The last entry I wrote here was almost exclusively about how annoying my job was. At risk of sounding like a broken record, my job is dead annoying.
"When it's busy, help put stuff away, because the waitresses are busy serving, you know? Because it's busy."
Wait, what? Can you run that by me again? It's busy, so... I need to... Wait, why would I need to put stuff away? Why can't she? Oh, right! Because it's busy! So she doesn't have as much time to put stuff away... Hold on, surely if it's busy then I don't have as much time eith-
"I know you're a glove fiend, but look, you're using too many pairs of gloves. You need to reuse them."
What? They're disposable gloves. When you take them off they go inside out. They are designed specifically not to be put back on again. And I'M wasteful? You just throw all the glass bottles in the general wast-
"Don't put this on a wet surface. I don't want it getting wet."
I didn't! That wasn't me! That wa-
"I don't like a dibby dobber."
What?
"Someone who tells tales on someone else."
But I didn't do anything wrong and you're telling me off! This is just as infuriating as it was when I was in primary sch-
"Go and get the newspapers."
Hey, so you didn't actually give me enough money to buy the-
"Don't chop the tomatoes like that. You're squashing them."
I really don't know what that even mea-
"Don't peel the eggs over the bin. Get a bowl. That way if you drop them then they're not lost."
Ok, that makes sense.
"Why are you peeling the carrots over a bowl? Peel them over the bin."
Oh, right, ok, someone just told me not to do that with eggs so I thought I would do the same thing with the ca-
"You're not laying the bacon out on the trays properly. Here, let me do it."
You know, you could just tell me what I did wrong so I'd know for next time rather than wrench all control out of my hands as if I'm completely incompe- oh, well, what do I know. Fuck it.
There is one important lesson that I have learned from both this job and the one I had working for a faceless corporation whose name rhymes with "Schlamazon". It is that if you treat your employees like idiots or drones - basically as people who are completely expendable, who have no choice but to submit to your your broken and/or arbitrary way of doing things, then they are not going to put any effort into the job. They will do the bare minimum, "living for the weekend" because they have immediately clicked that their efforts aren't appreciated. The job is a bit shit and the higher ups seemingly think that by occasionally providing you with free food, you might not notice. (Schlamazon had a bizarre day where they treated us to lots of circular things - Hula Hoops, Polos, cans of Coke - to mark the launch of a new button.)
You might have clicked that the extent to which I'm being patronised at work has led me to stop trying reasonably quickly. Considering I'm currently living on the breadline I was going to ask if I could get more shifts each week, but whenever I'm there I get so frustrated with the way I'm being treated that I tell myself "You know what? No. You can get by without having to grovel to these guys." Trying to convince myself that my poverty is a result of my own self-respect makes me feel slightly better about myself, but reinforces the fact that I'm kind of a dick and I probably need to suck it up and get another job.
In fairness, I was signed up to do a class at the University of Sydney for a couple of months - but then it was cancelled because the teacher was ill. (I told Landlady this, and she said "Well, you know, sometimes they cancel classes because they don't have enough students." I reiterated that that was not the reason, that "medical reasons" were cited, and in fact the class had been fully booked. She looked at me blankly and didn't say anything.) And, in even more fairness, I am potentially going to get some work as a research assistant in the near future. I just don't know how near, because of the time it takes to submit and approve projects. In all honesty I'm just kind of looking forward to the day I can tell the cafe staff I'm unavailable for a shift because I have to go to my other job at the university: my own dickish way of saying I AM NOT A MORON.
Until then, though, I am probably going to continue sitting in my room listening to the same songs on repeat like an autistic child, eating cereal and wondering how many cockroaches there are hiding underneath my bed.
Friday 28 February 2014
Thursday 20 February 2014
Mo money, mo problems
I got the job in the cafe. It's one of those places that does genuinely nice coffee and plays stuff like Franz Ferdinand, The Smiths and, of course, Wham! on the stereo. This is my third job washing dishes and as such I thought I had it down, but there's always something to remind me that I am the newbie who doesn't know how things work yet.
