March 21, 2014 by writehandman.com.au
Hornswood is split by the mighty Pacific Highway. Most my close mates live on the West side of the Highway, so I refer to them as “over-roaders”.
We were at restaurant recently.
Ragnar (his self-attributed poker call-sign) – “Cool Hand (my self-attributed poker call-sign) can I grab a lift with you tomorrow? Car’s getting serviced.”
Me – “Ragnar you know I do have legitimate safety concerns with venturing over the Pacific Highway, to pick-up any of you over-roaders.“
Our wives just moaned and returned to their previous conversation, which didn’t involve us.
Ragnar had lived on the East side of the Pacific Highway for thirty years of his life, but now lived on the West side. Now that he’s moved over, he calls people who live on the East side, “Flatliners” (because it’s flat and according to Ragnar, it’s dead).
Me – “You know Ragnar, I get very nervous driving to the West side, without a gun, or even a knife for protection. People there are eyeing off my car and my lovely shoes. You over-roaders are used to it, so you probably don’t even notice, they recognize you as one of them.“
Ragnar – “For sure you should bring a weapon Cool Hand. On the West side our primary school kids are tougher than you Flatliners.“
Me – “I have to get my brakes checked, before I journey down those f—ing hills on your side. It’s like that initial gut-tensing drop on the Big Dipper. Scary stuff.“
Ragnar – “You mean you have to organize for your manservant to check your brakes for you.“
Me – “Come on now, don’t be like that. You know my kids get scared going over there. They have nightmares for days. I just tell them to keep the windows wound up and the over-roaders can’t get them.“
Ragnar – “Aren’t your kids used to us over-roaders Cool Hand? Somebody has to change the shoes on their polo ponies, mow their lawns, clean their pools and train their mothers at the gym.“
Me – “You know I’m only joking Ragnar… I love a visit to over-roader-land, with your cute little houses down there. It’s like a trip to Hobbitville.“
Ragnar – “We don’t normally allow you snobby, trust-fund baby, Mosman-wannabee, Audi-driving, Prada-wearing, social-climbing, money-obsessed Flatliners, to journey to the hard streets of the West side anyway Cool Hand.“
Me – “The hills! How the hell do you walk up them?”
Ragnar – “It makes all us over-roaders less… rotund”. He pointed at my gut with a look of horror.
We couldn’t keep straight faces. Laughter erupted.
My wife – “You two are such idiots. What are you, twelve? How can you still find that funny after all these months?“
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