THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE (because it’s excellent)
This is an email sent to us by “Sarah”, who tells how she came to appreciate buskers. Well, one in particular.
After 2 stressful days of dealing with the Indian Embassy, finally completing all the paperwork and providing the “acceptable” size passport photos, my visa was being processed. Saturday I decided to do the tourist thing and see what I ought to see, without feeling unappreciative of where I was. I walked to the Sydney Aquarium. Then along the harbour. Then into The Rocks.
If you’re at the right age and watched a lot of teenage angst American crap back in the 90’s, then this will mean something; I heard singing and it was so emotional that I honestly thought I had stepped into a Dawson’s Creek episode.
I hung around for a bit, dropped some money into his case and picked up a few CDs, wondering how he could afford to get CDs produced if he was busking. Error #1. He was cute, he had a website, and I planned to check it out when I’d got back to the hostel.
I continued my way down to Circular Quay. Passing a few guys playing the Didgeridoo, I came upon the last pitch. No musical instrument (finally!). Nope, this guy had just started his “show” and had a few beats playing. Being a massive techno-head, I naturally stopped. He began doing all sorts of robotics, then into handstands. Held for what felt like an eternity to the unbalanced spectator. Natural with the audience, I decided to stick around.
He juggled, he was obviously an extremely talented dancer, and could play with fire. All fine attributes to look for in a future partner, no? As I came forward at the end to drop my donation (which to his standards was probably shameful — I am a poor traveller remember), I realised I quite liked the look of him.
1st day Sarah, keep your head on your shoulders and out of your pants. And anyone else’s for that matter. And besides, he is a street performer. There’s a reason he is doing this and hasn’t got a “proper” job. He is obviously homeless. He obviously has a crack habit. He is probably gay on top of that and married to another homeless person, who also has a crack habit.
After the musician in The Rocks and now this guy, I felt like I was on some mission from the good Lord to “save” these tortured souls, and “give” some Sarah-love. In the form of a damn good seeing to. This could turn out to be a charitable day.
I walked to the Opera House, around the harbour, into the Botanicals where I found a pre-party for Mardi Gras in full, unadulterated, gay, sweaty swing. I lay on the grass next to the fenced-off area and stole what I could from the party, without paying for the over-priced ticket. On the way back to the hostel, I re-traced my steps back to Circular Quay, where Mr. Juggles was wrapping up another show. I stayed to perv.
Then I went home to email the Musician and sing his praises. Sunday, after a night of thinking more about Mr. Juggles, I went for a Tarot reading in The Rocks. I went for a run, purposely passing the last pitch, where Mr. Juggles was performing again. I didn’t hang around this time, but I DID decide to come back after the run, looking a little more passable as a female. So, after lunch, I came back down on the free 555 bus.
Mr. Juggles, sporting his very worn (grrrrr) black jeans, his black vest (grrrrrrr) was just starting up another 45-min show. Thirty minutes in, I have the strongest gut feeling that I need to act on. But what to do? I can’t introduce myself after the show, too confrontational. So I head off to the nearest 7/11 and chose my weapon. Chocolate or sweets? Sweets. Chocolate will melt in the bag. Which sweets?
Suddenly I was faced with yet another predicament; what would these sweets say about me???? I had originally gone for the Lion bar (too intimidating), then the Skittle Sourz (was I bitter and tangy?) – Jesus, this was harder than I thought. I went for the Berry Skittles in the end. Simple really. I don’t like the yellow or green Skittles, there was a good chance he didn’t like certain colours, and everyone loves the black and red ones.
So, there I was, armed with bait. Now what? I went to the nearest souvenir shop. Asked to borrow a pen. Then some card. Then some Selotape. Mr. Souvenir man was grumpy because I hadn’t bought anything from his shop. I wrote my Facebook name on the card with the simple message “I WANT YOUR ASS XXX”. It’s quirky, to the point, and very me. A little bit like a cat leaving a dead mouse; NOTICE ME!
I then wondered how to give it to him without him seeing me do it. I could ask a child to do it for me. But that could go horribly wrong. Fuck it, I will do a hit and run. As all the kids an parents and the rest of the throng came forward to drop more money into the Harry Potter Sorting Hat, I disguised my skinny hand with everyone else’s and dropped in the Skittles. And ran. I stood well back from the pitch. And waited. Then distanced myself further, and hid.