On my first trial shift my boss gave me the lowdown on the sink, the detergent and the sponges (sorry for all the jargon). I seemed to have picked everything up fine, but then she threw a curveball later when she asked where the water around the sink had come from. I gave it a moment's thought, and said half-jokingly "it was probably me?". She looked at me and said "was it you?" and I was stuck. Yes? The water on the floor by the sink was probably the result of me washing dishes with water at the sink. She nodded and said "ok". Hold on, what? Did I just admit to doing something wrong?
She took me by surprise again yesterday during my second real shift (because somehow, despite my faux pas with the splashing, they hired me anyway) when I was wiping a mark off a mug after it had come out of the dishwasher. It is worth pointing out that the dishwasher isn't really a dishwasher - it's one of those glass washers which rinses everything with scalding hot water, so you have to wash stuff first and then put it through. Indeed, "wash it before it goes through", she said. "Not after." What did she think I was doing? Did she really just suggest I'd been rinsing stuff and then washing it?
I wouldn't say it came across as patronising because usually I have no idea why the question is being asked. When I feel patronised, it's because I'm being told to do something as if I'm an idiot. With these questions, I'm always bewildered, because I don't understand the motivation behind asking it. But then she ruins that sense of mystery and confusion by telling me how to wipe down a surface and I wonder if maybe I do just come across as an idiot. After all, I did manage to cut my thumb when I was shelling an egg. (That came back to bite me when I had to juice half a litre's worth of lemons by hand, because - oh yeah! - lemon juice in a little cut stings.)*
The positive about working in a cafe like the one I do is that I get free things. I invariably get a coffee at the beginning of my shift (one of those ones that's so strong you have to space out the sips) and a free sandwich for lunch (with fancy things like walnuts or falafel or poached chicken in them) and usually a leftover "treat" at the end. Yesterday I got a muffin, but one of the baristas got two slices of chocolate orange tart that looked amazing. I was, naturally, excessively jealous to the point of vitriolic hatred, but I guess I just have to make them all love me so that I get the best treats one day.
As it stands, then, I will continue in my part-time, minimum wage job, in a bid to wangle really good treats from my colleagues. Unfortunately it puts me in a position where I don't really have the money to do much other than live. I'm trying to put money aside each week so I can travel with good buddy Jenny when she comes to Oz in August, so after saving and the whole "paying my rent" thing, there isn't much money left - but equally I don't know what I would do with any money I did have because I still don't really know anyone. My boss has asked a few times if I've been to any of the local pubs yet, so if any of you want to take bets on how long it takes me to crack and go drinking by myself, do feel free.
Still, extensive use of The Internet suggests to me that I'm not the first graduate who left university and went through a series of minimum wage jobs that were far below his skill set. If all else fails I'll surely make it as one of those Tortured Artist Bloggers On The Internet.
*I asked the chef if she had any tips on how to juice the lemons most efficiently. "Squeeze 'em," she said.
On my first trial shift my boss gave me the lowdown on the sink, the detergent and the sponges (sorry for all the jargon). I seemed to have picked everything up fine, but then she threw a curveball later when she asked where the water around the sink had come from. I gave it a moment's thought, and said half-jokingly "it was probably me?". She looked at me and said "was it you?" and I was stuck. Yes? The water on the floor by the sink was probably the result of me washing dishes with water at the sink. She nodded and said "ok". Hold on, what? Did I just admit to doing something wrong?
She took me by surprise again yesterday during my second real shift (because somehow, despite my faux pas with the splashing, they hired me anyway) when I was wiping a mark off a mug after it had come out of the dishwasher. It is worth pointing out that the dishwasher isn't really a dishwasher - it's one of those glass washers which rinses everything with scalding hot water, so you have to wash stuff first and then put it through. Indeed, "wash it before it goes through", she said. "Not after." What did she think I was doing? Did she really just suggest I'd been rinsing stuff and then washing it?
