In the lift

There are four of us in the lift : me, two other guys and a guy I call the Dirty Little Bogan.
The Dirty Little Bogan looks like he has just stepped out of 1984. His grey greasy ringlet perma-frizz hair matches his grey shirt, dark grey leather tie (yes, leather tie) and slacks. This is his standard uniform that he chooses to wear each day. You can just tell he’s a Bogan.
The two guys are having a conversation about cars.

Guy 1 : I’m thinking about getting a new car.
Guy 2 : Oh yeah, what are you looking at?
G1 : A Prado
Dirty Little Bogan : **snigger, snigger **
G2 : Oh yeah, is that a Toyota?
G1 : Yeah
DLB : **snigger** Don’t you mean “Toy Motor?” **snigger, snigger **

G1, G2 and myself just stare at him like he is some sort of idiot.
Luckily the lift door opens and the Dirty Little Bogan, still sniggering to himself, hops out at the Centrelink floor. Off to waste some more taxpayers money for the day.