Duncan Shepherd strode into his local Bunnings with a confidence and purpose slapped on like how a water-based filler is applied evenly to an indoor or outdoor area with an easy applicator. In truth, he was suffering from the flu, the real flu and not whatever it is that his wife had labelled as ‘man-flu’. A recalcitrant tear trickled down his face and he blew his nose for the 132nd time that day.
To prove that he was more than a label, and more than a stigma, Duncan had manfully downed two cold-and flu-tablets, two Panadol and two ibuprofen. Coca-Cola chased the assorted tablets and fired them into his muddled brain so fast his ears threatened to pop off his head. Duncan wasn’t concerned with side-effects from doubling-up on primary ingredients because he had the Real, Unbridled Flu of the Damned!
Bunnings is the premier hardware store chain in Australia, with endless warehouse-like rows of garden equipment, kitchen supplies and at least 431 different types of screwdrivers. It is a place that can make a sane mind bounce around inside its skull like a pinball. It is very possible for someone to enter Bunnings with the purpose of buying a paint-brush and to walk out with an eight-seat outdoor dining setting and matching sun-shade, and completely forgetting the paintbrush. Dunan’s mind was feeling anything but sane, and rather than bouncing, it seemed to be sloshing around inside his skull like a wet sponge.
And now Duncan was thirsty. He not-very-convincingly sauntered towards a little café set up next to an enclosed play area. He spotted parents downing their caffeine with gusto while watching their offspring playing and crashing into each other. The little ones were regularly offered parental guidance such as, “don’t lick the hand-rail”, “don’t crush your brother”, and “I’m just going to go and buy a bunch of stuff and a stranger, who doesn’t want to and I didn’t ask, is going to supervise you. Back soon darling.”
A child bounced off the metal gate that kept the raucous brats delightful children safely enclosed and the shockwave made Duncan sway uncertainly.
*
It appeared to Duncan that the lady working at the cafe might have come straight from a casting call for haggard river-folk in a Lord of the Rings reboot.
“Don’t see many like you in these ‘ere parts.”
“What, in Pennant Hills?” said Duncan with another uncertain sway.
“What can I get for a tired and weary traveler such as yerself?”
“I have a bit of the flu and I’m thirsty. Do you have a sports drink of some type?”
The river woman reached under the counter and brought out a bottle. Its contents shimmered and swirled through a rainbow of colours. Duncan tried to follow the changes but his eyes kept sliding off the bottle.
“It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.” She said, handing over the bottle and accepting payment.
“It’s just Gatorade that glowing and working through every colour in the rainbow for some reason. Should be fine.”
Duncan turned, cracked the lid and swiftly drank half of the contents before heading for the lighting section.
*
Duncan stepped into a tunnel of twisting light that seemed to swirl around him like a kaleidoscope. A bright point of white light in the distance marked the end of the tunnel and Duncan slowly made his way towards it. Time and space had no meaning here as Duncan watched eons stream by in mere seconds. Mountains rose and crumbled, oceans filled and drained away again and the dinosaurs evolved into annoying bush turkeys.
*
“What’s it going to be then, eh?”
Duncan turned to address another of the river folk; this one was working in lighting.
“I need a barrel of your finest beer to celebrate Durin’s Day, the first day of the Dwarven New Year! I also need a movement-activated security light. In black.”
“Ye must seek Dan Murphy’s for the ale, and here be the security light. Ye must have a sturdy ladder and remember to turn off the main power or you will be dinner for the Orcs.”
Duncan accepted the light, paid and headed home.
*
“Okay hon, go ahead and test it.”
Duncan focused intently on his handiwork and recoiled as the sudden bright light burned his retina a little.
He offered a wobbly flurry of his hand to those below, “thank you, thank you lady…and…er lady. I humbly accept your applause.”
Duncan’s wife, Lisa and her friend Amy, looked at each other and then back up at Duncan, “we didn’t.”
“Anyway, for my final act I will demonstrate that I am more than this disparaging label: ‘man-flu’; I shall now perform a backward somersault with precision landing for the judges.”
“No Duncan, wait,” screamed Lisa and began running towards the ladder, with Amy close behind.
Duncan lifted off from the ladder and pictured his head on Nadia Comaneci’s body; fused together into a single, nebulous entity of grace and precision. Time slowed once more. A passing suphur-crested cockatoo – pure quite with a dazzling crest of yellow feathers on its head – stopped mid-flight and said, “dickhead!”
Duncan landed perfectly and raised his hands for the judges, but still expected to be marked down by the Europeans just because he was Australian. Bastards!
“He’s never done anything like this before,” said Lisa as she looked at Amy in bewilderment.
Duncan was triumphant. “See, I stand above a label. I am more than you would have me be. I shall now go inside and finish watching the Lords of the Rings trilogy and look for the people working at Bunnings.”
Duncan took a step towards the front door, missed, and landed in a hedge.