I wouldn't say it came across as patronising because usually I have no idea why the question is being asked. When I feel patronised, it's because I'm being told to do something as if I'm an idiot. With these questions, I'm always bewildered, because I don't understand the motivation behind asking it. But then she ruins that sense of mystery and confusion by telling me how to wipe down a surface and I wonder if maybe I do just come across as an idiot. After all, I did manage to cut my thumb when I was shelling an egg. (That came back to bite me when I had to juice half a litre's worth of lemons by hand, because - oh yeah! - lemon juice in a little cut stings.)*
The positive about working in a cafe like the one I do is that I get free things. I invariably get a coffee at the beginning of my shift (one of those ones that's so strong you have to space out the sips) and a free sandwich for lunch (with fancy things like walnuts or falafel or poached chicken in them) and usually a leftover "treat" at the end. Yesterday I got a muffin, but one of the baristas got two slices of chocolate orange tart that looked amazing. I was, naturally, excessively jealous to the point of vitriolic hatred, but I guess I just have to make them all love me so that I get the best treats one day.
As it stands, then, I will continue in my part-time, minimum wage job, in a bid to wangle really good treats from my colleagues. Unfortunately it puts me in a position where I don't really have the money to do much other than live. I'm trying to put money aside each week so I can travel with good buddy Jenny when she comes to Oz in August, so after saving and the whole "paying my rent" thing, there isn't much money left - but equally I don't know what I would do with any money I did have because I still don't really know anyone. My boss has asked a few times if I've been to any of the local pubs yet, so if any of you want to take bets on how long it takes me to crack and go drinking by myself, do feel free.
Still, extensive use of The Internet suggests to me that I'm not the first graduate who left university and went through a series of minimum wage jobs that were far below his skill set. If all else fails I'll surely make it as one of those Tortured Artist Bloggers On The Internet.
*I asked the chef if she had any tips on how to juice the lemons most efficiently. "Squeeze 'em," she said.
Monday 10 February 2014
My landlady, the bint
If you're a friend of mine on Facebook then I imagine the most you could possibly have picked up about my landlady is that she's got a photo of herself below a hologram of Jesus in the living room, and has a fridge magnet of a scantily clad lady in Amsterdam's red light district next to a picture of Jesus with the caption "JESUS, I trust you!":
She isn't one of those rabidly devout religious folk you sometimes meet who talk about Jesus and try to convert you. The only time she talked about religion with me wasn't actually really about religion at all. In fact, I didn't really understand the story, but it went something like this:
Landlady was in France. One of her nephews lives in Italy. I don't know why Landlady was in France rather than Itality, but she had a flight from an airport in France to Rome. Landlady was meant to meet a friend of a friend who was going to take her to the airport, but she didn't. (I don't know why.) Landlady was therefore in France with no way of getting to the airport. Landlady doesn't speak French. Landlady eventually got to the airport after confusing taxi drivers and various locals and shopkeeps, but the flight was cancelled, with the next one only available two days later.
There was then a bit of the story that I glazed over at, or perhaps it just didn't really make sense: Landlady was at the airport, or a train station, or a bus stop. (I'm reasonably sure it was one of the three.) Landlady approached a well-dressed man and asked him if he spoke English. He said he spoke a little bit. At some point Landlady found out that he was a priest from the Vatican. He might have told her this, and no, I don't know how he would have proved it, but this is what she told me.
The priest helped Landlady get to Rome. I really don't know what the sequence of events was. I don't think she could possibly have flown if there was no scheduled flight, but equally I don't remember her saying she got a train. Let's just assume it was some kind of Vatican Voodoo. Regardless, she was in Rome. And the next bit of the story I remember is "and then I saw the Pope!"
This is part of my broader problem with Landlady: she doesn't talk to you, she talks at you, and that means that you don't engage with anything she says, making it really hard to keep track of a conversation. But she doesn't engage with anything I say either. A few days ago, I asked her how to turn the oven on because it was turned off at the mains and I couldn't work out where that was.* She asked me what it was I wanted to cook; it was just a frozen pizza. She decided I should use her pizza maker, and then took the pizza and did it herself. But this was a pizza maker, and I didn't want to make a pizza. I had one. She had taken it from me. The pizza maker is basically a hot plate, so the dough got hot and the top was still frozen. Cue the uncomfortable conversation of "I think your pizza's done!"; "It isn't - it's still frozen on top..."; "oh... are you sure?"
How could I not be sure about that?
So I put it in for longer and sat and listened to something or other she was talking about - most of her stories about her recent trip to Europe were about the different hotels she stayed in - and when it was eventually ready and I was actually eating, she started asking me questions. For fuck's sake, Landlady, now?
