Adelaide Conversations

I was in Adelaide for a dance event, and perhaps it’s the proximity to Hindley St – which is replete with strip clubs, massage parlours, and pokies venus – but the event courses with stories of encountering seedy types at night or seeing drunk girls urinating in the gutter. This year’s highlight story was the “Adelaide in a nutshell” sighting of a girl in a tight dress vomiting in the driveway of a church in the early evening.

My own experiences with the locals were less putrid, but still a little disturbing. On Sunday afternoon I sat outside the Adelaide College of the Arts on a bench with other dancers and munched a muesli bar. A greasy-haired young man with stained Fila tracksuit pants, beaten-up runners, and fading pimples came and sat next to me. He was clearly not a dancer; rather, he was the type of fellow retail staff keep their eye on if they spot him entering the premises, just in case.

Without looking at me, he spoke:

Him: What’s happening?

Me: Not much. Just enjoying my muesli bar.

A pause

Him (still not looking): You got any money?

Me: Nah, man. I spent it all on muesli bars.

He flicked me a glance, just briefly, then looked away again, as if keeping an eye out.

Him: D’you know where I can get any pussy around here?

Me: All along Hindley St! There’s places everywhere.

He nodded, but pursed his lips.

Him: Yeah, but they’re all stuck up.

A further pause, while I considered whether this was a serious comment or deadpan humour. Also, I closed the flap on my bag, which sat between us.

Me: I think they’ll take anyone with money, mate.

We sat in silence for a while, as he glanced about.

Him: Where are we?

Me, turning to the four-storey building five metres away: “Adelaide College of the Arts”, it says there. Pretty cool. It’d be fantastic for a paintball tournament.

(This is true: it would be.)

Him: Man, this place sucks.

Me: Oh, I don’t know. Why’s that?

Him: You can’t rob anyone. No-one’s got any money.

At this point, my mind vacillated wildly between thinking he’s a scummy thief or a brilliant master of deadpan humour. He still wasn’t looking at me.

Him: D’you know if I can get any free food there?

He motioned toward a cafe with his chin.

Me: No idea, mate.

Him: Guy I know runs that place. Says they give out free food to the homeless and shit.

Me: Dunno. I’m good here with my muesli bar.

We sat in silence for a further half-minute or so, then he abruptly got up and walked off toward Hindley St.

Thank you, Adelaide.