Snow Patrol is the perfect band to listen to at 6:42am on a bleak Thursday morning; the beginning of a two hour train ride into the city. A lack of caffeine and a multitude of sleeping passengers; turn up the volume and keep to yourself because the day feels so much earlier than it really is.
All of the blinds on the train carriages are open, for there is no sun to come protruding through the glass and into the eyes of the sleeping. Air-conditioning: Off. Today’s top temperature is just half of yesterday’s. We’ve been traded the overpowering heat for the windy chill of Autumn weather, despite the fact that it is just one day prior to Summer.
Hunched forward on the seat to my left sits my mother, writing away as far as her hands will permit. No writing or book-reading for me though, as I sacrificed my morning injection of caffeine for the drizzle of rain on the way to the station. No, no reading. Sleeping is what I do best at this hour.
After what feels like forever, we’re there. We’re at the last station and the train terminates. We exit the train at the underground station known as Roma Street; the walk to the main city street from here is only a few blocks away. Those first few steps outside of the food court in the station are almost like a wake up call. Once you’re out of those doors, you’ve left the warm security of the bustling station and now you’re out there with the rest of the world.
Wake up, watch the traffic. Bicycles and kids on rollerblades. I thought they went out in the ’90s. The sky is overcast yet the clouds are not grey. Instead they take on a remarkably eerie yellow — a reflection of the fires caused by the previous day’s heat.
First stop: Queen Street. Quite busy at such an early time of the morning. Business meetings at cafés; CEOs ordering champagne for breakfast; homeless people sleeping on benches. It’s all happening here. Quick stop for breakfast to fuel up for hours and hours and even more hours of shopping. Flashing plastic is easier than it’s made out to be, but don’t be fooled by this. Of course there are challenges that come with it. For one, do you choose the blue of the grey shirt? Is this size too big? Does this suit me? How about the other one? Never mind, I’ll take them all. Don’t give me a plastic bag though, because I’d rather pollute the environment by disposing of countless tags and plastic clips, but no plastic bags, thanks.
Shopping is exhausting, really. It’s could almost be considered the international sport of girls. I think my Mum and I would be top contenders for any awards involved. This handbag looks great. How much is it? I don’t care, just put it on my store card. Oh, I don’t want to share it. Okay, I’ll buy both. We can have one each.
A quick lunch is shared, because the enormity of breakfast many hours ago is still apparent. Drink up some wine at the Italian family restaurant and we’re off once more. Bustling in the city with a hoard of people that pretend they don’t care what anyone thinks. They’re all important. They’re all confident, smart and assured. They know we’re they going and no one will get in their way. That’s what they make people think, anyway. It could be a completely different story on the inside, but that’s irrelevant, isn’t it?
Finally tiring and heading back to the train station. Queen Street station this time, not Roma Street. Quick! Run to the ladies’ before the train is announced. Be careful to watch the screens though, because it’s easy to mistake this train for the next. Don’t forget to run to the newsagent to pick up a Picnic bar for the train ride.
Opposite direction this time, and now we’re heading South West. Only ten stops to go. Nine, eight… it’s almost the end of the work day and everyone’s tired and grumpy, or hyper on the sweet thought of heading home after a long day. Some people have different thoughts on what a hard day has been. Shopping, for example.
Being picked up at the train station is a welcome relief from public transport. Driving through the highway traffic is horrible though, so let’s pull over at Toowong shopping center. Park on the top level, adjacent to the McDonald’s drive-thru. It’s only 5pm, we may as well have a look around inside while the peak-hour traffic clears. More shoes. Two pair, even. Year planners, business shirts and lighter flints. Calling home to check on the brother, making sure he heats up something for dinner, likely from the Chrisco hampers we received just days ago.
There’s a Sizzler restaurant upstairs. All you can eat salad bar and dessert for $17.95. Let’s go — why not? Soft drinks on tap and as much food from the salad bar as you would like. Cheese toast, chocolate mousse and bread and butter pudding. It’s almost 7pm now and we should really go home. The drive home on the highway is long and relatively uneventful, apart from the random snippets of conversation received through the CB radio. A ton of swearing and crass remarks concerning the government.
Press the garage door remote and drive in. We’ll un-pack the bags in the morning.
Posted by Cassy Baker 
Posted by Cassy Baker 