Strange happenings for a Tuesday

I just got back from the hospital (reasons for which I unfortunately suspect will become apparent in the next few days). Bankstown hospital, and it is situated on (or very near to) Canterbury Road. Now, I suspect that everyone knows what ‘business’ is the most common along that road, but I thought I’d regale the tale that just happened on my way home.

We pulled up to a set of lights at a big intersection. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. I looked around, as did everyone, for something of interest (because the cricket on the radio certainly wasn’t sustaining me) when first I, then my sister, spotted a woman on one of those concrete islands that have the big light poles, and where you stand waiting for the red-man to change to the green-man to cross the road.

I elbowed my sister and motioned to this woman, wondering if she was having the same thought that I was. That thought was this: “That woman has to be a prostitute.” I shall describe her as best I can so that you too can judge her. It was 8:00pm on a Tuesday night. On Canterbury Road. And there stands a woman in what looked to be a very cheap dress, whose length didn’t exceed her hips on the side, and her upper thighs on the front and back. She had quite a bit of make-up on, carried a handbag and coat, and a second pair of shoes. The shoes she was carrying were high heels, while she had a pair of thongs on. Her hair was looked as though it had had peroxide run through it 5 times for good measure.

My father spotted her after I drew my sister’s attention to her and said “That’s a bloke, right?” I laughed, as did my sister, and then my father had to point out, to my mother, what he was talking about. Continue the Thomas family trait of sympathy and non-judgement, I asked “She is a prostitute, right?” My sister confirmed that she thought the woman was a ‘lady of the night’, and then my mother agreed too.

In what was a real sign of class, the woman then proceeded to arrange her underwear as she waited on the concrete island. Real class. My mother said “She better not bend over,” such was the length of her dress. Funnily enough, the next thing she did was bend over to pick up her handbag. Thankfully she had enough sense to bend at the knees as well, thus ensure she didn’t expose herself for the waiting traffic.

The lights then changed, and we started to move. Suddenly, a silver car pulled up alongside the concrete island and stopped. “Funny,” I thought “The lights are green, but this man in the car has stopped.” The woman spun around to look at the car, then exchanged a short amount of words, brushed her hair back, and then ran around to the passenger side of the car and got in. As we passed the car that had stopped, all I could make out was that the driver was smoking. I thought to myself that cancer might not be the only disease he gets tonight.

We moved on, and I instantly started to think of how I could turn that into a blog post. I seem to have succeeded in that mulling.



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