I still don't know how to turn the oven on.
I am generally pretty annoyed with Landlady because I feel like she mislead me when we spoke before I moved in. I asked if you got a lot of spiders and creepy-crawlies here, to which she said no, not here. A few days after I moved in she says the suburb attracts cockroaches. She said before I moved in that she kept herself to herself and spent most of her time upstairs. My experience is that if I'm in the kitchen she will stop watching TV and come and talk at me for the entire time I'm there.
"Are you having soup?"
"Yeah."
"It smells nice."
"Yeah, it's goo-"
"Is it from a tin?"
"Yeah."
"Oh well. It still smells nice! It smells nice. Sit in the other seat!"
"I'm okay here, it-"
"The cricket's on, you can watch the cricket!"
"I've never watched crick-"
"Don't you like cricket? You can see the cricket."
"I wouldn't understand it."
"You don't like cricket?"
"I don't like cricket."
[Landlady sits and watches me eat soup (which smells nice, even though it's from a tin) while explaining cricket]
I WANT TO EAT SOUP IN SILENCE
Her latest trick is hiding all the cutlery. I genuinely have no idea where she's put it. What was formerly the cutlery drawer has nothing in it. The cynic in me wonders if it's a ploy to make me talk to her, because I'll have to ask where it all is eventually.
The thing that is most infuriating about living with Landlady is her complete lack of understanding of jobs. Landlady ran her own restaurant here for a number of decades, so I don't imagine her experience of getting a job is much like mine. I have been spending every day sending out applications for jobs that employers don't even bother replying to, such is the disinterest in hiring people on my visa. Landlady suggests I become a bank teller. That is a terrible suggestion. "You should look at working in a bank. Who knows, you might be able to get work as a teller or something. You should sign up to an agency. They might be able to get you work in a bank."
My visa doesn't let me work for one employer for more than six months. Why would a bank ever hire me? Why would they want to train tellers when they know they'd get nothing out of their investment? Of course, I don't say that to Landlady. I say, "maybe... I'm just looking for anything I can get at the moment."
"You should go to restaurants around here. You should get a job, earn some pocket money while you're here." This is infuriating, because I genuinely don't know what else she thinks I would be doing. Of course I need a job. I have told her that I am trying to find work. It's all I do. And it's not for "pocket money" - it's to cover all my costs of living, you know, like employed people have to.
In fact, I had a trial shift today working in a kitchen of a small cafe. They were the only people to respond to me out of the billion** applications I sent out, and while I didn't aspire to get paid for washing dishes for a third time in my life, it's work. It is a massive twenty minute bus ride away though, so Landlady's response was "oh - you should try and get a job locally - it would save you the costs of travel. Why don't you work in a café here?"
Why DON'T I work in a café a minute's walk away? It seems so obvious now! I should have just gotten a job there. My mistake.
I hate Landlady.
*I'm pretty sure you wouldn't know either - the light switch for the kitchen isn't even in the kitchen. What stupid kind of house is this?
**approximate figure
She isn't one of those rabidly devout religious folk you sometimes meet who talk about Jesus and try to convert you. The only time she talked about religion with me wasn't actually really about religion at all. In fact, I didn't really understand the story, but it went something like this:
Landlady was in France. One of her nephews lives in Italy. I don't know why Landlady was in France rather than Itality, but she had a flight from an airport in France to Rome. Landlady was meant to meet a friend of a friend who was going to take her to the airport, but she didn't. (I don't know why.) Landlady was therefore in France with no way of getting to the airport. Landlady doesn't speak French. Landlady eventually got to the airport after confusing taxi drivers and various locals and shopkeeps, but the flight was cancelled, with the next one only available two days later.
There was then a bit of the story that I glazed over at, or perhaps it just didn't really make sense: Landlady was at the airport, or a train station, or a bus stop. (I'm reasonably sure it was one of the three.) Landlady approached a well-dressed man and asked him if he spoke English. He said he spoke a little bit. At some point Landlady found out that he was a priest from the Vatican. He might have told her this, and no, I don't know how he would have proved it, but this is what she told me.
