MELLIPOP AND MR MUSHROOM HEAD

Ok, so it’s 3:30 on a Monday afternoon and you’re tripping off your head on a combination of acid, mushrooms and alcohol.

Question: Who do you choose to sit next to on a busy commuter train?

Answer: Mellipop.

Yes, your resident “freak magnet” friend and narrator got herself a live one today on the way home just now.

So I’m sitting quietly on the train, reading my book (Marianne Faithfull’s autobiography, for the trainspotters amongst us) and am contentedly engrossed until a huge swaggering bear of a man staggers onto the train and falls into the seat next to me, leaving his screaming gal pal fumbling at the ticket machine on the platform as the train pulls away. The man reeks as though he has just recently bathed in a tub full of white spirits.

He is ranting incoherently, swaying into me and calling me a cunt. He is also pointing at the poor little Indian guy on the other side of him and is calling him a cunt too. I inwardly cringe while maintaining a neutral expression, my eyes fastened on my book. This is what I like to call my “Crazy Dog” technique. The hypothesis on which it is founded is that crazy people - like crazy dogs - are best neutralised by avoiding all eye contact and not making any sudden movements which might otherwise antagonise them. You do this until you determine the level of threat involved and then proceed to act accordingly.

My initial diagnosis was not a positive one. I naturally assumed from the guy’s stench that he was a raving mad drunk. Raving mad drunks are often only one small step away from being aggressive and violent. Especially ones that point at you and call you a cunt.

MR MUSHROOM: So he’s a cunt, and she’s a cunt and it’s like the male and the female, and the penis and the vagina. I’ll never understand these cunts. (pointing at me and the young Indian guy sitting on his opposite side)

MELLIPOP: (thinks) Oh dear. This guy is drunk off his nut and has just had a domestic with his woman. Only four more stops until North Fremantle.

MR MUSHROOM: Yeah so I’m on fucking mushrooms and acid man. I’m on fucking mushrooms and acid. I’m so fucking tripping. Perth has shit fucking drugs man. These fucking cunts are from Perth (pointing at me and the Indian guy again). I’ll never understand these cunts. I’m from Melbourne, man. Melbourne has the best fucking drugs. Coke, acid, fucking mushrooms, speed. Perth has SHIT drugs. Perth is fucked, man. They’re all cunts. Sydney has great fucking drugs.

MELLIPOP: (thinks) Phew!!! He’s only on acid. Thank God! He’s harmless.

(listens with more interest now that the imminent threat of violence has diminished)

So, it's quite ironic that as soon as I find out that he is on a “harmless” combination of illegal hallucinogenic drugs - and not alcohol - my fear of him completely diminishes, and I can begin to enjoy our little interlude as unexpected drive-time entertainment. What does that say about so-called “legal” drugs like alcohol?

Anyway, so at this point I think, what the hell, the guy’s talkative. And seemingly harmless. Might as well talk back to him. I mean, he had acknowledged me - even though he called me a cunt. It’s only polite to acknowledge him back. And I'm nothing if not polite.

MELLIPOP: So, where you from?

MR MUSHROOM: MELBOURNE, man!! This cunt here is from Perth (pointing to the Indian guy again, who still looks frozen with terror). And he still lives with his mother. And his mother is his fucking wife. His mother is his wife!

MELLIPOP: And I’m from Sydney.

MR MUSHROOM: You’re from Sydney? Where you from in Sydney?

MELLIPOP: Leichhardt, Newtown….

MR MUSHROOM: (eyes lighting up) Really? You got any coke?

MELLIPOP: Umm….no. I’m in Perth now man. The drugs are shit, remember.

MR MUSHROOM: YEAH!! They’re all cunts here. Perth is fucking shit!

So even drug-fucked Melbournites know the score. PERTH IS FUCKING SHIT. I’m totally straight, he’s totally fucked and yet two ex-pat East Coasters still managed to bond over the fact that PERTH IS FUCKING SHIT.

MELLIPOP: So what are you doing over here, if you hate it so much?

MR MUSHROOM: I’m importing, man. I’m setting up and importing.

MELLIPOP: (train pulls into North Fremantle) Yeah alright. Enjoy the rest of your trip, mate.

(thinks) Brilliant pun Mellipop! Shame the guy’s too fucked up to fully appreciate it.

And then I got off the train and walked home. Monday afternoons, huh? Crazy.