By JESSICA ROBERTS
Saturday. 11 pm. Civic, Canberra
Taxis and buses line Northbourne Avenue bringing people in from all over town. The drivers settle in for the long night ahead with a lukewarm McDonald’s coffee and their favourite radio station tuned in.
The doors of the nightclubs are wide open. Their dingy day exterior transformed by the guise of lights and blurred vision. From within come the loud cheers and shouts of the revellers as the DJ plays the first bars of a crowd favourite.
Outside, lines of people waiting to get into the clubs have already started to form, money and IDs at the ready. Bulky bouncers half heartedly examine photos and faces, faces and photos, already clearly bored.
A mass of black and white clad young men are waiting in line outside Mooseheads, impatient for that first hard earned drop of amber liquid. They are celebrating their grand final win from earlier in the day, heady from their success. The formalities and the team photos were done with hours ago, but the back slaps and the singing of the team song with continue well into the evening.
Not far behind is a group of girls in a rainbow of dresses, short and not at all suitable for the light of day. They giggle and squeal in excitement, a novelty-sized button worn by one signalling a milestone birthday of some description. As the line moves slowly forward, one girl stumbles on her too-tall heels, already tipsy from pre-drinks of cheap champagne and energy drinks.
The atmosphere inside the club is electric. The strobe lights bounce off the walls and the floor, painting then in reds, greens and blues. The bar is surrounded by people five deep, the barmaids expertly pulling beers, mixing drinks and dancing to the music all at once.
The group of football boys raise their glasses to one another, toasting their victory, before taking long gulping swallows from their schooners.
The birthday girl glows as one of the barmaids hands her a bright pink drink with an umbrella resting on the rim of the glass. Her group of friends start to move towards the dance floor, dodging in between groups of people moving rhythmically under the flashing lights. One of the girls is knocked by a footballer, losing half of her drink down the front of her dress as he mock fights one of his team mates.
Her glowering look towards him goes unnoticed, and is soon forgotten as another drink is downed. And another. And another.
Sunday. 3 am. Civic, Canberra.
Northbourne Avenue is filled with taxis, each driver hoping to get some of the bigger fares to Tuggeranong, Gungahlin or Queanbeyan in order to make their night worthwhile. Cars dodge around the drunken groups who have abandoned common sense and safety and are stumbling down the middle of the road. A couple of older, haggard looking men in yellow reflector vests are trying to direct taxis and drunks, with limited success.
An ambulance, with sirens blaring races through the late night traffic, pulling up to the kerb, one wheel mounting the pavement. A young woman wearing an “I’m 18 today” badge is being held up by her frightened looking friends. She is screaming hysterically, her body convulsing, vomit staining the front of her dress. The ambulance officers rush to her side and take her weight from her friends, yelling in their faces repeatedly, “What did she take?”
Further up the street two young men are exchanging banter, one is wearing his winning side’s black and white, the other dressed in unironed jeans and a polo shirt. Unbeknownst to the men, two male police officers watch from across the street. Suddenly a drunken punch connects, sending blood spattering on to the pavement. The officers react instantaneously, sprinting over to pull one off the other, dragging them in opposite directions whilst trying to avoid flying limbs.
Standing against a wall in between these two groups is an unkempt looking man selling greasy pizza from a brightly lit up cart. One of his customers stands and watches the unfolding events with a look of uncontrolled horror on her face. She turns to the man questioningly but he only offers a shrug and says quietly, “Just another Saturday night on the town.”