The priest helped Landlady get to Rome. I really don't know what the sequence of events was. I don't think she could possibly have flown if there was no scheduled flight, but equally I don't remember her saying she got a train. Let's just assume it was some kind of Vatican Voodoo. Regardless, she was in Rome. And the next bit of the story I remember is "and then I saw the Pope!"
This is part of my broader problem with Landlady: she doesn't talk to you, she talks at you, and that means that you don't engage with anything she says, making it really hard to keep track of a conversation. But she doesn't engage with anything I say either. A few days ago, I asked her how to turn the oven on because it was turned off at the mains and I couldn't work out where that was.* She asked me what it was I wanted to cook; it was just a frozen pizza. She decided I should use her pizza maker, and then took the pizza and did it herself. But this was a pizza maker, and I didn't want to make a pizza. I had one. She had taken it from me. The pizza maker is basically a hot plate, so the dough got hot and the top was still frozen. Cue the uncomfortable conversation of "I think your pizza's done!"; "It isn't - it's still frozen on top..."; "oh... are you sure?"
How could I not be sure about that?
So I put it in for longer and sat and listened to something or other she was talking about - most of her stories about her recent trip to Europe were about the different hotels she stayed in - and when it was eventually ready and I was actually eating, she started asking me questions. For fuck's sake, Landlady, now?
I still don't know how to turn the oven on.
I am generally pretty annoyed with Landlady because I feel like she mislead me when we spoke before I moved in. I asked if you got a lot of spiders and creepy-crawlies here, to which she said no, not here. A few days after I moved in she says the suburb attracts cockroaches. She said before I moved in that she kept herself to herself and spent most of her time upstairs. My experience is that if I'm in the kitchen she will stop watching TV and come and talk at me for the entire time I'm there.
"Are you having soup?"
"Yeah."
"It smells nice."
"Yeah, it's goo-"
"Is it from a tin?"
"Yeah."
"Oh well. It still smells nice! It smells nice. Sit in the other seat!"
"I'm okay here, it-"
"The cricket's on, you can watch the cricket!"
"I've never watched crick-"
"Don't you like cricket? You can see the cricket."
"I wouldn't understand it."
"You don't like cricket?"
"I don't like cricket."
[Landlady sits and watches me eat soup (which smells nice, even though it's from a tin) while explaining cricket]
I WANT TO EAT SOUP IN SILENCE
Her latest trick is hiding all the cutlery. I genuinely have no idea where she's put it. What was formerly the cutlery drawer has nothing in it. The cynic in me wonders if it's a ploy to make me talk to her, because I'll have to ask where it all is eventually.
The thing that is most infuriating about living with Landlady is her complete lack of understanding of jobs. Landlady ran her own restaurant here for a number of decades, so I don't imagine her experience of getting a job is much like mine. I have been spending every day sending out applications for jobs that employers don't even bother replying to, such is the disinterest in hiring people on my visa. Landlady suggests I become a bank teller. That is a terrible suggestion. "You should look at working in a bank. Who knows, you might be able to get work as a teller or something. You should sign up to an agency. They might be able to get you work in a bank."
My visa doesn't let me work for one employer for more than six months. Why would a bank ever hire me? Why would they want to train tellers when they know they'd get nothing out of their investment? Of course, I don't say that to Landlady. I say, "maybe... I'm just looking for anything I can get at the moment."
"You should go to restaurants around here. You should get a job, earn some pocket money while you're here." This is infuriating, because I genuinely don't know what else she thinks I would be doing. Of course I need a job. I have told her that I am trying to find work. It's all I do. And it's not for "pocket money" - it's to cover all my costs of living, you know, like employed people have to.
In fact, I had a trial shift today working in a kitchen of a small cafe. They were the only people to respond to me out of the billion** applications I sent out, and while I didn't aspire to get paid for washing dishes for a third time in my life, it's work. It is a massive twenty minute bus ride away though, so Landlady's response was "oh - you should try and get a job locally - it would save you the costs of travel. Why don't you work in a café here?"
Why DON'T I work in a café a minute's walk away? It seems so obvious now! I should have just gotten a job there. My mistake.
I hate Landlady.
