When I was 16, our school went on a ten day hike through the bush. We carried all our food, clothes and tents on our backs. We cooked all our food ourselves. We crossed flooding rivers. It was a hard slog. On the way back, in the bus, we had conversations about what we'd do first. Hot showers, hot meals, kilometres of chocolate, clean fingernails, clean sheets, warm socks.
Half way back to Melbourne, someone found something that had been left on the bus. It was a jar of a powdered orange flavouring used to make pretend orange juice. It's a product that still exists. It's called Tang. Shocked at the new discovery, the kid who discovered the Tang stood in shock for a moment and then held the Tang aloft. "TAAAANG!" he bellowed. Pandemonium broke out. The jar was emptied in moments. People dug at it with spoons, fingers, sticks, turned it upside down and devoured the sticky bits at the bottom. They vacuumed little piles of it off the palms of their hands. They argued over who was more deserving, more hungry, more needy of the hideous orange powder.
Later, at school, it was very hard to look those other people in the eye. Bonded though we were, the desperate shame of our sordid tangy secret ensured we kept our heads bowed when we passed in the hallway.
I was reminded of it last night. The hysterical exhaustion, the hunger, the ability to completely regress.
The following conversation took place between myself and Rita last night at the final night of the comedy festival at Trades Hall, after a month-long comedy festival season and a fairly massive Saturday night:
Rita: Want a drink?
Lorin: Oof.
Rita: We could though. We could have a drink and push on through. I'm going to give it try. Want one?
Lorin: Water would be good.
Rita: (leaves to get water).
Nine hours elapse.
Rita: (handing over water) Here you go.
Another nine hours elapse.
Lorin: You know what I'm going to do first?
Rita: What?
Lorin: I'm going to have a bath.
Another nine hours elapse.
Rita: Hmmm. Bath.
Another nine hours elapse.
Lorin: Are those two people fighting or are they about to pash?
Rita: Fighting. No. Wait. Pash. No... Who are they anyway?
Another nine hours elapse.
Rita: I'm having a spinach and cheese roll thing. Want one?
Lorin: No thanks. I've already had an iced chocolate, a hot chocolate, a massive bowl of pasta, a Coke Zero, three spring rolls and a month worth of restaurant dinners.
Rita: Cool. I'll be back.
Rita leaves. Another nine hours elapse. Person sidles up to Lorin.
Person Standing Next To Lorin: You involved in this?
Lorin: Sorry? With what?
PSNTL: The festival.
Lorin: Oh. Yep.
PSNTL: You involved in a show?
Lorin: Yup.
PSNTL: A comedy show?
Lorin: Yup.
PSNTL: What was it?
Lorin: That one. (Points at poster).
PSNTL: Right. Gough Whitlam.
Lorin: Yep.
PSNTL: Looks hilarious.
Lorin: Total riot. Start to finish. Honestly.
Person Standing Next To Lorin edges away.
Nine hours elapse.
Rita Returns.
Rita: Let's get out of here.
Lorin: I thought you'd never ask. I think there's some Tang in the car.