Farah, 28, Glebe
The best thing about art and fashion events is the free alcohol.
Friday 5:30pm: I get a text from my good friend inviting me to an art opening at her gallery in Darlinghurst. Tbh I don’t really care about contemporary art, or exhibitions. I think it’s ‘cause I went to, and dropped out of, art school. I frequent it purely for the free booze.
I get a bus from my place in Glebe. For some reason no matter how many times I use my card to pay for any public transport, no money comes out of my account.
6:30pm: I arrive at the gallery and pocket two XPAs, swerving the art and art people. Four of us drink beers upstairs. We try ordering ketamine but none of our dealers pull through.
7:30pm: Before we go to our next stop: a friend’s place down the road, we decide to get bite to eat. We walk to a Greek restaurant around the corner where we know the owners and one of them asks if we want to buy some coke – an off-menu item. We decline, ordering a beer each, the trio of dips, slow-cooked lamb shoulder and a Greek salad. My best friend pays. She earns double what I do.
8:30pm: We go to the bottle shop and I buy six beers, a flask of Fireball and a bottle of champagne. Brave. We walk to the friend’s house.
8:50pm: I fridge the beers and champagne, sipping the Fireball. Five of us go upstairs to the bedroom and the host gives us a dexie each for free. We snort them perched on her bed.
10pm: My drinks run out – I was generous with them and I’m pretty sure someone stole some of the beers, so we decide to walk to a bar on Crown St. We only really go there because our friend’s boyfriend works there. We get there and he’s not working.
I order six espresso martinis for us despite the fact that I can’t afford it, $133.98. I pay a guy we meet who’s dressed as if he stars in Peaky Blinders $20 for a generous line of coke.
11:30pm: My close friend calls and tells us to come meet her and a bunch of other people at a pub in Surry Hills. When we arrive I order a beer and a tequila shot, $21.50. I can tell that later, by my bank statement, I spent another $28.50 at the bar, so I’m guessing I drank another three schooners, or maybe two and a shot.
By this point I’m explaining to my friend’s date the various forms of torture the CIA uses – the worst being sleep deprivation, according to my prior research. I only know this was what I was ranting about because my friend told me the next day. I also, apparently, took my shoes off in the bar because I was too hot.
1:30am: I don’t often get blackout drunk, I promise. I do remember at this point deciding to order Maccas on Uber Eats to the pub. The new spicy chicken nuggets in a medium meal, $15.50 plus $2.58 for the service charge. Apparently, I convinced the security guard to let me eat the meal at our table. Not the first time I’ve done that. The best move is ordering Maccas to a warehouse party in Marrickville or whatever.
2:30am: My memory from here is less blurry, I remember ordering another beer at the bar for $9.50. I scab a free cigarette from a roughly 50-year-old man who was playing the pokies by himself and drinking the free black coffee you get.
3:30am: I realise at this point that I’m definitely embarrassing myself with all the spy talk etcetera, so I hug all 10 people at our table goodbye and get a DiDi home for $12.30.
I fall asleep with all my clothes on and little dignity. Sweet dreams.
Total: $305.51. I love Sydney.
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