[2.4] Tale of Two Awkward Men

Andre stood standing in front of Monash University Bicycle Shop. He looked down sharply and his eyes were greeted by the great big well-rounded ball that was his tummy. This was his chance to do something about it, and possibly look the way Brad Pitt did in the poster hanging behind Andre’s bedroom door. His eyes skimmed through the range of bicycles available behind the glass windows briefly and finally decided to open the door.

“Hello” said the shopkeeper, in an almost hostile tone. He had an amazingly square jaw, and pearly white teeth that would most probably reflect the moonlight perfectly in the night. His hair was combed neatly back, and he was wearing a singlet which drooped so low his nipples were partly visible. He was bow-legged, clearly the result of years of vigorous bike riding. He looked no older than 25.

“Hi, I was looking for a bicycle” came Andre’s hesitant reply. There were piles of bicycle parts in literally every single corner of the room. The shop space was so minimal Andre found it a huge challenge just to make it to the only available space in front of the shopkeeper, who was standing rather awkwardly in the middle of a mountain of trash. When he finally managed to claw his way to the front of the man, the proximity between the two men was so close Andre could smell the Hawaiian pizza from the shopkeeper’s breath.

“Okay. Erm… What kind of erm….bicycle?” The shopkeeper replied, and the uncertainty in his voice discomforted Andre.

“Just anything really. Anything that maybe… like that one” Andre’s sentence ended so abruptly that the shopkeeper stood rooted to the spot in anticipation of a continuation.

“Oh” A pause which felt like a full 10 minutes followed, before an answer was finally given. “Erm…Well, we have actually sold out most of our bicycles. And by most, I mean all”.

Another silence filled the small, cramp space which the two men stood in, this time definitely more deafening than the last. Andre did not know what to say next. His brain seemed to be drawing little doodles in its imaginary drawing pad, completely leaving Andre to his own.

“But I guess I could give you the phone number of another bicycle shop, just around the corner in Moorabin”

“How am I supposed to bring a bicycle back after purchasing it from another suburb altogether?” Andre asked impatiently.

“I guess…maybe..erm..maybe you could just take a bus? And then… I guess you could maybe just cycle it back? I don’t know” replied the shopkeeper, still standing astoundingly in the exact same spot all the while. Andre could feel the conversation heading rapidly towards another abyss.

“Could I just leave my number with you and you give me a ring once you receive new stock please?” came Andre’s feeble attempt at keeping the conversation going.

“Sure… Then I will just give you a call when I get stock. But I won’t know what we might get. Erm… We might get something too small or too large. Erm.. But yeah okay. I shall keep your number”

With that, Andre forced a wide smile and said a quick thanks, before running out the door. Once outside, Andre felt the oxygen re-enter his lungs. Life seemed to brimming with colour and energy. Everyone smiled caringly at each other, and everyone walked with such a bounce Andre felt as though he was on drugs. Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives, and Andre never wanted to enter the bicycle shop ever again.


“Gosh, what an awkward man” Andre said in a nearly audible whisper before beginning his walk home, oblivious to the fact that the shopkeeper was feeling exactly the same way.

[2.2] Public Transportation Horrors

Andre looked wide-eyed at the gigantic notice plastered across Clayton train station’s gate. ‘No trains are running today. Bus services have been arranged as an alternative to the nearest train station. To get to the city, please board the train at Oakleigh train station platform 2.’

That would take a good two hours! Good grief, what are they doing to me here? Andre thought to himself as he stubbornly rammed his face into the cold, tightly shut glass doors of the train station. So hard was the collision between his face and the door that Andre thought he heard the faintest snap in the upper bridge of his nose. The train station was completely deserted, besides that one fruit-fly which came flying merrily towards Andre’s squashed face on the other side of the door, as if to mock his helplessness. This enraged Andre more, but he reluctantly let the anger pass him by. He had more important issues in life to deal with at the moment.

Giving the closed platform a final malicious look, Andre spun around and started to scan the vicinity for the assigned bus replacement service. He found it soon enough, and raced towards the bus like a hawk chasing a rabbit. I’m swift as the flowing river, he kept telling himself as he ran, skipping over puddles of water with such grace and determination, all the while humming to the tune of 'I believe I can fly'.


‘C’mon mate you are holding everyone up!’ yelled the bus driver. Andre jumped in surprise, almost losing his balance on the steps of the bus and knocking over the poor old woman behind him. Taking in a deep breath and calming himself down, Andre leaped into the jam-packed bus, squeezing in just in time before the bus driver impatiently slammed the door shut, missing Andre’s big toe by a whisker. The ride to Oakleigh train station was nothing short of painful.

What is that terrible, terrible smell?

Andre tried as best as possible to put up with the smell, but curiosity soon got the better of him. The phrase ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ would never have been used more ideally than in this situation. Andre strained his neck, rotating it almost an impossible 180 degrees. There, just inches away from Andre’s face, was the source of the foul smell: An armpit. Yes, an armpit. Actually, it was The armpit. The armpit which managed to leisurely fill the bus with its pleasant aroma like roses in a garden. The armpit which was being held up high and proud (and open) like the Olympic torch, ready to fill people’s hearts with love and joy and the fresh scent of victory.

