Simon Greer, 35, is rolling his eyes after another fruitful day fishing out wide ended the same way it always does – with his ungrateful mates disappearing when it came to washing the boat down.
Jovial banter in the car home came to a standstill as Simon pulled off Dampier Highway and into Baynton Drive. One friend, Mark Schmidt, 34, admitted to our reporter this is usually when the fun subsides.
“That’s when reality sets in,” he said.
“You’ve just spent 12 hours in the blistering sun, you’ve got work tomorrow and all you want to do is go see what’s in the fryer at KFC and lie down in aircon for the night.”
“You can tell he’s [Simon] waiting for one of us to step up and say we will help with cleaning up.
“But as much as I like him, I simply cannot be fucked.”
Now in the driveway of Greer’s Baynton four-by-three, Simon pulls up the handbrake and retracts the key. The sound of the engine block sliding to a halt plays like a reverse siren song, prompting his mates to put into action their plans for getting the fuck out of there.
“It’s like dropping a bucket of rats on the floor,” he said, seething, bringing up clutched hands and throwing them towards the ground in imitation of the action.
“When they get out, they run in every direction – and all you’re left with is their shit.”
“And just like with rats, I’m the cunt who has to clean up after them.”
On an ordinary weekend, Simon’s reprobate mates usually have their excuses prepped in advance, known to include giving the Mrs a hand with dinner or helping the kids with their homework.
“It’s pathetic really,” he said.
“I guess because I paid $200 in fuel and skippered, I also get the pleasure of cleaning everything up at the end?”
“I guess it’s true that it’s better to know someone with a boat than actually own one, with the amount of flaky wankers in this town!”
