Man Forced To Reacquaint Self With The Servo Pie After Getting Pissed In A Town With No Migrants

CLANCY OVERELL | Editor | CONTACT

Betoota man, Dale Buderim (30) has gone bush for work.

As a graduate engineer who’s been hauled in to work on the later stages of a bridge build in the depths of rural Australia, Dale’s options for late night dining are pretty limited to begin with.

Let alone at 11:49pm.

He’s been put up in a motel on the main street of town and is mostly living off pub feeds and the occasional hot chook from the IGA.

But the hotel kitchens aren’t open long enough to get pissed after work and THEN eat.

It’s unfortunately a problem that cannot be solved no matter how much money gets thrown at it. And Dale’s on good coin with this new job.

In the medium sized agricultural hub of Yawannakhunt, there’s a couple family diners and a fish and chip shop. The local Chinese restaurant has been here so long that the owners now behave like Australians and shut their doors at 9:01pm on the dot.

It’s just too small for a Maccas, and it’s got enough local boys that they don’t need to invite migrants to fill jobs in the timber mill and depot.

This means that Yawannagokhunt is not really on the radar of any new Australians. Which means there’s fucking nowhere to get a feed after a skinful of cold lager. No doner kebabs. No late night pizza made by people from the other side of the Mediterranean. No springies. No dimmies. Nothing.

And a skinful is exactly what Dale has had – after a spontaneous blow out with a couple of characters he’s met onsite.

After drinking beer until they became lifelong friends, Dale and his fellow travelling infrastructural workers realised they’d forgotten to get a feed before the kitchen closed.

While at the bar ordering another round, he asks the German backpacker pulling beers where she would go. He’s informed that there are absolutely zero options.

That is, outside of the local Ampol servo on the industrial mile heading into town. As sad as this news is – it does give Dale a bit of elasticity. He’ll get a feed when the pub closes.

Hours later, he’s trudging along a footpath-less roadside in the darkness, alone. It’s a 27 minute walk when you’re this belted.

The servo attendant can see what he’s here for and unlocks the automatic doors.

Fuck me. The pie warmer has nothing left but the spinach and cheese options.