Four months later. Is Melbourne for me?

I can see why people would like living in Melbourne. It has enough to do. It has an ok climate. There are more cafes per capita than any other city in the world and most use the highest quality beans but my list of pros comes to an abrupt end there. I can honestly say that I have given this city a good chance, I have even found myself wanting to like it, however lying to one’s self is never a good way to get through life (it took me twenty-six years to realise this.)

Unfortunately Melbourne is just not the place for me. I could list multiple reasons why I find this city monotonous and spurious with its ‘trendsetters’ and alleyways but to me the ‘trendsetters’ are simply followers reinventing the overturned wheel and the alley ways all have dead ends.

If I could summarise my pessimistic perception of Melbourne life into three points they would be as follows:

  1. What sort of joke is the public transport trying to play?

 

I would estimate the amount of hours spent waiting for a train or a tram in this city in the past four months would total over 20. Upon arriving I expected that this unfamiliar system would take a bit of adjusting to. The first time I caught the train from Jewell Station I turned to my sister and asked her if she was aware of why we had waited more than ten minutes and a train was yet to appear in the distance. Her only response was – this is normal. Since then I have spent numerous hours wasting time waiting for the 112 to Fitzroy or train to South Yarra while trying to pass level 148 on Candy Crush. I guess the reason I’m a minority when it comes to complaining is that the unfortunate people that grew up with this system simply don’t know that in other magical places transport runs regularly (not every hour).

 

  1. Why are the homeless people so aggressive?

I realise it may not be a nice thing to be without a bed or shelter each night and that is reason enough to be pissed off at life. But why do you take it out on me? I have been in close contact with homeless people in various countries around the world and apart form one run in with a pregnant gypsy in Florence I have never been so intimidated by those who have ended up sleeping on the street. On Errol Street in North Melbourne I have been called a cunt not once or twice but three times in the past four months, each time I am certain that I didn’t deserve it. The first occasion is when I refused to roll a cigarette for a toothless meth addict, he then went to ask if he could have a drag of the half smoked rollie hanging from my lips and when I said no he call me a dodgy cunt. The second story was less eventful, I was passing a Christian-esk busker who sounded like god could have given her some more love in the voice box department and because I didn’t part with my hard earned cash to provide her with an unnecessary confidence booster a homeless man call me a stingy cunt. The third and most recent tale happened just a week or two ago when I was withdrawing the last of my cash from an ATM (a hot spot for the junkies to hang) behind me I could hear an argument between two rather dodgy looking gentlemen about whether they should purchase a bag or crack or some caps of heroin. Trying to pretend this was all just another North Melbourne nightmare I grabbed my cash and attempted to walk briskly away before one of the men stopped me and demanded I give him the money I had just gotten out as he and his friend were hungry and needed food. I simply said no and continued to walk away. He continued to call me a fucking cunt in a booming voice until I had made it safely into the IGA across the typically wide Melbourne street.

  1. Why can I not buy a dozen beers?

This may seem ridiculous and you may have read this far and think that I am clutching at straws to confirm why Melbourne is not the city for me. But honestly, why can’t the liquor stores just sell beer in the quantity in which it was meant to be sold? Six beers after work is lovely but when the temperature has risen above forty as it often does in Victoria’s capital then all six beers will do is leave you needing more. So the next option up is a slab, 24 beers. It may seem like a dream but if you’re like me and don’t own a vehicle the idea of transporting a very heavy slab from Errol street to North Melbourne station is enough to make you want to fall down and die (did I mention my biceps are thinner than Vicki Beckhams ankles?). I WOULD drink three or four on the way home to lighten the load but no, drinking in public is strictly forbidden in the ‘wonderful’ city of Melbourne. I believe Melbourne’s unjustified reasoning behind the sale of only six or twenty-four packs of beer has been a major contributor to my problems with alcohol as a goon containing forty-one standard drinks is much easier to carry than a slab.

I have tried. I have honestly slapped a smile on my face and attempted to look for the positives that should be hidden away in this city but all I see is delays, aggression and disappointment. I am sorry if you have read this far and are an advocate for the fun that could be found in Melbourne city, it was never my intention to bag on your homeland. But please I would love you to try and convince me why Melbourne is apparently the most liveable city in the world. I just don’t get it… fr

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2 Responses to Four months later. Is Melbourne for me?

  1. You are not the only one to be lovingly talked to by the homeless folk on Errol St!

  2. Gede Prama says:

    visit your blog, read an interesting article. thank you friends for sharing and greetings compassion 🙂

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