STORY GALLERY - SEPTEMBER 2023

I have a knack of creating conflict, though to be fair, the vast majority of it takes place entirely in my head. For example, just the other day, after a morning coffee, I walked into the doctors’ surgery a few minutes early for my appointment. On my way to the busy front desk, I noticed that they had removed that annoying sign from one of the doctor’s doors on my right. It used to read, in bold sans serif letters, something along the lines of ‘one problem – one appointment, two problems – two appointments, three problems - call the ambulance.’ The point of the sign was clear, but instead of being amusing, as was likely intended, to me it said that - patients are stupid and are taking up too much of our valuable time. You lot don’t realise the problems we have running this business.

The conflict was between the doctor’s intent in displaying the sign and my interpretation of it. Anyway, I was glad it had gone! I took a seat and found myself staring at a noticeboard directly opposite me. There was a new sign. It read, in stark black, sans serif, letters, ‘ALL patients’ and I don’t know why they chose to capitalize ALL or even why they included the word. It read, ‘ALL patients who fail to attend an appointment without at least 30 minutes prior notice will be charged $50.’

Of course, my mind went into overdrive. How many times had I waited 30 minutes for a doctor? At times I'd had to wait over an hour. Patients have lives too! If they kept me waiting 30 minutes or more today I should send them a bill for $50. Of course, all that drama was taking place only in the inner landscape of my head. An hour later, seriously, it was an hour later, the doctor called my name and somewhat cursorily apologized for keeping me waiting. I took a breath and decided to forgo the $50 I’d been contemplating charging. Less than 5 minutes later, my appointment was done and I was on my way.

After that lot, I persuaded my husband that a pub meal would be an excellent idea. On the way in, we passed a totally innocuous sign. It simply said, SPECIALS. No problem there. I grabbed a table by the window and enjoyed the ocean view while my husband ordered our meals from the specials menu; because specials are generally quick to leave the kitchen. We chatted for a bit and soon realized that it had been over half an hour and lunch hadn’t arrived. Ah well, perhaps the kitchen was short-staffed. No problem. When an hour had passed we enquired and learnt that our meals had been delivered to the wrong table, but the kitchen would be happy to put them on for us now. We weren’t going to enjoy them at that point, so we just cancelled and headed home where I’d prepare a quick meal.

As we turned into our concrete driveway we noted that the weather had changed from pleasantly warm and breezy to blisteringly hot. I saw a young woman standing on our doorstep. Had she not picked up the signs that there was no-one home? She looked bright eyed. I felt weary. I was hungry and irritated by now. With the car safely in the garage, I walked over to where she was occupying the only patch of shade. The sun was beating down on me.

She began her spiel. “Hi, did you get one of these in your letterbox in the last few days?”
Get to the freakin’ point I think. “No,” I say.
“Oh,” she says, “strange. They were delivered on … blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. “
Two minutes later and my head was really hot; both literally and figuratively. She hadn’t got to the point yet. Didn’t she read the signs of my impatience? I still didn’t know what she wanted. She kept talking. I listened to the cadences. There was a brief break.
“Sorry,” I said, “too slow. I’m not interested.” As I turned to walk away a look of confusion passed across her face, followed by a look that said, “what an effen bitch.”

I closed the garage door behind me, and, as I tend to, began to relive the conflict, justifying in my mind my part in the transaction. First, there was the hour-long wait at the doctor’s surgery followed by the hour-long wait for a lunch that didn’t ever arrive and now there was a woman in the shade threatening to take another hour of my life while I stood hungry and increasingly sunburnt.

Suddenly my mind flipped and I wondered ... what had her day been like? In fact, what was her life like? Why was she spruiking door- to-door? Perhaps she was doing it hard as a single mum. Maybe, she had recently escaped domestic violence. Did the petty irritations of my day warrant upsetting her? Was it my responsibility to ensure that we both left the encounter feeling respected?

This seems to be the essence of ‘existential angst,' which, as an aside, is defined as ‘negative feeling arising from the experience of human freedom and responsibility.’

The morning and early afternoon held a lot of conflict, most of which had happened in that space inside my head. What lesson can be learnt from it?

One possible lesson is that our default should be kindness because we don’t know the backstory of the person we are interacting with.

Another possibility is that we shouldn’t overthink our encounters with others. It just descends into angst.

Perhaps the most compelling lesson though, and the take-away for me - is that - I need to install a sign in stark black, sans serif lettering that says, ‘ALL spruikers,’ with the word ALL in caps, ‘ALL spruikers who take more than 30 seconds to get to the point, will be rudely dismissed!”

There were always just the two of them. Bound together by

chance, time and family similarities. Same school, same age,

but family knowledge of absent fathers only came later. Two

eleven year old 'goody twoshoes,' prefects now at their

primary school, heading for high schools in a few months

time.

Friends for life, they also looked alike, neat, clean and fair hair

in pigtails. Together they walked to school each morning and

back home each afternoon, taking all possible shortcuts and

alleyways, some wide, some hidden. From long experience

their mothers never expected them home early from school as

they played with friends on the journey. And sometimes they

really did. However, it was autumn now and fruit was ripening

in the quiet gardens on their many routes. As long as they

arrived home reasonably clean and before dark, no questions

were asked. Trusted.

Weekends they played in ancient woods recorded in the

Domesday Book and in a council park with all the local kids or

in a cow paddock with head-high grass dotted at base with

hidden semi-liquid cow pats. Small strong and healthy, they

climbed every available tree- with two bodies there was

always one to bunk the other or to pull. Tactics were

discussed for certain walls, for awkward trees and for difficult

fences, and a few yards of rope lived in a school satchel.

Amazingly, they never came to real harm and no one

suspected their skills. Bruises were usually easily covered

and an ear ripped by barbed wire was concealed by loose hair

for a while. They never scrumped large amounts as forbidden

fruit needs to stay hidden. They ranged widely; never the

same garden twice.

Trusted children, prefects, high achievers, never realising that

they were leading double lives, or how vital their good

reputations were for their futures.

The pears were tempting as neither had pears at home. An

orchard of them peeped over a high wall. Luscious, unpicked

and turning gold at the top of the trees. “This afternoon on the

way home” was the plan. One to climb and pick, one to catch

and carry. Pocked with crumbling bricks, the wall was no

challenge to them. However, for the first time ever their timing

was out. Hardly were they into the tree when a harsh male

voice rang out. The words he said were to echo inside their

brains for the rest of the year. In terror they scaled the wall

and ran for the nearest alley, dropping fearfully into hiding

once they realised they were temporally safe. Staring at each

other in realisation. What had they been thinking of?

Searingly to the point, what had they not been thinking of?

Not stealing surely, only scrumping!

His threat? “I’m going to see your headmistress and report

you two for stealing!”

They foresaw the end of their worlds, the end of their lives.

Headmistress, mothers… oh, no, fathers!