Bogans

I saw someone in Woolies today that made me think about a time years ago when I was working for the Big Day Out as a fork truck operator part of the construction site crew erecting temporary fencing and construction duties made up of a team of random people setting up the festival at the Claremont Showgrounds.

Each day the wife of the old Hiab operator would cook our lunch on the BBQ but she’d always undercook the sausages and burn the onions and buy cheap white bread. I was usually the last to get my lunch because I’d cook my snaggers for longer.

Walking away with my food I passed the crew all sitting in the sun on the bare hot hard rough bitumen crouched up against a shipping container trying to soak in a narrow strip of shade with their knees up against their chests. Not very far away was a luscious green shady tree area where I was heading. I invited them

to join me in comfort, but they all declined my offer and said they were fine, so I left them alone and kicked back in comfort with my boots off and ate my lunch.

The next day the lady wasn’t around to cook lunch for us so given my restaurant background I volunteered to do it. I cooked the sausages to perfection and sautéed the onions nicely,

buttered the bread and slightly toasted it.

They all complained, and I was never asked to cook lunch again, so I brought my own.

Bogans.