I went for two job interviews on Thursday. The first interview was out near St Leonards in Sydney, which meant a train trip. I only had a $20 note on me to pay for a ticket, and the stupid CityRail machine wouldn’t accept it. In fact, I seriously doubt that these machines accept notes EVER. I’ve never been able to put a note in one of these machines succesfully. I kinda forgot that Sydney has staff at their train stations who can sell you tickets – UNLIKE MOST STATIONS IN MELBOURNE. Bah. At least that’s one thing Sydney’s got right.
St Leonards train station is kinda weird. It’s a very new train station, all very shiny, easy to navigate and ready for the Olympics. I noticed it’s just been built about 50 metres away from the old St Leonards train station, though. It’s as if the old train station is some sort of dirty secret that they don’t want anyone to know about – it’s all fenced off and looks rather dangerous. It’s all to do with the Olympics, I bet.
Olympics official: Welcome to St Leonards train station!
International VIP guest: What’s that old, decrepit building over there? (tries to peer over fence)
Olympics official: What? That’s nothing. Nothing. Oh – look over here, bright shiny Olympic-related things!
International VIP guest: Hang on. That’s an old train station, isn’t it!
Olympics official: What are you talking about? Our train stations are this good from the womb. We don’t just close down old ones and build cool new train stations next to the old ones. That would be rather… er… pointless.
I got to St Leonards quite early, so I had a bit of a walk around. I swear, if I didn’t have my Sydways street directory with me most of the time, I’d be feeling more insecure than an ex-New Kid On The Block trying to launch a solo career in the new millenium. The Sydways is god.
The Melbourne version of Sydway (Melway) comes out annually around Christmas time. My dad has a strange obsession with Melways. He’s got every single edition from at least the past 20 years. He waits with bated breath for the next edition to come out every year, and when it does, he’ll sit in a chair and read through it for hours on end. It’s not as if it’s marginally different from the previous edition really, but anyone who fathered me was bound to be a bit weird I spose.
I had a look around Crows Nest, which is near St Leonards. I was looking for some sort of sugary breakfast, and I swear, Crows Nest must have hundreds of eateries but not one takeaway place! I was getting a little shaky – I didn’t think I could handle an interview without eating some shit to fuel myself. I eventually had to make do with a donut from a 7-11 near the train station. (If I had guts, I would’ve eaten one of those 7-11 hot dogs with dodgy looking congealments on them).
I had to walk almost half the length of the Pacific Highway just to get to the business where I was having my job interview. (These things look deceptively small in the Sydways). The temperature was reaching the high 20′s and I was basically sweating my arse off. I’d already gone for a job interview the other day with my recruitment agency when I was sweating like a hog, and now I was about to pull a repeat performance. It didn’t help when I realised I’d forgotten to put on deodorant, which made me worry even more, and sweat more as well. I thought it’d be a good idea if I rolled up my sleeves and cool myself down.
When I got to the company who was interviewing me, I rolled my sleeves back down and realised I’d sweated so much the sleeves were all wet and they’d crinkled up as well. I went to the reception and tried to be as unstinky as I possibly could.
I’m wondering if maybe I always feel hot up here is because I’m from Victoria, which is notably cooler than New South Wales. Hmm. Anyhow, I suddenly realised while I was sitting in the reception area that I’d brought my secret weapon with me – a bottle of spray-on aftershave. (I learnt my lesson during my first sweat-drenched interview). The trick was spraying it on while the receptionist had her back turned. She did a couple of almost-turns, when almost she went to go and send something via her fax machine but spontaneously changed her mind.
Suddenly I got my chance. She bent over to file something away in her filing cabinet, and I realised this was my chance. I whipped out the aftershave and sprayed it all over myself. I was quite pleased I’d managed to spray it without her finding out.
Then I realised my mistake. Now, I not only had a sweat drenched back, I had marks all over the front of my shirt from where I’d sprayed the aftershave.
