CHAPTER 9
‘The thing is, the necessity for charity is a sign of a failed system,’ muttered Liz, her cigarette clamped between her lips as she tried to manipulate a crushed cola can into the bag at her side without touching her outfit.
She was wearing neon-green go-go boots, a miniskirt and a blazer.
Perhaps the only sensible part of the ensemble were her throwback nineties sunglasses, considering the blazing heat.
A yellow reflective vest sat over the top of it all.
‘Uh-huh,’ answered Jeremy tiredly.
Liz limped along the side of the freeway and speared another can, this one so old and rusted it was impossible to work out what fizzy delight it had once carried.
‘Perhaps if we stopped encouraging charities, there would be more work on preventative measures to stop this happening in the first place. Has anyone ever thought of that?’
‘Yup,’ Jeremy said, only half listening. He was poking something soft with his stick that may have once been a wig or an animal, and trying to work out how gross it would be to put it in his bag.
‘If anything, it is our moral responsibility to turn around and go to the pub … and boycott this – this travesty!’ Liz finished, wielding her garbage stick like a baton, propping one admittedly fabulous boot on an old tyre and pointing back towards the city.
Jeremy mock applauded her speech. ‘You’re like the Karl Marx of getting out of situations,’ he said wryly.
‘Situations suck.’ She pouted.
The situation did indeed suck, but as the architect of this terrible day, Jeremy could not admit that. It was up to him to be encouraging, enthusiastic and appreciative of the favour his friends were doing him.
‘Liz, if you don’t stop moaning I’m going to walk onto the road and let myself be taken by a truck.’
She stuck her tongue out at him.
‘Okay, let’s get another photo. This is all pointless if it doesn’t make people think I’m a good and ethical person.’ Jeremy sighed, pulling out his phone and holding it at a practised selfie angle. ‘Don’t block that tyre – it makes it look gritty and authentic. Mad Max aesthetics. Dystopia chic.’
Sam’s new targeted and effective spite-pie plan had allowed Jeremy to drop most of his insane roster of extra-curricular activities – no cooking or pottery or sewing classes, no stressful meditation and mindfulness and DIY acupuncture, no green smoothies or activated almonds or fasting days.
No more stinky gym. It was an immediate relief.
However, while Sam’s campaign was almost minimalistic, Patricia’s social media plan still required the illusion of self-betterment: he had to use Instagram and Facebook and even Twitter (he refused to acknowledge Musk’s attempt to rebrand the site) to make sure everyone thought he was a much better, happier and more successful person.
It was how everyone else used Instagram anyway: he was just doing away with the pretence.
Plus, it would help with the whole dating-app side of the campaign too.
There was a section of Patricia’s extremely thorough plan (also shared as a Google Doc), which was simply titled MORAL SUPERIORITY .
‘There’s no such thing as a quietly good person online,’ she’d explained to him over drinks, fitting him in between the launch of ‘something fabulous’ and a date with ‘someone bankerish’.
‘Trust me, my love – if Gandhi were alive today he’d be making infographics on Insta so people knew he was an upright kinda guy.
Mother-fucking-Theresa would be sharing vegan recipes.
We can at least make you look like someone who, I dunno, cares about the state of the world. ’
‘But I do!’ protested Jeremy.
‘That’s the spirit, babe,’ she’d said, moving to the next page.
So when PopBuzz had accepted a hefty advertising campaign from the state government for their Clean Up Australia initiative, Jeremy realised it doubled as a perfect opportunity to get some snaps of him pretending to be a good person.
He’d also made Liz and Anna come, because, as he’d quickly discovered, his limit when it came to eco-activism was ‘talking to new people’ or ‘being alone’.
Jeremy, his friends and the long, broken line of volunteers in hi-vis vests were strewn along the side of a major highway with large bags and sharp sticks, picking up trash.
The novelty of the activity, if there had ever been any, had worn off after the first half hour in the sun choking on truck exhaust. It was the monotony of the rubbish they were finding that was the issue, Jeremy decided – which was also roughly the same attitude he had towards his current dating regimen.
Liz had been difficult to get on board. She’d had to be bribed with several different promises, such as the karaoke they had booked for tonight, where they would only sing songs in the vocal stylings of the lead singer of the band Creed.
She called it ‘Creed night’ and it was precisely the level of commitment and derangement she was known for.
