Melbourne continued - an amazing night is born

After a few restless hours of attempting to sleep in the noisiest dorm room ever, the club downstairs finally calmed down. Which allowed me to calm down.

Just as I was really feeling settled, these two sleazy bitches come rolling in, all noisy-like. And turn on the lights. And heat. Which was totally unnecessary. And positioned RIGHT above my bed.

I obviously wasn’t having and of that. And made sure they knew it.

I sat up, glared, and said “Turn it off. Please.”

“But we’re cold!”

“Then get under the covers.”

Total karma for the fan wars in Cairns. Seriously.

In any case, I got up at a decent hour and got myself to a café down the street for some brekkie. Met some blokes who lured me in with promises of dj friends who worked at local bars. I made the mistake of texting the one guy, who proceeded to leave 30 missed calls on my phone when I was out that night.

Ugh. Who does that? I met you at a café and said I MIGHT stop in. Get over it.

He continued to stalk me for 2 weeks, while he visited Sydney. One of my kids – the 12 y/o with the deep voice – answered it for me. Ha.

So I got breakfast, browsed the tourist materials and booked a tour on the Great Ocean Road for the following day. Finally, around noon, I headed out of my ‘hood – St. Kilda – and into Melbourne proper.

It’s a really gorgeous city, perfect for strolling, browsing and otherwise spending a lazy day. I, of course, skipped all of this at first and headed straight to the hugest open-air market ever. And got talked into buying a gorgeous leather jacket that I didn’t need at all but loved just the same. Had cake for lunch. It was all very awesome.

In the late afternoon, after some more strolling through pretty arcades and city streets, I wandered up to the ticket office for the Melbourne arts festival that was opening that very day. I asked about tickets for that night and possible student pricing.

Would you know it, they had a single seat left at student pricing for the opening of this abstract opera-dance-thing.

Awesome. I felt so artsy and cool.
As I stood at the tram stop waiting to get back to the hostel, it started sprinkling. Then pouring. And then pelting sideways. So much so that I was soaked from the waist down, even though I was standing under an awning.

It was so bad that I looked at the guy next to me, and we both just started cracking up. It was that kind of craziness.

After primping and opera time, I headed back on the same tram line. I took a seat next to a couple of girls who looked like they had been throwing them back since after work. They continued to sip out of a wine bottle – classily enclosed in a paper bag – for the entire ride.

As we rode, all of this random ass shit started to happen. The tram driver, I soon realized, was making super rude, hilarious commentary over the microphone. And the more material the riders provided, the better he got.

First, these preteen boys got on the tram and sat next to us. One of them asked the girls to hand him a ticket on the floor. A ticket that was obviously used up, as it had clearly been stamped with a big expired sign.

When you get on the tram, you are supposed to scan your ticket, and the machine stamps and returns it. If the ticket is expired, it spits out really fast and beeps loudly to get the driver’s attention.

So what does this kid do? Shove the expired ticket in the machine. Again. And again. And again. Because he thinks that beeping sound is funny.

OMG kid.

After about 20 hits, the tram driver gets on the system. “Hey kid. Why don’t you try one more time. It might work now.”

Silence. And then outbursts of laughter all around me.

Poor kid.

Next, these 3 guys get on and have to stand. Right above us. And they are all wearing jeans with red-ish tees.

They start to talk to us, go on about how they are master chefs at some restaurant and otherwise slur some compliment attempts in a thick Scottish accent. They put together that the three of us are friends from Europe or something. Which, given the fact that we just met and none of us are European, is clearly not the case. But he was very drunk and could not be convinced otherwise.

After a few more minutes of dodging his awkard, drunken, Scottish attempts at getting laid, the tram driver comes on again.

“I bet the gentlemen in red are currently figuring out that they might do better with the ladies if they dressed a bit better.”

More silence. And then the three of us girls started hyperventilating in unison.

The red dudes all of sudden were at their stop.

As we pulled up to the girls’ stop, they asked me what I was doing and if I wanted to join them for a drink. They were going to this great live music joint near my hostel that I wanted to check out anyways.

Yes, please.

We said our thanks to the tram driver, made introductions and entered The Espie. Properly known as the Esplanade Hotel.

And that was how a great night was born.