I didn’t really want the job anyway. The locale was a little depressing, an industrial area. I wasn’t comfortable with the role they were offering me anyway, I’d never had experience in purchasing equipment and haggling, which isn’t something I’m comfortable with anyhow. I walked out of that interview knowing I didn’t have the job – which didn’t matter, because the job I really wanted, I was having an interview for that afternoon.
I then went and had lunch with Adam and met MJ for the first time. MJ is a friend of Adam’s who I’ve been chatting with for some time over the net and it was really good to meet her. We had lunch in a cafe where all the staff were wearing Reece Plumbing tshirts. They should’ve called it the Reece-staraunt.
I didn’t really care I’d stuffed up my first interview. The next interview that afternoon was for a very cool job, one I really wanted. Put it this way. If the job I wanted is The Simpsons, then the job interview I stuffed up was the equivalent of Saved By The Bell – The New Class.
After that, it was into the city for lunch with some friends. They took me to a weird underground shopping centre where everything was ‘designer’ and ‘gourmet’ and I right away felt out of place. (Especially in my sweat drenched shirt). They took me to The Cheese Room. This is a refrigerated room full of cheese. Expensive cheese.
I still reckon the best cheese I’ve ever eaten is Kraft Singles. Vegemite Singles aren’t too bad if you want something special with your wine. However, I refuse to pay $200 a kilo for cheese. If you think about where cheese comes from, it suddenly doesn’t seem viable paying $200 for a kilo of the crap any more.
The Cheese Room is smelly, and in addition to my sweat, the marks left on the front of my shirt by the aftershave I’d sprayed on at the first interview, I now had an aura of cheese following me around. Right before I had to go for my next interview – the job I really wanted.
So then I went and had my second interview, and prayed like hell the woman didn’t notice my cheese smell or sweaty shirt. It was a weird interview. I couldn’t figure out if I’d done well or crap. I figured I’d just wait – the interviewer said she’d let me know of the outcome on Friday.
Then I got home, and Adam said she’d rung me to let me know I had the job. This is fantastic news! Now I get to work in the city in a stress free job, with fantastic hours… and I get to wear whatever I want, within reason. This is something I’ve always been jealous of Adam for – he can wear pretty much anything to his work, whereas I used to have to wear suits and stuff. Now I can wear tshirt and jeans. (This also means that my visit to The Cheese Room turned out to be good luck. Maybe I’ll do it more often).
Actually, this could reverse itself. I’ve always complained I hate wearing shirts and ties, but to be honest I don’t really have all that many casual clothes. I’ll just have to nab stuff from Adam. (Adam, if you’re reading this, er…. hmm, well it’s a good way to find out what my latest schemes are)
It’s actually good that I got a job, because I was starting to learn all the Danoz Direct infomercials off by heart. I can tell you anything you want to know about Titanium Drill Bits ™. And what happened to Demtel? I’ve got a theory that Demtel is hiding behind the name of Danoz Direct.
Don’t you think the word Danoz sounds slightly satanic?
The following day, I went to go and have lunch with my Sydney friends Marc and Rita the Witch. I haven’t seen Marc or Rita in ages, months and months, so it was good to see them again. However, as I was walking up the city to meet them, I got assaulted by a Greenpeace person. I’ve always hated Greenpeace people, and they always target me on the street (although not so much since I cut off my long hair, thus making me look less hippie-like).
I read a while ago on a friend’s s site about how Greenpeace send you a PVC magnet when you join them. It’s a bit hypocritical because the magnet itself is something they oppose. I could see the Greenpeace woman targeting me from the other end of the block. I was trying to walk around her as I got closer to her.
Greenpeace woman: Are you trying to avoid me?
Me: Yes. I am.
Greenpeace woman: Could I have just a few moments of your time?
Me: Actually, I’m meeting a friend. (Ah, the classic excuse – but this time it was true! I was going to meet Marc and Rita The Witch!)
Greenpeace woman: I bet you don’t even know anything about Greenpeace.
