So one of the first times I ever went driving by myself, I had to go over the Harbour Bridge to get to a friend’s house. That seems like no big deal – I mean, thousands, or more like tens of thousands, of people cross it every day, and I can be people, right?
Originally, though, the bridge was built for horse-n-cart type setups, and so, being the widest bridge of its kind in the world at eight lanes, it has the unfortunate problem of having some of the narrowest lanes in Sydney. Not to mention its exit onto the labyrinthine bradfield highway that I’m sure was created to intentionally make you change as many lanes as possible and incur the wrath of old ladies and their death stares/shaking fists.
But luckily, we made it unscathed. Not to brag or anything, but I only almost totalled three other cars on the way, and that was a new record for me. (I hate to admit it, but sometimes I feel like I’m just enforcing that Asian driver stereotype…)
Disorganised as we were, we still managed to arrive early, so we decided to just chill out the front, testing the upper threshold of both the Volvo sound system, and the tolerance of late-afternoon suburban Mosman dog walkers and assorted residents. Unfortunately, it was just at the moment we decided to test the speakers’ handling of hardcore-punk-spice-girls-cover-pop-fusion-glam-rock-indie-noise-pop with the following song that a friend’s stately airbus pilot father walked past. Luckily, I saw him coming in the mirror. Unluckily, so did my partner in crime, who proceeded to slam down the volume just in time for all of Mosman to hear me shout, “FUCK, TURN IT THE FUCK DOWN.”
Needless to say, I won’t be revisiting the northern wilderness any time soon.