Andre looked away and closed his eyes, reminding himself that ignorance was bliss.

[1.5] Oh my, how very rude!

Andre pulled off his beanie and violently scratched his scalp. ‘Not so hard you dufus!’ came Delilah’s sharp intervention, followed by a severe (and awkwardly loud) smack to the back of Andre’s head. Andre was overwhelmed by a piercing ring in his ear and a stark moment of blindness. Can’t you feel the love tonight?

They sat in a corner of Hargraves library, as usual, away from prying eyes and curious minds. As Delilah sat with such poise and grace, working away at her laptop like an attorney hard at work, Andre sat like a confused monkey without his banana, clueless. He had only one thing on his mind: the telephone conversation that had taken place several hours ago between him and his workplace manager.

Andre had been working at Coles for a good two years now (Editors note: Coles is the equivalent to Wal-Mart in America). In his whole two years of work experience, he had never had any contact with his store manager since the need for it never arose. That particular afternoon came his first encounter with the most feared man of any workplace.

‘Hi am I speaking to the store manager?’ Andre asked meekly. His voice trembled as he felt a sudden warmness in his underwear. Did I just…?

‘Yeah, who’s this?’ was the unfazed reply on the other end of the line. He sounded stern and cold, a voice which sounded exactly the way Andre had imagined it to be like.

Clearing his throat and doing a small bounce off the ground to shake off the initial shock, he answered almost too forcefully ‘Its Andre, I work as a service assistant in Coles’

‘Yeah’

‘Well I was wondering if I could get a store transfer to the Coles branch in Burwood. I have already informed the store manager there and he would be happy to have a talk with you about my internal transfer today. In fact, he could give you a call later this…’

The unforgiving voice came interrupting rudely before Andre could complete his sentence.

‘Call Catherine’ (who was Andre’s grocery manager)

‘But she isn’t in today’

‘Yeah, so?’

‘Couldn’t Burwood’s manager just talk to you? You are the store manager after all. It wouldn’t take more than a minute’

‘I’m leaving the store now alright? Bye’

There Andre stood with his mouth gaping open in bewilderment. For a good five minutes he remained stoned as a statue, oblivious to the puzzled looks passer-bys were giving him. A fly landed peacefully on his parted lips and twitched a little, only to fly off, probably from boredom. Still, Andre did not react. He just could not comprehend the work ethics of his store manager.

How could someone in his position not possess any sense of responsibility? I’ve heard of such treatment in the workplace before but I have definitely not encountered it until now. I wonder who else have had experiences like that. How rude some people can be! Gosh.

With that, Andre’s right hand shifted towards his buttocks for the third time that day and pinched at his underwear, attempting to pull the fabric out from between his butt crack. Summer can be an unforgiving season.

[1.4] Coffee and a Caramel Short Black?

The one thing that Andre found more annoying than getting slapped with a hefty fine from illegal parking (which was unfortunately a recurring circumstance in his life) was his utter lack of knowledge in the realm of coffee-latte-talk. Yes he drank Cappuccinos and Lattes almost once every couple of days, but the finer details never failed to baffle him.

What exactly is a Latte? Isn’t a Latte in the same family as tea? Cappuccinos hail from the same ancestors as coffee- that much I think I know. So what is an espresso then? Long Black and Flat White: they sound like political parties. My poor, poor brain.

Andre looked up and down the long McCafe drinks menu, instantly feeling a strain in his brain nerves (the exact name of the nerves are not known – but one would probably be the ‘logic’ nerve). The longer Andre stared at it, the more it resembled a periodic table. This was definitely designed for the mentally advanced, not for the common man, Andre thought to himself. He had once plucked up the courage to ask about the different names on the drinks menu, but his memory had failed him, as usual. Instantly feeling his IQ dip a few figures lower than the average man, Andre figured the only way to salvage his lost dignity was to order an ‘experienced-coffee drinker’s choice’. ‘Fake it til you make it’, that was the saying wasn’t it?

‘How can I help you sir?’ came the voice behind the counter.

Hey this might just be identical to Sub-way’s food menu! Piece of cake. Andre closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, to which an eyebrow was raised by the man behind the counter in confusion. ‘I know this might not be the time of the day, haha, but I think I’ll need a strong one to keep me going through the day. I will just go with a Caramel Short Black please,’ came Andre’s all too intelligent reply. The next few seconds were spent in silence. The two men (one who looked too confused and another who looked too smug) both stood leaning on the Café counter, with a handful of customers in line waiting to see what came next.

‘Pardon?’

Realising it was the only smart thing to do, Andre changed his answer to a far more ordinary one. ‘A cup of hot tea I meant’, and gave a crooked, awkward smile.

