Amber Schultz at the Courthouse Hotel on 'freedom day' (Image: supplied)

It’s NSW’s “freedom day” and those in Sydney’s inner west got dressed up for the occasion. Men with overgrown mullets splaying out from the back of caps and women in full-body denim jumpsuits walk arm in arm to join the already enormous queues wrapping around the block to finally, at long last, enter the pub.

After 106 days in lockdown, it feels like we’ve gone back to normal a little too quickly. Freedom is welcome — but its suddenness seems stark. 

I’m sitting in the courtyard of the Courthouse Hotel in Newtown, greeted by an ecstatic staff member hanging over the pub’s rainbow gate. It’s just before 5pm and the crowd is mostly young hipsters. Someone knocks the large outdoor umbrella and a cascade of rainwater pours on to the ground, eliciting a series of drunken hoots and whoots. 

A group of men commemorating the occasion with a selfie laugh and remind one another not to post the photo yet so their workplaces don’t know they clocked off early. 

Everyone has been drawn out from their hiding places. There are men in suits sitting awkwardly at a wobbly table, tapping away on their laptops. A construction worker apologises for his overstimulated staffy who nibbles at my fingers, and a pedigree terrier perched on its owner’s lap stares at me with concern.

Aside from the buzz of energy, the shock at pub prices (did I always pay this much?) and the unfamiliar feeling of denim on my legs instead of soft tracksuit pants, things seem to have bounced back to normal at lightning speed.

Well, not everything. The pub isn’t as crowded as it usually is due to the four-square-metre rule. Presenting a medical record upon entry is startling. Hairdressers, like the pub, have mop-headed queues outside. And it’s hard to ignore the number of “for lease” signs hanging in storefronts since last year’s lockdown along heavily trafficked King Street. 

I found I easily fell back into old habits, going to a lunchtime gym class surrounded by equally sweaty, double-vaxxed and mask-wearing fitness freaks. The instructor notices our struggles and reminds everyone they’re welcome to remain in child’s pose for the remainder of the class (avoiding making eye contact with anyone). I went to the bookstore, enjoying that I could physically flip through pages and ask the clerk for her recommendations (which I promptly ignored, opting for a book I’d seen on the internet). And I strolled around outside without feeling like I was doing anything wrong.

Other states laughed at Sydney’s “lockdown-lite”. But although we were mostly allowed outside for “outdoor recreation” — a luxury not afforded to Melburnians — lockdown was still long and tough (though made easier by the hordes flocking to the park for picnics, setting up camp with the instruments they’d spent lockdown perfecting). There have been numerous breakups and just as many budding romances. Many found inner peace; others battled inner demons. 

I chat to the bartender on the way out, who is dancing along to It’s Raining Men blaring from the speakers. He tells me he’s happy to be back but is already dreading when he’ll have to work the 2am closing shift.

As long as lockdown was, things have gone back to normal a little too quickly. The empty bottle of champagne I find on my letterbox in the morning is the only reminder that Monday wasn’t normal, but a cause for celebration.