When it rains it pours

So last night I went out in Sydney for the very first time. As usual, I was sober, and so I had a very interesting night. The plan was to meet up at a friends house and then go out from there, but my adventures started before I had even arrived.
On the train on the way there, I was sitting across the aisle from a couple of guys who were bragging to each other about their schoolies stories. One of them got very excited when we passed through McDonaldtown, as he had never realised that it was an actual place, and his last name was McDonald, and he then got into an argument with a grandma behind him over whether he was Scottish or not. I deliberately made no eye contact and didn't react to anything they said, just in case I was the next victim of their stupidity. I was sitting right in front of the stairs, and as they got off at their stop, Mr McDonald turned around, looked right at me and sang; "goodbye my lover..." and then was gone.
I thought that this filled my odd quota for the day, and so I wasn't too worried about the rest of the night. As I waited at a set of traffic lights to cross the road, I was practising the showgirl bevel we had learned in class that day. Just before the lights changed, a guy in a white van drove past, leant out the window and yelled "dang!" I quickly stumbled out of my bevel and ran to the safety of my friends house. I wasn't aware that people actually used the word "dang" in seriousness, and I'm curious as to whether it usually works for white van guy.
Once we had all congregated and hopped on the train for the city, we were soon joined in our carriage by a group of punk/goths dressed in full black, torn garments, and dyed, teased hair. (I'm convinced that the amount of volume in one of the guys hair meant that it must be a wig.) To complete their image, they were talking in screamo voices that must have taken cups and cups of swallowed gravel to achieve.
The group I was sitting with was quite loud, and I became aware that the punks weren't too happy about it, one of them getting quite vocal about it. I tried to quieten everyone down, but as I was the only non-alcohol fuelled person, my efforts were futile, and I was extremely happy when we got off. The punks were too, judging by the faces and rude gestures they made against the window as the train pulled out.
The rest of the night was quite typical, with the usual drunks spilling drinks all over me, a couple making out all over the dance floor and literally knocking people to the ground in the process, and  a few near panic attacks at the amount of unavoidable gross, sweaty touching. Although it was a fun night, I've definitely filled my going out quota for a while.
After making a couple of trips to get everyone home, I got to bed at 3am, and spent my day sleeping in, cleaning, sleeping some more, and then being woken by some giant thunder. It's been an interesting one.
                         Little Duck, out.