EPTIt’s been a long time since WCS Australia and, for that, you have my utmost and sincerest apologies. In all honesty, it took me about a week or so to even return to the land of the living after it ended, let alone be comprehensive enough to even begin articulating my feelings around it.
It was three days of living on nothing but alcohol and terrible processed food. Frankly, we should have been grateful the processed food existed at all. The trials and tribulations of an event held in the middle of fucking nowhere in Redfern, just outside Sydney’s central business district, in a technology park built inside an old train yard, are vast. Despite this, the weekend was something the likes of which I had never experienced in many, many ways.
I flew into Sydney after work on the Thursday night. Due to wind and holding patterns and ridiculousness, I didn't arrive in Sydney until 11pm. I had a rush of courage after getting off the plane and, despite having not been to Sydney in 10 years, decided the best way to get to my hotel would be to catch the train. Why the fuck not, I thought, life’s fucking short and I drank too much on the plane the adventure begins now and I could recite statistics about the crime rate on Sydney’s public transport system until the cows came home but I did not give two shits. I was in esports country and any asshat coming at me in the night would rue the day, as the aura of many nerds filled the city and filled me with unfathomable strength.
I was wearing a long ‘60s orange coat and knee-high boots which filled the airport and train station with noise. I paid the stupidly ridiculous $15 for the ticket to Central and waited on the platform for half an hour. The train arrived like a spaceship and I was in irrational awe that it had two levels. I got text messages from friends asking me if I arrived OK and all I could talk to them about was how huge the fucking trains were. “HAVE YOU SEEN TRAINS IN SYDNEY?! THEY’RE AMAZING. YES I’M FINE.”
I got to Central and it was like a goddamn maze. I walked in circles for about 20 minutes, trying to work out which walkway led where, cursing the city for giving thoroughfares ridiculous names instead of practical ones that indicated where they led to. I eventually just went out any exit and hopped into a taxi. The driver took me in a large circle then dropped me at my hotel, about 15 metres from where I got into the taxi in the first place. I gave him $10 anyway because he was a good conversationalist, and acted like I didn't notice.
I had to buzz into reception as it was late, after midnight. The guy at the counter asked me what my business was at the hotel and I snapped I had a reservation and I’d just arrived from Melbourne. Cheeky motherfucker. I’d been up for 20 hours but I didn't look that fucking bad. Once they let me in and they’d worked out they were taking a substantial amount of my cash money, I got my key to 712.
The magic of the internet (one of the many, many magics) is booking hotels online. It’s a bit of a lucky dip, I find. Sure, there are pictures, but I've stayed in some shitholes in my time.
This place was definitely not a shithole.
My god, it was like paradise.
I turned on all the lights an the TV had a personalised welcome message and squealed and turned all the taps on and off and giggled at the fucking PILLOW MENU. Like that’s a thing – a pillow menu. Really.
I put the Olympics on, put all my things in the cupboard, had the world’s longest shower and lay in the beautiful bed. It was 2am and I was wide awake.
I’d be wide awake for three days.
