Well, because of the area I live and work, we have a fair share of bogans. The suburb is upscale in some areas, trailer-park worthy in others, and also fairly well known as the sort of place you can score some of the "not as bad as meth" drugs.
The bogan can be somewhat accurately described as an urbanized red-neck. It's also not that accurate, because there are a lot of subtle differences. I might actually go post them somewhere else.
This is important info, I promise. Because the Bogan is also the Champion of Poor Decision Making.
Four weeks ago, a Bogan I shall call Tim called into our fine DIY establishment to hire out a vehicle from us. I and my coworker at the time were slightly suspicious, as some utter twit had called earlier to ask if he could hire a vehicle to drive across the ENTIRE FRAKKIN COUNTRY, RIGHT TO THE OTHER SIDE. He seemed bewildered when we said no.
No fear though, the cross country nitwit was Irish. Tim was definitely an all Aussie bogan. You could tell from the Southern Cross tattoos, the broad accent, and the way he didn't really seem to feel the need to wear a damn shirt inside a store. Tim wanted our vehicle for one day. We got his license details, his deposit, and sent Tim on his merry way.
Tim did not come back the next day. Tim was not answering his phone. Tim did not respond to the messages left on his phone. This made our manager suspicious, but this isn't uncommon here. Some people take longer than they should. We just charge them an extra day plus the kilometers they used.
Tim did not return the next day. Or the day after. Calling his phone resulted in him hanging up. Oh dear. The vehicle tracking shows that the vehicle is now four hours away in a town down south.
On day four, I answered the phone, and to my surprise, it's Tim! He didn't call though. He didn't even realise he'd butt-dialed our number! On this butt-dial, Tim reveals that "hah, those fuckin' {insert store name here} wankers bin callin' again aye! Fuckin' stressin' and shit! [Poor imitation of the trade bosses voice] Tim, if you do not return the vehicle the police will be notified." A girl laughs in the background and says. "What a fuckin' poofta!" Tim laughs and says "Yeah, fuckin call the coppers, I don't give a shit aye." The sheer eloquence of the conversation blows my mind.
At this point I go and tell the trade manager. The trade manager nearly puts his foot clear through his desk. He's tried to be nice to the guy. He and my partner even left a message that if Tim brought back the vehicle, all fines and charges for the late return would be nullified. They just wanted the thing back.
So the coppers were called. They go to the address on his license. It's his Dads! At a retirement home...how the hell Tim managed to get that on his license is beyond me. Maybe it's a fake. Old man Tim is extremely unhelpful to the police. He doesn't like cops it seems. Tim's had multiple run ins with police, and each time, miraculously, it was because the police were unfairly picking on him, according to his old man.
So Tim's in the wind. Now, as I write this, it's been nearly a month. Tim hasn't been caught yet, but the vehicle tracking stopped somewhere about an hour away from here. It's a well known bogan suburb. I should know. The worst half of my own family migrated down there. Wouldn't be surprised if Tim turned out to know them.
AS for poor decisions, Tim now faces (as far as I know): The Aussie version of GTA (the far less exciting 'Steal Motor Vehicle'), with all the fines/jail time that entails, all the late charges and kilometers he's racked up at our store, aaaand he's also looking a a domestic violence charge unrelated to his vehicle theft. All of which will total more than the 5+ year old vehicle is worth.
Like I said. Bogans: The Champions of Poor Decision Making.
As for those confused as to why driving all the way across Australia is a stupid idea....it's 45 hours. That's without stopping to pee eat or sleep, by the way. It's also assuming that you're going full speed to whole time. It's also also assuming you have a car that can handle that voyage and that you yourself have adequately prepared for it. Long stretches without petrol food or water through a desert in a country where 40 degrees (Celcius) is a normal and expected Summer temperature. Some folks die trying to drive across this place.
The bogan can be somewhat accurately described as an urbanized red-neck. It's also not that accurate, because there are a lot of subtle differences. I might actually go post them somewhere else.
This is important info, I promise. Because the Bogan is also the Champion of Poor Decision Making.
Four weeks ago, a Bogan I shall call Tim called into our fine DIY establishment to hire out a vehicle from us. I and my coworker at the time were slightly suspicious, as some utter twit had called earlier to ask if he could hire a vehicle to drive across the ENTIRE FRAKKIN COUNTRY, RIGHT TO THE OTHER SIDE. He seemed bewildered when we said no.
No fear though, the cross country nitwit was Irish. Tim was definitely an all Aussie bogan. You could tell from the Southern Cross tattoos, the broad accent, and the way he didn't really seem to feel the need to wear a damn shirt inside a store. Tim wanted our vehicle for one day. We got his license details, his deposit, and sent Tim on his merry way.
Tim did not come back the next day. Tim was not answering his phone. Tim did not respond to the messages left on his phone. This made our manager suspicious, but this isn't uncommon here. Some people take longer than they should. We just charge them an extra day plus the kilometers they used.
Tim did not return the next day. Or the day after. Calling his phone resulted in him hanging up. Oh dear. The vehicle tracking shows that the vehicle is now four hours away in a town down south.
On day four, I answered the phone, and to my surprise, it's Tim! He didn't call though. He didn't even realise he'd butt-dialed our number! On this butt-dial, Tim reveals that "hah, those fuckin' {insert store name here} wankers bin callin' again aye! Fuckin' stressin' and shit! [Poor imitation of the trade bosses voice] Tim, if you do not return the vehicle the police will be notified." A girl laughs in the background and says. "What a fuckin' poofta!" Tim laughs and says "Yeah, fuckin call the coppers, I don't give a shit aye." The sheer eloquence of the conversation blows my mind.
At this point I go and tell the trade manager. The trade manager nearly puts his foot clear through his desk. He's tried to be nice to the guy. He and my partner even left a message that if Tim brought back the vehicle, all fines and charges for the late return would be nullified. They just wanted the thing back.
So the coppers were called. They go to the address on his license. It's his Dads! At a retirement home...how the hell Tim managed to get that on his license is beyond me. Maybe it's a fake. Old man Tim is extremely unhelpful to the police. He doesn't like cops it seems. Tim's had multiple run ins with police, and each time, miraculously, it was because the police were unfairly picking on him, according to his old man.
So Tim's in the wind. Now, as I write this, it's been nearly a month. Tim hasn't been caught yet, but the vehicle tracking stopped somewhere about an hour away from here. It's a well known bogan suburb. I should know. The worst half of my own family migrated down there. Wouldn't be surprised if Tim turned out to know them.
AS for poor decisions, Tim now faces (as far as I know): The Aussie version of GTA (the far less exciting 'Steal Motor Vehicle'), with all the fines/jail time that entails, all the late charges and kilometers he's racked up at our store, aaaand he's also looking a a domestic violence charge unrelated to his vehicle theft. All of which will total more than the 5+ year old vehicle is worth.
Like I said. Bogans: The Champions of Poor Decision Making.
As for those confused as to why driving all the way across Australia is a stupid idea....it's 45 hours. That's without stopping to pee eat or sleep, by the way. It's also assuming that you're going full speed to whole time. It's also also assuming you have a car that can handle that voyage and that you yourself have adequately prepared for it. Long stretches without petrol food or water through a desert in a country where 40 degrees (Celcius) is a normal and expected Summer temperature. Some folks die trying to drive across this place.
Comment