She’d also arrived early and scattered a collection of bones and mysterious notes around, hoping the volunteers would think they were solving some kind of Somerton Man murder mystery.
Anna had jumped at the opportunity, surprising nobody.
She had made friends with several of the organisers and was at the front of the volunteer train.
She’d managed to find a clipboard and a lanyard and was now making helpful suggestions.
Every so often, she’d wander back and fill them in on gossip about this group of people she’d met about an hour earlier.
‘The white woman with dreadlocks used to date that guy who looks like Scooby-Doo and it’s super awkward,’ she whispered, looking askance at Liz’s and Jeremy’s relatively flaccid sacks. ‘Also, someone just found a finger bone!’
Liz looked incredibly pleased. ‘Jeremy should get a photo with the finger bone,’ she said.
‘Actually, let’s get another one together. Patricia says I need to look both morally superior and like I have close friends,’ Jeremy said, snapping another selfie. He didn’t miss the look Liz and Anna passed each other, or the shake of Anna’s head.
‘So, walk me through this again,’ said Liz after a pause, lighting up another of her trademark Vogue Superslim cigarettes. ‘You think some photos of you in a very flattering vest near a can —’
‘And a finger bone,’ added Anna.
‘— will what? Make Miles envious of your virtue?’
‘Yes,’ said Jeremy. ‘That man doesn’t have an altruistic bone in his body, and he feels insecure about it.’
‘Neither do you, though,’ pointed out Liz.
‘Yes, but it looks like I do.’
‘You know who would be impressed by you cleaning the side of a highway?’ said Anna, raising her eyebrows slyly.
‘Bono,’ said Jeremy.
‘Hmm, or perhaps that incredibly handsome climate campaigner you’ve been spending a bunch of time with lately. Seems like exactly the thing that might get his attention.’
Jeremy could see Liz snickering.
‘Okay, I can see what you’re implying, and you are not slick and you are not clever,’ he said. ‘And we’ve talked about this – I am allowed to be friends with a handsome straight guy and for it not to be weird.’
‘So you think he’s handsome!’ said Anna.
‘Hang on – this is the first time you’ve even said that you’re friends,’ noted Liz.
‘Well, friendly at least. Look. He’s a nice guy – actually, he’s pathologically nice. If I do actually become friends with him, he’s gonna have to grow a backbone and learn how to say terrible things about distant acquaintances,’ Jeremy said.
Anna laughed and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Only you would decide not to date someone because they aren’t as evil as you.’
‘There’s no dating! He’s a straight guy, there’s nothing going, we’re barely friends, and you know what – it’s okay to be friends. Jesus.’
‘Okay, okay, if you say so …’ Liz muttered, clearly not actually listening to him.
‘Genuine question,’ said Anna. ‘Are you one hundred per cent sure he’s straight? All joking aside, people just don’t do things like Sam is doing for you if they’re not interested. Maybe he doesn’t even know himself.’
‘Completely sure,’ Jeremy snapped. ‘Not a second of doubt has gone through my mind. And even if he was queer, that doesn’t mean he’s my type. If we dated, we’d look like Gimli and Legolas.’
Anna held up her hands in surrender. ‘All I’m saying is maybe you’re being a little limited in your ideas of how queer people should or shouldn’t act.’
Jeremy clutched his chest in mock outrage. ‘What are you, my insufferably woke publication? Anyway – going back to your other point before you tried to cancel me, with cancel culture, Sam really is just that nice. He’s exceptionally nice. He’s …’
‘Exceptional?’ asked Anna, and Jeremy nodded before realising what he’d done, and quickly added ‘nice’ to the end of the sentence.
‘Plus, we can’t forget that Jeremy is already dating someone, presuming that man hasn’t chased after a cool bug directly into oncoming traffic,’ said Liz.
‘Yeah, he has been gone for a while,’ muttered Jeremy, pausing to look around.
He’d also brought the handsome Geoffrey, who Liz and Anna had taken to calling ‘Giraffrey’.
This was technically their third date, after they’d had a baffling second …
experience? … eating at a delightful Italian restaurant.
Jeremy found it hard to describe that as a date – it had been more of an ordeal.
Jeremy had pressed Geoff for details about his life that weren’t facts you could find on a plaque in a zoo.
The answers he’d got back were non-committal and strange.
Had he really implied he’d been raised by circus clowns?
Why did he only laugh uproariously when asked what his favourite movie was?
How come he’d looked scared when asked how old he was?