*I'm pretty sure you wouldn't know either - the light switch for the kitchen isn't even in the kitchen. What stupid kind of house is this?
**approximate figure
Saturday 1 February 2014
Observations
I should point out that, while I write this, there are a couple of men across the road from me having a couple of "brewskis" and listening to Guns 'n' Roses.
1. The flip flop run is everywhere
When you wear flip flops, you can't really lift your feet properly because your flip flops will fall off. So when you run with flip flops on, you try to build as much speed as you can without really lifting your knees. The onlooker will know that you're only running weird because of your shoes (just like the onlooker of an Olympic walking race knows they have to move in that hilarious way) but it doesn't stop it being funny. Because everyone wears flip flops here, you get to see the funny flip flop run all the time because people are always running for the bus.
2. Australian buses don't give a shit about their timetables
Bus timetables can be shit universally, but I've noticed it to the nth degree here. About a week ago I went to catch the bus to meet Rachael and Henry at the IMAX in town (where I finally saw Gravity in 3D, good innit?). The bus was scheduled at 8:10pm. I got there at 5 past to see the bus driving away. The next one was meant to be at 8:20, with another at 8:40. One appeared at about 8:35, and god only knows which bus that was actually meant to be. Similarly, when I tried to catch the bus from Rachael's to go back home - buses are at 5 past and 25 to the hour - a bus appeared at 25 past. In sum: who cares when the bus is? Go to the bus stop whenever you like. This is Australia - what are you doing on the bus? You should be on the beach, you dick.
3. They got rid of pennies
I love Australia for this. It was about a week until I said to Ronan "hey, have you ever gotten a penny?". We then carried out a scientific evaluation and found that, when we had a total that ended in .48, it got rounded up to .50. The lower numbers also get rounded down. If you ever shop online then they don't round it; it's only when you're dealing in cash. Ultimately it means that the smallest coins you get are worth 5 cents and that's brilliant. When I go back to the UK I'm going to spit on all the pennies I see. "A penny? THIS IS STUPID - you'd never get this in Australia, where I used to live."
4. They got rid of locks on bathroom doors
I am non-plussed about this. I should point out that there are locks in public bathrooms and hostels and the like, but if you're in a house or a flat or a hotel room, then there just doesn't ever appear to be a lock on the bathroom door. I've never been in a situation where someone has walked in on me - I guess people usually assume the bathroom's being used if the door is shut - but what's the harm in having a lock? All it does is prevent embarrassment. No lock means the potential for someone seeing you pooing. Is that what Australians are into?
5. They don't have Netflix
What am I going to do when I run out of Sabrina episodes to watch on YouTube?
6. They do have exotic birds in place of boring ones
Apart from pigeons and seagulls. They are here, and they are every bit as boring as they are in the UK. But Australian crows are black and white. And you get cockatoos all over the place, the big white ones with some yellow plumage. They have a really awful shrieking cry which is really grating but they do still look nice. Same with the little green parrots you see in the park, and the white ibises which are everywhere. They have weird long hooked beaks and look a bit extra-terrestrial (and Wikipedia informs me they smell pretty bad, but I haven't sniffed one yet).
7. Sometimes train doors don't open by themselves
Which means that you're standing there waiting, because you don't want to force them open, until an Australian opens them for you and you realise "oh! I had to open that door". Of course, Rachael, Henry and Ronan will all stand behind you and not say anything, and then when the Australian opens it they'll go "oh, you didn't know you had to open the door?" as if they knew the whole time but didn't want to intervene. Thanks.
8. They say dates weird sometimes
I've noticed that in adverts, people doing voiceovers will sometimes say a date like "Feb 8" literally just as you see it - feb eight. I assume that writing the date like that started to save time, and that you wouldn't actually say it. You'd say the whole thing. Apparently they just decided to save even more time here by saying the shortened version too.
9. Golden Gaytimes are big in Australia
A Golden Gaytime is a toffee ice cream that seems to be pretty popular here. Because it was Australia Day recently, there were - and are - a lot of adverts encouraging people to "have a Golden Gaytime on Australia Day"; the internet informs me that they've taken this approach a few times, represented by their 80s slogan "it's hard to have a Gaytime on your own". (Though I am inclined to disagree.)
