No Country for Young Men
Having spent a considerable amount of time in small country towns, I have observed some of the characteristics they share. To begin with, they usually have one main street with banks, post offices, butchers, chemists and op shops, all within gawking distance of the nearby community. The centrepiece of the strip will be a community hall, perpetually in readiness for the second coming of John Farnham. There will be four women’s clothing boutiques, with maroon and gold blouses in the window, and chalkboards out front with ridiculous slogans like ‘Wise man say woman who shop at Teena’s will be one hot momma’. The remaining stores will be made up of sporting, camping, hardware, and those with spiritual novelty bric-a-brac such as sand pictures, ceramic clowns and ‘They put a man on the moon, why can’t they put them all there?’ mugs. The shops all play the same local station, ‘Yep FM’, which, despite its promise of a no-repeat work mix, always manages to end up with Bon Jovi’s ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’.
Dispersed between viral fast-food chains are the local cafes. Out front will be a white plastic dining setting with floral tablecloths. The menu will feature a motif of a friendly, but clinically overweight, baker offering cheese and pineapple fingers, mugachinos and the special of the day, rissole quiche. The waitstaff will be well-meaning young girls in tight black tops, being bustled about by a passive aggressive mother with blonde tips. Coffee from these places will come out tasting like bothered milk unless one asks for ‘extra strong’, which is country code for ‘uptight prick’. Ordering the vegie burger will be seen as hostility and force the chef to pull an emergency booklet out from under the counter. The vegie burger will appear as a surprisingly expensive chip sandwich with a garnish of chops.
A large portion of the country demographic consists of the elderly. They are often heartbreakingly endearing couples who still hold hands and will have you sending a courtesy text to your ex. There are middle-aged women in musk windcheaters and budgie-puffed hair, looking like they’ve had life worked out since the late seventies. There will be men with industrial-strength vibes and fluoro work shirts, climbing out of utes adorned with stickers such as those that say ‘No Fear’ and ‘Shit Magic Happens’. These men have four emotions, and save up three of them for grand final day. The other demographic will be teenage mothers with track pants and angry black ponytails, yelling at Jayden for being too old for the pram.
The most startling realisation when you’re in a country town is that there doesn’t appear to be anyone there between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five. This is because it is either actually the case, as everyone has left, or that those between those ages all look forty. The combination of not looking after your skin, having children early and being spiritually malnourished can force you to age at twice the normal rate.
The main trademark of a country town is misspelt shop signs. If there is an opportunity to make ‘sports’ into ‘sportz’, then it will be taken. Hairdressers will offer ‘menz cutz’ and the butcher ‘cheep meets’. It is unclear if this is due to a lack of ‘edukation’; to a sense that it will make the shop seem cooler, in a rap kind of way; or because the original name was taken. Recent examples include ‘Hungry Azz,’ ‘Baybee Werld’ and the bookstore ‘Browzers’.
The spirit of a country town is found in its local newspaper – a TV guide with news supplements. The masthead will feature a self-aggrandising logo, such as an escarpment with sun bolts coming out of it, and a slogan like ‘Our slice – it’s paradise’. The editor will not be overly concerned with world news, but save the first fifteen pages for ‘councilmen say the darnedest things,’ animals giving local footballers a run for their money and the front-page story, ‘Upset in Slurpz after feminine man’s burger breakdown’.
Country towns are quaint and unpretentious, bleak and eerie. They are best enjoyed in moderation.
Justin Heazlewood writes for ‘Frankie’ and ‘The Big Issue’, and co-hosts sketch comedy show ‘Lime Champions’, 7pm Mondays on Melbourne's 3RRR. His acclaimed live show ‘Songs From the 86 Tram’ returns to the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, March 25-April 18. Visit his website.
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