Me: Oh, yes I do. I know enough.
Greenpeace woman: (mutters under breath and follows me for about ten more metres before she realises I’m not stopping)
I hate Greenpeace, purely on the basis that they harass me in the streets. That’s a good enough reason as far as I’m concerned.
I escaped the harassment of the hippy Greenpeace woman, and met up with Marc and Rita The Witch. Rita really is the loveliest person, and with her flatmate Marc they look so cute. They’re both rather short you see. Rita also has officially the smallest, cutest feet I’ve ever seen on someone. (Rita The Witch has also now got a pierced eyebrow, which has re-kindled my interest in a pierced eyebrow… I’ll have to do that soon).
We were having coffee and a woman walked past us in a hideous dress. A seriously hideous dress.
Marc: Who shot the couch?
Myself, Marc and Rita The Witch are all drawn together by the common bond that we have lived, at one stage or another, with a man known as The Raptor. The Raptor is one of the laziest, most repulsive people I can recall meeting, let alone living with. His hygeine skills are non existent at best, and I believe he refuses to work full time. The Raptor got his nickname because he didn’t cut his toenails. For months and months and months. Visualise a raptor’s claws… you get the picture. Seriously, they were curling underneath his toes. Marc once pinned him down while Rita The Witch tried to cut his nails, and apparently he got so violent it was ugly. Why is The Raptor difficult to live with? Well, Marc, Rita The Witch and myself had a Raptor-bashing session over lunch on Friday. These reasons are a mere taster of why we don’t like him that much:
* He has bad aim. I’m not talking about sports here, either. I’m talking about the toilet.
* He wakes up at roughly 9.00am, stumbles out with the flies-eyes hanging out of his jocks, asks you to go and get him $2 of chips for breakfast from down the road, then goes back to bed.
* He bought whole chickens at the local Coles supermarket, and could eat them whole in around 10 to 15 minutes. At the end of this process he would have chicken all through his hair.
* He wakes up at roughly midday, then goes out at night to gay saunas, comes home at 6am then repeats the process.
* He tried to grow his hair long, and it just didn’t look right. He looked like a sheepdog.
* He leaves g-strings lying around.
* He steals your clothes – and also your jocks. Trust me, you never want to wear your clothes after he’s tried them on.
* He has so much caffeine, Sudafed and No-Doze tablets that his skin looks like vomit. If it’s a legal substance that has potential for misuse, then he’s probably popping it every hour – he’s like a crap junkie.
On the train yesterday, I went past a hospital that looked like it was under renovation. In front of the hospital was a big sign saying ‘NSW Government – Building Better Hospitals’. However, this sign had half collapsed – maybe it’d be a good start if they could start Building Better Signs as well.
One show Adam and I never miss on TV is The Mole. I love this show, it’s very addictive. Basically ten people have to complete sets of challenges, and one of these people is the Mole, who tries to ruin the challenges and bring the group down. Each successful challenge wins the group money, and at the end of each episode one person is eliminated (the person who gets the most questions wrong in a questionaire about the Mole). At the end of the show there’s only 3 people left – one person wins and gets all the money, the other gets nothing, and the other person is the Mole. It’s a very addictive show, however Adam totally ruined the last episode for me.
At the end of every episode of The Mole, they have a preview of the next week’s episode. However, they showed a scene from the upcoming episode which showed the host at the part of the show where a contestant is eliminated. Adam bloody lip-read what the host was saying and worked out he was saying ‘Bev, we have to go’!! All that week he was taunting me that Bev would be the next to go. I was so hoping he’d be wrong – but he wasn’t. Bastard. He’s ruining good TV for me.
If you live in Sydney, you may know about Pissing Woman. Adam and two other friends of mine have all witnessed Pissing Woman in Sydney’s CBD. This woman will just pull up her skirt and start urinating in the middle of the street. I think one of my friends saw Pissing Woman at Town Hall, Adam saw her outside David Jones and another mate saw her outside Central taking a slash in the street there too. They all describe her as the same appearance – has anyone else seen Pissing Woman in the city?