[1.3] The Post - Exam World

Andre shuffled in his seat again, desperately looking for an area which hasn’t yet been warmed by his buttocks. The sensation of sweat-soaked underwear fabric sticking to his butt cheeks was certainly getting to him. It was getting a little too stuffy for comfort in this somewhat vacant Hargraves library. The air-conditioners in the entire building were under repair and with the 35 degree heatwaves dancing about outside like minute ballerinas, it was amazing no one else felt like a crispy muffin fresh out of the oven. Post-exam period wasn’t as bad as Andre had expected it to be due to two reasons.

Firstly, he finally had some time on his hands to spend with Delilah. For the longest time, nights out to town and short hour study periods were a package deal - one had to come before the other. It was almost similar (though nowhere near as immense) to the existence of the sun and the moon. Given Andre’s anxious and paranoid nature, a day out without a study block during school semesters would drive his mind amok. His books were practically the couple’s third wheel.

Secondly, he would be able to finish ‘Eleven Minutes’, a novel by Paulo Coelho which was quickly turning out to be one of his favourites. Paulo Coelho’s ability to capture Andre’s attention was nothing short of special. He was learning more about pain and love than he had ever learnt. This was exactly what made ‘Eleven Minutes’ all the more appealing: its ability to consolidate Andre’s straying thoughts, slowing his conflicting mind down just enough for him to reach a point of epiphany or realization at least once every few days. Ironically enough, this was a feat he previously perceived as impossible since the last Harry Potter book.

Andre unzipped his bag and pulled out this new favourite book of his. Adjusting his posture a final time, he spread its pages open carefully, like a gentleman does with his partner in bed for the first time. Yes, being dramatic was an essential way of life. Doesn’t that make life more interesting for all of us?

Andre was deep into the book when the librarian’s shrill voice rang through the air, almost shattering his fragile eardrums. “The library is closing in 5 minutes. Please pack up your things and prepare to leave!” she said, much to Andre’s despair.

Do all librarians sound like a cat with its tail caught underneath someone’s shoe or is it only all librarians I know of who are like that? I should pen my thoughts in my diary as soon as I get home. I think I’m getting smarter, so let’s not waste this opportunity shall we? And with that, Andre shoved ‘Eleven Minutes’ back into his bag, got up and headed towards the exit, making sure to ram his big toe straight into a concrete pillar in the process.

[1.1] Andre's Examination

Andre paced around in front of 123 Bouverie Street, glancing occasionally at the clock, ticking away lazily on the common room wall- Half an hour to go before his last summer semester exam. Soon there would be no more early mornings, no more daily waits for an available city tram (trams in the morning were always jam-packed with preoccupied businessmen and burnt out university students), and lastly no more five hour study sessions in Borders. He would miss these study sessions in Borders though, to be honest. Throughout his academic life, Borders had served as an escape from the chaotic hustle and bustle that he was thrown into the moment he stepped foot out of his house. It was a perfect place for recollection of the body and mind, especially with a book in one hand and a Cappuccino in the other.

After what seemed like hours, the announcement was made: “Students with registration numbers 200000 to 500000 proceed to the left, others to the right. Place all bags in the holding room, first door on the right thanks.” “Why are invigilators always this strict? They of all people should know how nerve-wrecking an exam can be for students. Not even a please or good luck, what manners!” Andre said out loud in his mind, which was of course inaudible outside of his head. As he passed the invigilator, he made sure to slow his step, giving himself ample time to shoot the invigilator a stern and dirty glare, which he immediately regretted on the realisation it could cost him his entire semester of hard work.

The exam paper was easy enough. Andre was a smart boy. Eleven questions in the span of two hours were easily manageable by his standards. It wasn’t easy however, for him to stay focused. The slightest movement startled him, never allowing him to connect a single train of thought. ADD was certainly not an advantage in this situation.

“Is it just me, or does this room smell like mouldy socks? Why is that silly boy behind me sharpening his pencil right now instead of using a pen? What’s the use of a pencil when you wouldn’t have time to erase mistakes anyway? And what’s with that ridiculous itch on my leg?”

Andre straightened his back and cracked his knuckles, his eyes straying ever so slightly to the right, careful still not to attract the attention of the patrolling invigilators. Three invigilators stood leaning against the wall, probably gossiping about someone’s child receiving a place in a prestigious university in another part of town. Some students tilted their heads just high enough to read the time, before once again waging war against the paper before them. Others stretched sluggishly, releasing occasional yawns which made them look slightly uncouth. Images of a hippo with its mouth wide open started materializing in his mind. A sudden gust of wind shook the window pane nearest to him, carrying Andre’s drifting imagination sharply back to the task at hand.

~~~~~~~~~~

Andre was met with a nice mid-day breeze as he stepped out of the examination room, which ruffled his already extremely dry and unkempt hair. Pleased that it was finally over, he let out an uncontrollable smile. His heart was having a private party, and he looked like an idiot who was unsure whether he wanted to walk to the tram stop like a regular human being or dance over, concluding his delightful little journey to the tram stop with twelve pirouettes. He chose the former.

He felt a vibration somewhere near his buttocks and drove his hand down to yank his phone out of his back right trouser pocket, hearing a faint rip in the process. Delilah Tequila’s name flashed violently on screen. Ah that sweet name…