and the acoustics were not exactly compatible with conversation (yep, there’s that missing Hipsters attitude again). My second thought was, gee, I’m a bit turned on by this guy.
Wait a minute, this isn’t the plan. Meet the neighbours, that’s all I wanted to do. Not fall for someone who looked way too impeccably groomed (always a bad sign) and too confident for his own good (another bad sign). But there was no disputing the fact he was cute!
“My shoes are a bit tight,” I yelled. Jeez, can you please turn that off I thought. The music was making me grind my teeth and I could feel the beginnings of a headache. Any witty banter I was capable of about said painful shoes was proving difficult. We continued to smile at each other (my mind occasionally drifting to whether I was too young for orthotics) while I tried to casually move to the music, hoping my seductive moves would do the trick. Any moment now I thought the music will stop and we’ll be able to have a pleasant get-to-know-each-other type conversation.
Suddenly, a blonde stick insect appears by his side. She drapes herself over him, sticks her tongue down his throat and that’s when I know. Yet again I’d “died in the arse.”