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The light pollution makes it impossible to stargaze, and I miss my family.My parents are starting to drop hints about retiring.In the backseat of his dusty old ute his three boys would sit, lined up, all dark eyed like their father, jostling and arguing with each other as their father put in his order.To keep them quiet, Kyle would buy them each a can of Fanta and a packet of chips.Thankfully, I was spared the fate of cruel parents and largely spared the troubles of a small-minded town.When I came out, aged eighteen, announcing to my family that I preferred women, my mother muttered 'half your luck'.
A lot of people remember the nineties and the devastating suicide rates amongst gay and lesbian teenagers in country towns, and assume that if you're not in a metropolitan city, life as a queer person is shit.They want me to take over running the hotel and it's attached bottleshop.Running a country pub isn't everyone's cup of tea, and I'm just not sure it's mine. Secondly, you need to have a diverse range of skills; everything from listening to emotional drunks to balancing the books to marketing your business.Thirdly, you need to be able to accept that your biggest clients are the people with the biggest problems with alcohol.I have profound memories of Wesley Simpson getting falling down drunk and pissing himself, and of Kyle O'Sullivan going through the drive-through bottleshop every Saturday morning, right after he'd been paid, to buy enough rum to get him through the week.
Or do I move back home, to a place I love, but will be obliged to take on a position I know I'd despise? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A couple of years ago one of the regulars at my parent's pub was diagnosed with cancer.