I don’t have a huge apartment, but at the very least I have a spare bedroom, so the parents and I can have a proper Australian Christmas. Western Christmas. Whatever.
The thing I’m more worried about is the outside world. In here is kind of a fusion of decor, but really, it’s just four walls and a roof. No, you see, my parents are from the country. Like, way out in the mountains, in a small village that only just got electricity. Once I tell them I just casually booked my car in for a transmission service at a garage in Brunswick they’re going to look at me like I’ve just summoned an ancestral ghost by speaking in a dark tongue. I’ve done my best to prepare them for how things are here, but even the longest letter can’t really make it a reality.
The weird thing is that they’re passing through the city to get to the airport, and the capital is modernised. So that’ll be a shock, the plan will be a shock, my life will be a shock…I’m hoping this trip doesn’t upset them. It was weird for me at first, growing up in that village. I finally saved up enough for a car with my uni job, saved enough for lessons, passed my test and then had to face the wonderful world of keeping a car running. First time I brought it in for proper car servicing I was a nervous wreck. For some reason I had this idea that taking your car in for servicing meant that you’d done something wrong, and they were going to question you, and you’d either get a lecture or slapped in handcuffs if you’d really screwed up.
Yeah, not much like that. I managed to stammer something about it being a service, and that was that. Nothing wrong, got it back later all good. Not that it’s all been smooth sailing, but I know some really good places for car servicing in Brunswick, and even further afield; can even do a few repairs myself. I’m a proper local and everything.
Not that it’s going to be ALL about the car. There’s plenty to get my parents worked up. Just wait until I show them Neat-Flicks.