“I Think You Have a Nice C**t” [F]

Thursday, the last day of regular lectures and tutorials for me before the dreaded exam break. I missed out on my study-group lunch at 1pm, probably because I was late to meet the group tutor, Zoe, at the Marae on time and surely not because she wanted to keep the location a secret in her emails. No, I didn’t feel jilted at all. I understand how important lunch for the students needs to be kept a secret, from its students. Really… OK, so maybe I felt a little bit rejected but I got over it fast. My stomach less so. Zoe wanted those chocolate brownies all to herself I just know it, tisk tisk.

It was a nice day so I went for a walk into the city, payed a bill and got a regular rice donburi karaage chicken from Renkon for $11, takeaway. I found a nice spot under a funny palm tree in Albert Park and basked under the sun until my last lecture at 3pm. Scattered rice for the sparrows. They were good company, up until the pigeons came and then all those birds just really annoyed me.

Before my last mouthfuls, I noticed a man in black walking in my general direction. He was ogling the several couples laying on the grass and greeting them if they noticed him. I cast my gaze down into my near empty box hoping that if he did come this way he would just walk past, but he didn’t. I looked up to politely reply and recognised that this guy was from PNG. “Hey wantok.” “You Tok Pisin?” “Nogat. Not fluently. I’m a student here.” “I think we’ve met before.”

Just when I thought that was the end of our conversation — as he would come to the realization that we’re different and I wouldn’t relate to anything he had to say other than the expected social niceties — this guy starts advising me about young women. I’m not going to lie; this random encounter made my day. I’ve had dirty old men talk to me before and those conversations were short-lived, but this time I actually humoured the bastard. I was literally laughing out loud at his outrageous spiel, holy moley it was the weirdest conversation I have had all year I swear on the validity of this man’s words. He probably thought I was laughing in agreement with him, I was just enjoying the moment to be honest. His advice sucked btw, but I wanted to know more about his theory about the fairer sex, putting up with his  tendency to repeat himself.

He didn’t say this but his views definitely supported the ‘treat them mean keep them keen’ approach towards women. I asked for his name but all he said was “Oh, me, I go by many names” in his pidgin accent. He seemed like a vagrant, a regular wanderer of the city, but between looks and glances I scanned his attire and he was well-to-do. Polished black shoes, black cardigan, gold watch, black beanie, shell necklace, thick black beard and a black shoulder bag. This stocky, short, dirty old bastard interested me and caught me at a good time, after my meal. The fact that he was from my country just made me feel all the more obliged to listen. Up until that point, I always had this view or idea of people from Papua New Guinea being deeply respectful and rooted in culture, but this man made me feel more respectful and culturally identifiable than him. Bad apples are inevitable no matter the country of origin. All I know is, I don’t want to end up like Mr John Doe with nothing but dirty thoughts and no one to walk and talk with. Nor do I want any man giving me advice again about women they don’t know.

God bless dirty old men.

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~ by Fionnlagh on October 25, 2013.

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