|Some of my laydee friends at our ‘Westie’ house warming: Gembee, Ngaio, moi, Hanny-rat, Spamuel, and Anna.|
I was conversing on Twitter with Chief Bogan of Hamilton, Monsieur Dave Snell, and he asked if I had any Westie stories. I was kinda all, “Nahhhhh, I’m a bit too much of a hipster still for that business”, and then I realised that since moving to West Auckland a year and a half ago, I have collected a few Westie stories. This place fricking loves the bogan trash stereotype. Like, actually excels at it.
In fact, the first time I ventured out here when we were house hunting, we drove down Lincoln Road toward Henderson and I swear I saw the first teenagers I’d seen since the 1990s, wearing in complete sincerity, metal band t-shirts purchased from those horrible shops in malls that sell t-shirts only in black, alongside really tragic piercing jewelery, and bedazzled bongs. You can see one such t-shirt upon myself in the photo above. Admittedly I went for the not-so-bogan choice of Led Zep but it was definitely from the same shops that Genuine Bogans(tm) venture to.
I’d like to say that Genuine Bogans(tm) have actual, legit band t-shirts but we all know that would mean leaving West Auckland, and that just ain’t gonna happen.
There was also that time that I was out at Riverhead visiting my friend Anna, also in the photo above, and after I lectured her drunk friends about driving home drunk, received an even sterner lecture about being out on the roads sober on a Saturday night with kids in the car. Apparently I was the one putting people at risk by choosing to drive at that time and I should know better. Ahhh Westies.
And some of the Westie women are a bit frightening. We almost got killed by Shazza and Cheryl in the queue to get into the System of a Down concert at the Trusts Stadium in Henderson. One of our friends spied us in the line and joined us without following correct queue-entry-protocol, ie. being subtle. Shazza and Cheryl rightly took exception and were close to giving us a beating but his offer of hugs and puppy eyes must’ve hit a soft spot and they took pity and laughed at us instead.
I’m starting to become a bit immune to the glory of the Westie-ness around me. Pyjamas at the supermarket is pretty standard and I barely even notice it anymore. Despite the bad rap that all this trashiness gets around the place, I love it out here and am quietly stoked at being identified as a Westie by an extreme bogan. I guess it means I can properly call this place home.