Kings X
Trip Start
Nov 28, 2004
1
55
57
Trip End
Jun 11, 2005
Sydney,
New South Wales,
Australia
Thursday, February 17, 2005
The car park hangs its mouth open like an abyss. Ready to swallow up more groups of cash-strapped backpackers and their cars. My car's got to have its pink slip according to the jobsworth that steers me through the formalities over at Sydney's deepest hole. So I drive to the place he tells me to and wait as a mechanic gets his clipboard. I get no pink slip. I get a white slip. Which means there are now things to be fixed.
This doesn't prevent a sale, but offers me the chance to attend to matters ( and then get a pink slip ), or else it enables the buyer to negotiate a discount. The windscreen wiper blades are worn out and there's a small oil leak. Oh really ? This car is twenty years old yet has just got me all the way here, from Darwin ! And these twats have the nerve to stand here with their NSW rulebook and complain that slightly dog-eared wiper blades mean it's not fit to be on the road. You must be kidding me.
Percy gets his place in the dungeon with a big sticker in the window - starting price 2,000 bucks. I've had a good look around and want to stay competitive. I don't mind dropping 500 bucks on what I paid for the car in Darwin. Think what the journey would have cost by train or bus. I don't sit there all day waiting for customers as some do either. I make up some ads and plaster them up on the noticeboards of every hostel I can find. I may be able to sell the car at a better price without all this fuss and bother with the NSW rulebook.
At 2pm, I meet with Don as arranged. My old friend from Koh Pha Ngan in Thailand. There is a session during which I learn of his sordid exploits with visiting escorts in Bangkok. I conclude that I am far too nice. Next we go and visit one of the King's X strip clubs. Predictably, we are ripped off. We pay an entrance fee and order our expensive beers. Once we are seated, the stripper wants paying too, or else her clothes stay on. We hurl vulgarities and leave, giving the doorman a verbal ear bashing at the same time. Don's got a room in a hostel over in a suburb called Balmain - I tell him he can sleep in my car instead to save a journey. We descend the murky depths of the car park and smoke a joint. And hatch a plan to steal a yacht and make our escape across the Pacific. I leave him looking comfortable in the reclining front passenger seat..
Don didn't sleep very well in the car. The night watchman kept asking him to leave. When I return to the car myself, I receive a bollocking from one of the car market's day managers. Those that walk around answering questions and assisting with paperwork. He makes his point very clear. Nobody is permitted to use their car or camper van as a cheap place to sleep - it's against the fire regulations. You are thus paying rent for the car to remain in the car park, not yourself.
Next ; in-car-cerated
