Thunder Down Under: Payback

By Vic Midyett

Here’s another story from Down Under. The events recounted occurred while I worked for the state airlines in Tom Price, Western Australia. Rarely have things worked out so well.


Our town of Tom Price hosted the annual dart-throwing competition for the region. The event is always held, like most things in Australia, at the pub. About 20 men from another town won the competition and celebrated heavily, partaking far too much of the amber liquid.
    It came time for them to be given a ride to the airport to fly home. It was my job to get them to the airport on time, so that our “flight on schedule” record would remain above average.

The first problem was getting them out of the pub and herded up to enter my bus. I didn’t have to, but being prudent, I parked very near the pub. Well, the men might as well have been 20 juvenile delinquents, drunk and stumbling all over the place and yelling at me for disturbing their celebration. This made us leave late for the airport, and I was a bit angry, but when we hit the wide, gravel road for the 11-mile drive, I thought of a plan, partly to meet the plane on time and partly as payback for this rude crew.
    Many times prior to this, when I had no passengers in the bus – which was the size of a school bus, with the same seats and no seatbelts – I would drive fast around the numerous corners, sliding the tail end out like one would with a go-cart. I got very good at this – and confident – naturally telling no one I did it. Have you figured out what’s coming?

Off we went, with the guys still hollering rude words at me and waving with one finger. I increased my speed on the straightaway, and on the first corner threw my passengers against the right side of the bus. Suddenly most of them got quiet, except for a few more choice words of abuse thrown at me. There were another half-dozen corners that I was certain they had forgotten about coming around on their way to town for the contest, when they of course experienced me driving as carefully as I would when driving Miss Daisy.
    I navigated every corner slinging them from pillar to post harder and harder. We actually made it to the airport with a few minutes left to get them off the bus and onto the plane. They had said nothing during the last half of the trip.
    Getting the crew off the bus gave me the biggest charge I could have hoped for. They weaved and stumbled, their knees buckling on the steps, their heads looking around dazed, profusely wide-eyed and wondering where they were.
    The captain of the team said, “Fuck! I’ve never known anyone to handle a bus like a rally car before!”
    Two men who had been sitting in the rear got off and had what Aussies call a “technicolor yawn,” or a “chunder.” Or they simply say “puked.” Onto the gravel, thank goodness.

Aussie’s know when they’ve been had (at least, male Aussies do), and recognize when a good payback has been warranted and well-executed. Aussie men are most always gracious and respectful losers, giving credit where it’s due. All of the members of the dart-throwing team looked at me with a big smile as they boarded the plane and said, “We deserved that,” or
    “Well done, mate,” or
    “Shit, mate, you’re bloody bonkers!” or
    “You've got some kind of balls, buddy!" or just
    “Fuck, what a ride! And, I’m walking if I ever see you again!”
    I just grinned. Don’t ya love it when a plan comes together well?
_______________
Editor’s Note: Vic modestly told me upon submission, “Printing this one is totally up to you.” I replied, “I would be a fool, a dundering idiot, not to share this delicious piece of writing. Thank you from the bottom of my soul!” And, rather than as a “Two Is Enough” column, I decided to run it as a “Thunder Down Under” – for old time’s sake.

Copyright © 2021 by Vic Midyett