Existential Crisis at The Transit Centre

It’s a seedy morning at the transit centre. For as long as I can remember Roma Street Transit Centre has had these mirrors all around the escalator,  casting vicious reflective judgement upon you as you make your way, tired and desperate,  up to the inevitable McDonalds lunch that awaits.

You never eat there, except for the morning after, and you curse yourself for not rolling out of bed and wiping the stale drool off of your face in time for the breakfast menu.

It’s midday and you wonder how many hours of your life will be spent avoiding quick, self conscious looks from other food court dwellers. Food courts are okay when you’ve got company. It’s when you’re alone the psuedo-political existential crises start to set in.

The crisis starts and you begin to question just who you are and what you’re meant to be doing, and you get that sick feeling deep in your gut that whatever it is, its not going to be accomplished here, picking through old, undersalted fries.

You wonder why, why didn’t they put more salt on those starchy, ppartially congealed artery-cloggers? You wonder if the chip guy is a health nut, resentfully slogging away in front of the fryer. Deeply dissatisfied with his position and his place at the Transit Centre McDonalds he gives the salt shaker a singular,  belligerent flick and dreams about another life.

Outside the people who live in the patklands have migrated to the Centre steps in the hope of bumming a darb or a dollar.

Weary looking backpackers emerge, confusedly glancing in either direction. You wonder how many thousands of people arrive in Brisbane  every day, only to be greeted by that frigid, unseemly behemoth of a building perpetually stuck in the 80’s.

The Roma Street Transit Centre has the unmistakable air of a place where dreams go to die. Sit there for half and hour and just try to fight the grey feeling settling over each and every person who stops.

Sugar Ray starts to play over head, and you realise you know this feeling. It’s the perfect realisation of the complete and utter directionlessness of your life.


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