10. Australia Day is a bit of a thorny issue culturally, and you can sense that, but it's a good excuse for an excellent fireworks display
As you can see here.
1. The flip flop run is everywhere
When you wear flip flops, you can't really lift your feet properly because your flip flops will fall off. So when you run with flip flops on, you try to build as much speed as you can without really lifting your knees. The onlooker will know that you're only running weird because of your shoes (just like the onlooker of an Olympic walking race knows they have to move in that hilarious way) but it doesn't stop it being funny. Because everyone wears flip flops here, you get to see the funny flip flop run all the time because people are always running for the bus.
2. Australian buses don't give a shit about their timetables
Bus timetables can be shit universally, but I've noticed it to the nth degree here. About a week ago I went to catch the bus to meet Rachael and Henry at the IMAX in town (where I finally saw Gravity in 3D, good innit?). The bus was scheduled at 8:10pm. I got there at 5 past to see the bus driving away. The next one was meant to be at 8:20, with another at 8:40. One appeared at about 8:35, and god only knows which bus that was actually meant to be. Similarly, when I tried to catch the bus from Rachael's to go back home - buses are at 5 past and 25 to the hour - a bus appeared at 25 past. In sum: who cares when the bus is? Go to the bus stop whenever you like. This is Australia - what are you doing on the bus? You should be on the beach, you dick.
3. They got rid of pennies
I love Australia for this. It was about a week until I said to Ronan "hey, have you ever gotten a penny?". We then carried out a scientific evaluation and found that, when we had a total that ended in .48, it got rounded up to .50. The lower numbers also get rounded down. If you ever shop online then they don't round it; it's only when you're dealing in cash. Ultimately it means that the smallest coins you get are worth 5 cents and that's brilliant. When I go back to the UK I'm going to spit on all the pennies I see. "A penny? THIS IS STUPID - you'd never get this in Australia, where I used to live."
4. They got rid of locks on bathroom doors
I am non-plussed about this. I should point out that there are locks in public bathrooms and hostels and the like, but if you're in a house or a flat or a hotel room, then there just doesn't ever appear to be a lock on the bathroom door. I've never been in a situation where someone has walked in on me - I guess people usually assume the bathroom's being used if the door is shut - but what's the harm in having a lock? All it does is prevent embarrassment. No lock means the potential for someone seeing you pooing. Is that what Australians are into?
5. They don't have Netflix
What am I going to do when I run out of Sabrina episodes to watch on YouTube?
6. They do have exotic birds in place of boring ones
Apart from pigeons and seagulls. They are here, and they are every bit as boring as they are in the UK. But Australian crows are black and white. And you get cockatoos all over the place, the big white ones with some yellow plumage. They have a really awful shrieking cry which is really grating but they do still look nice. Same with the little green parrots you see in the park, and the white ibises which are everywhere. They have weird long hooked beaks and look a bit extra-terrestrial (and Wikipedia informs me they smell pretty bad, but I haven't sniffed one yet).
7. Sometimes train doors don't open by themselves
Which means that you're standing there waiting, because you don't want to force them open, until an Australian opens them for you and you realise "oh! I had to open that door". Of course, Rachael, Henry and Ronan will all stand behind you and not say anything, and then when the Australian opens it they'll go "oh, you didn't know you had to open the door?" as if they knew the whole time but didn't want to intervene. Thanks.
8. They say dates weird sometimes
I've noticed that in adverts, people doing voiceovers will sometimes say a date like "Feb 8" literally just as you see it - feb eight. I assume that writing the date like that started to save time, and that you wouldn't actually say it. You'd say the whole thing. Apparently they just decided to save even more time here by saying the shortened version too.
9. Golden Gaytimes are big in Australia
A Golden Gaytime is a toffee ice cream that seems to be pretty popular here. Because it was Australia Day recently, there were - and are - a lot of adverts encouraging people to "have a Golden Gaytime on Australia Day"; the internet informs me that they've taken this approach a few times, represented by their 80s slogan "it's hard to have a Gaytime on your own". (Though I am inclined to disagree.)
10. Australia Day is a bit of a thorny issue culturally, and you can sense that, but it's a good excuse for an excellent fireworks display
As you can see here.
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