53. Attitudes Of The Middle Class Towards Us
I never knew I could write about it let alone talk about it
I had no perspective on my situation until others saw it &
began to judge. Suddenly I was naked, them knowing more
about me than I knew about myself. I was a little shocked.
I went to the theatre & saw the middle classes portraying us
a number of times. The superficiality, stereotypes & bullshit of it.
I should have got up & walked out, but I paid $60 for a ticket,
so like the product I am, I sat there & stayed until the end.
They know nothing about the way we live, it's a novelty for them.
Something for them to feel a little sad about now & again,
Something to forget then.
This art student said to my boyfriend,
'that's a lovely little holiday shack, it would go good in the bush.'
He was talking about my boyfriend's mother's house.
They had lived there all their lives. Housing commission
& it was the only thing they had to show for anything.
We gathered he didn't know any better.
It was just lucky she hadn't heard him.
some yuppie lecturer from balmain with one
novel published with picador, taught us in our
writing class about low life, 'write about the
low life, it's what sells,' although he never
had it completely right, he was saying things
that sent a twinge of fear, embarrassment &
irritation running through me, he was trying
to describe where i had come from, a few of
the middle class alternative type students, the
ones that wear those skin sandals & all those
loose scarves, got all compassionate & tried
to feel sorry for us, that is, my boyfriend & i,
who as it turned out, were the only 'known
low life' in the class, but the conclusion was
ultimately, that it was our choice to be in that
situation, i felt that no matter how many dirty
looks i threw at that yuppie lecturer, that he
was just like a talking machine that wouldn't
shut up, he was very intellectual, all smiles &
articulate, to make things worse he was a
little cute & everybody liked him, but i didn't
like him, all i could think of was to say 'fuck
off' or ask him outside for a fist fight, inside i
felt crude, inarticulate, like a fucken idiot,
very fucking inferior & very very angry, the
more inferior felt, the more angry i got, then
there was this rich student with blonde hair
who liked me, we went sailing with a few of
the middle class hippie children who had
been slumming from the north shore side,
throughout the day he pointed out every
million worth in the pitt water area, but
insisted that theirs was all in assets, he
borrowed a couple of bucks off me a few
times, he told me how much the driveways
cost, who lived in what house, he told me not
to touch the old old books on his old old
shelves in case i dropped one, basically, he
treated me like a fucken idiot, but somewhere
inside he couldn't help but like me, my
poverty & all, he wrote a poem for me, it
wasn't as good as what i wrote, but the paper
was damn good quality, he gave me some
attention for a little while, it was something i
wasn't used to, like i wasn't used to all these
assets floating around & him being flat-broke
most of the time, we just earnt our wages &
spent them, when we met for a walk in the
bush one time, he raced along the track, as if
he needed to conquer something, i got rid of
him eventually, it wouldn't have worked out
anyway, one night he insisted on catching the
red rattler to liverpool with me, although i
just wanted to go home on my own, wanted
to disappear back to the place i had come
from, didn't want him to follow me there, on
the train, midway out, i knew this would
happen, he became nervous, looking out at all
the miles of suburbs, he said, 'do people
honestly live out here?' i said, 'yes,' i
thought, no they're all dead inside, these
miles are populated by ghosts, when he got to
my house he said, 'this is so suburban,' i
think it was meant as an insult, but he said it
in front of my mother who agreed, she was
proud of what she had worked for & would
never been seen dead in the inner city slums,
or listening to classical music, she
particularly hated beethoven, in particular the
fifth symphony, champagne was too sour for
her & it wasn't cracked up to what it was said
to be & why go out drinking coffee in a cafe
when you can make it at home, what a waste
of money, later i found out that he had called
all my family 'ignorant peasants' behind my
back, to the other students, just because we
washed the dishes up every night & spent our
time drying the kitchen sink, with the same
tea towel that we had used to dry the dishes
with, rather than making business deals or
investing in real estate, just because we were
brought up on sugar & tomato sauce
sandwiches, we couldn't help it |