I snuck behind bins and pillars and fat people, wanting to see him find the Skittles and gauge his reaction. This went on for THE LONGEST 5 minutes. I was getting dodgy looks from security and parents, and yet an audience member had struck up a full-blown conversation with Mr. Juggles. I needed to leave before I got moved on by the law. Remembering he advertised his Facebook page during one show, I decided to go hunting when back at the hostel. Just for good measure, so that I could have every angle covered, I left a comment (a clean comment) on his wall. Children read this for God sake. “Please teach me how to do a handstand without a wall”. Simple. Lets see if he reads his wall…
The next day, my dorm mates all had a laugh at my expense. Apparently I should have made my intentions even clearer; forget the sweets. Condoms and Poppers were the way to go. However, Mr. Juggles had responded to my comment! “You’re on Sarah, but only if you wear the Bumblebee outfit!”. This Bumblebee outfit had caused me no end of problems since wearing it for Halloween 2011 in Peru. So, was he flirting with me? And if so, fucking Hi 5. He then added me to his other Facebook page. Suddenly I was being let into an exclusive club. I am now jumping. Unsure of whether he realised I was the Skittles girl, I responded to the earlier thread and asked if he had enjoyed them. He obviously hadn’t put 2 + 2 together.
He came back an hour later with “OMG, I have just found Skittles in my bag…Sarah!”. Hehehehehe, we are now in business. I tell him about my other prop of the condoms and poppers. He tells me he actually does get condoms with spit in them. What is wrong with some people?????!!!!!
We eventually started chatting on FB and it turns out that the timing was off. He had just come out of an 11-year relationship and was in no state of mind for anything, even a quick shag. I was gutted. I told him I understood and signed off. I then sulked. A lot. I went for a run and, not one to be beaten or take “no” as an answer, I emailed him again and suggested he come out for a drink Thursday or Friday night. Or both. I knew I was pushing it and he could tell me to back off or not even reply. But I had to give him a gentle nudge. I had to meet him, end of.
Thursday afternoon, I got a reply. “Yes, I think you’re right. How’s Friday?” More jumping and booty shuffling in the hostel kitchen. That evening I met up with a friend and his work colleagues in the Paragon Hotel in Circular Quay. I told them I was going on a date the next evening. This is how the commentary went for the next 3 hours:
Them: Where did you meet him?
Me: He’s a street performer.
Them: Sarah, he’s homeless.
Me: No, he’s not.
Them: Sarah, why would he be street performing if he had a house?
Me: He DOES have a house.
Them: Sarah, he is a busker. He lives in a tunnel.
Me: He doesn’t! He said he was renovating his house!
Them: Sarah, he means he’s got new tin foil for his roof.
Me: No! He’s moving his bathroom and kitchen.
Them: Which means he doesn’t have a bathroom anymore, and has taken to pissing himself.
Me: Fuck off.
Them: You do realise you’ll be paying for the drinks the whole night.
Me: I’m sure I won’t.
Them: Sarah, he BUSKS, he cannot afford to buy drinks in a bar! And what will he be wearing??!! I bet he wears what you met him in.
Me: He can’t be that poor, he emails me.
Them: Yeah, using the FREE wi-fi in McDonalds. When the bill comes, he’ll pull out a smokescreen, “boom!” and he’ll disappear. Or, whenever it’s his turn, distract you with a juggle: Ooooh, look at this (juggle)…. But watch (juggle)…..
Me: But the money he gets from busking, that has to go somewhere.
Them: He has a crack habit! Sarah, he’s gonna murder you. You won’t be seen again after Friday night. So, where are you meeting him?
Me: Ummmm. He asked me to meet him at his pitch.
Them: (Much hysterical laughter) OMG, see! Coz his pitch IS his home! Sarah, you really are a disaster.
To be honest, I wouldn’t have cared either way. I wanted to get to know him, however brief. And maybe he needed a beer to cheer him up, homeless/crack head or whatever.
Friday night came, and I was late. As usual. But there he was, waiting patiently, on his pitch. Wearing different clothes. He smiled at me, and he had a beautiful set of teeth. Crack had no hold on this guy. We went to the Opera Bar where HE paid most of the night. There was no smokescreen. No distraction juggling. And it turns out that all the stigma attached to his profession was utter shite.
I’m sure it runs true for the few, but this guy has a Caterpillar truck. A great house. 3 fucking boats. AND he takes his show around Europe. He has a passport, woo hoo!!!!! I had an awesome evening with him. Best night I have had in years in fact. Which didn’t end until Sunday afternoon when he eventually had to drive me home so I could catch my flight.
The craziness hasn’t ended either. Those 72 hours were so precious that 2 days later, whilst chatting to him from Singapore, he booked a flight to meet up with me in India. A week later, he arrived in Goa. And, as of this moment, we have spent 9 days together so far. He has not murdered me. Yet. We still have another week left, but if I do come to a sticky end, it won’t be because of his psychopathic tendencies. It will be more like he couldn’t endure my rabbiting on, any longer…. :0)
Oh, and one more thing. Last week, the Musician Mark emailed me thanking him for my kind email regarding his music. Too late dude! I threw my pennies (and pants) in another hat….. ha.