I find myself standing in a line, outside a bank, wearing a cute dress and heels… At 6:49am.
I’m kind of wondering why I am standing here… but it’s all for a good cause. Tickets for a day of music, brews and bands in the sun.
I went last year to the well established day of doom and am determined to go again this year. Fewer tickets being sold and a change of day to the weekend had employed well-rounded scare-tactics in my mind, as previous years had stories of selling out.
The queue is short and full of grey heads – mostly men. I’m wondering whether I am in a line for a retirement village or free cryogenics. I look down at my decorative heels, then across to the guy next to me with sensible polished black lace-ups and a morning newspaper.
Camping chairs with tired bodies fence the bank entrance. They’ve been here for a while and are probably secretly gutted that the line isn’t a mile long so that they can gloat. In this case, planning ahead was severely not necessary.
I look up again. It’s still a grey-haired line-up. I’m scared that I might start growing a silver mop, so I casually inch backwards.
Cars cruise past, in the general direction of work. Necks crane and spin in owl-esque movements. Oh crap, I’m awake at the witching hour, when freakish people roam the streets. I didn’t realise human necks could be double-jointed.
Joggers run past, making me feel guilty. Burger King sings out and winks from across the road.
A youthful non-grey haired man steps out. He puts his energy drink bottle in the bin and takes another drag on a cancer stick. Now that’s a healthy breakfast.
People are wearing sunglasses. Mysterious. It’s not sunny, it’s heavily overcast and looks like a chance of rain. Damn, I have towels on the washing line.
Silver hair with goatee steps out. He has come prepared with his stainless steel mug full of coffee. He comes back in. No-one berates him for leaving. It’s clearly a friendly crowd.
Am I the youngest person going to this drinking binge festival? We actually look like a mob of super keen bankers with undeniable enthusiasm for making a transaction.
My phone alarm calls out from the depth of my bag. That means it’s 7am, my usual time for getting up. The bank doors aren’t opening… Holy crabcakes – I am here too early!
Some young guy joins the queue after me. He is sneezing a lot. Does he have the plague? Am I going to get the plague while standing in a line full of old people? At least I’m dressed nicely for catching the plague.
“What time does the bank open?” Asks New Addition To Line.
“7:30” responds Infested Plague Man.
I mutter profanities to myself under my breath, in my mind. I hope my friends who I am also purchasing tickets for are super thankful for the bunions I am developing right now.
I resort to sitting in the doorway of a photographic shop. Hopefully I’m not flashing and hopefully I am not sitting in old piss. I am however thankful that I bought my diary to write in. The guy next to me is probably thankful that he has bought a newspaper. Turns out he has been here since 5:30am.
After drawing pictures for a while and token texting, the pearly gates open. I head in and find I am $5 short. I am at a bank, they don’t take Eftpos – only cash. I am in a bank.
I manage to get some cash out, purchase the tickets and head straight to work. I arrive with breakfast in hand and feeling a lot less chirpier than I should be. I relay my morning proceedings to a colleague. She informs me that… I will be receiving a complimentary ticket from work.