Your Mate

Wednesday is about books and writing. And stories. Today it’s one of my stories. And, again, I’m sharing both the text and a recorded version. Words and music by Second Storey Teller (aka Me! - lol).

Your mate, well he’s not your mate anymore, used to carry a picture of a monkey in his wallet. It was actually a chimpanzee – but he called it a monkey, doubt he even knew there was a difference. The joke was that this was his ID. His joke. Everyone laughed, not sure anyone really understood it though.

Your mate was mad. But it was comedy-mad. That’s what everyone said. “He’s mad” – but always saying it with a laugh eh…you know, so it never quite felt true.

One new year’s eve, you’re all walking along with him, and everything was boring and nothing was going on really, most pubs were starting to shut, others had queues that were far too long. Worse than that, many of them had door-charges. So, you find a queue that’s not too long but next thing your mate is saying to a guy in front, “sorry, what was that, bud?”And the guy just shrugs. Thinks there’s a pissed idiot hearing things. Next minute, he was seeing stars.

“What did you say cunt? Getting smart cunt? Getting smart cunt” – and then whack! Your mate dropped the guy stone-cold. The concrete gets a new flatmate. This poor, innocent dude from the line is now face down outside the bar. Wrong time. Wrong place. Two bouncers seize on your mate. Grab him and hold him as he bursts out laughing. Maniacal, vindictive, evil.

“Check the back pocket”, your mate then said, lost deep inside his own movie and indeed so long ago.

“Well, you’ll want some ID won’t you?” your mate followed up in a voice far too loud, far too proud.

And the bouncer stared dumb-face at a card from the wallet. A chimpanzee swinging on a branch. A card from the Weetbix packet, from at least 20 years earlier. Your mate’s ID.