There’s a company based in Melbourne called Timberite, who produce timber products. I remember I used to see their trucks driving around in Geelong with ads for their products on the back. I will never forget the name of their main product. It’s got to be one of the most unfortunate names for a product in a long time: the Well Hung Door. I am not joking. I can’t find a website for Timberite, but they have an entry in the Yellow Pages here.
I got a CD in the mail from ChaosMusic, but the postie just shoved the package halfway into the postbox slot and cracked half the CD cover. When will posties learn that mail should be treated gently? Male posties should be trained to pretend that they’re not actually putting a package in postbox slot, but their testicles. They’d treat packages differently then.
What’s In Adam And Jeb’s Fridge?
* Adam’s tuna
* Piece of plastic that held a 6-pack of VB stubbies together
* A knife (why do we have a refrigerated knife? I didn’t put it there)
* A bottle of Dr Pepper (that’s mine, Adam hates the stuff)
* Flora margarine (that’s mine too, Adam doesn’t have margarine in sandwiches… freak)
* 2 empty bottles of Bomba Energy drink (We like the Bomba bottles, they look like little grenades. However, it’s wise to keep them in the fridge, because if people get drunk here and see a little grenade-shaped thing, they’re bound to throw it at someone)
* 7 eggs (6 are grouped together up one end of the egg-holding part of the fridge, and there’s one loner egg up the other end)
* 3 bottles of cordial (2 bottles only have little dribbles left in them, and one bottle has heaps left)
* 2 cartons of Lite White ilk (Why do we have two cartons of milk open? Hmm)
* An empty bottle of wine (Adam likes the design of the bottle. It keeps the empty Bomba bottles company)
* AIP Plus Glucosamine Creatine Serum (I think this is something for muscle aches, but it looks like red cordial and I may drink it by mistake when drunk)
I noticed in the newspaper TV guide a show called British Sex last night on Channel 10. The show was rated MA (nudity, adult themes, language, sex references). Of course, the code for nudity is N, adult themes is A, language is L and sex references is S. When put together with the classification for the show MA (mature audiences only), the TV guide read: “British Sex (rated MAnals)”. Yes, that’s Mature Adults, nudity, adult themes, language, sex references. Man-anals. That’s just bloody disgusting! Talk about suggestive advertising.
Wezza, the Westie Bogan who lives downstairs, is having a big party as I type this. Lots of girls screaming and stuff. I’ve got a right mind to go down and join them because Adam’s out at work and I’ve got nothing to do, but Rats Tail Man is there, and he just freaks me out.
Well, at least now I have a job I won’t be sitting on the couch playing Zelda on the Nintendo 64 all day. I’ve already finished the game once – when I was last unemployed, actually. Zelda is probably one of my favourite games. The guy in Zelda, Link, he’s a pretty smart guy. Halfway through the game he warps 7 years into the future, and transforms from a child to an adult – successfully avoiding puberty in the process. He’s a real smart cookie…
Adam and I have decided that moving overseas for a few years is something we want to aim towards. He’s got a lot of relatives in the UK so we’d know a few people… it seems like a good idea to me. To be honest, since I’ve moved up to Sydney and got my new job, this all feels like the start of some sort of big adventure. It’s pretty exciting. I reckon going overseas would be fantastic, I’m still young and should do it before I die of breast cancer at age 34 or something. (Hang on. Only women get breast cancer, don’t they?)
When I went down to the service station the other day, I heard people bashing Victorians! Seeing as Victoria is my home state, I felt rather disheartened, but from the sounds of things, lots of people in New South Wales bash Victorian people. I think it’s the whole Melbourne vs Sydney thing. I quote:
Victorian hating woman: Well, everyone’s born with the same amount of intelligence. Except for those pig fucking Victorians.
In fact, it’s not just NSW that hates Victoria. South Australians are prone to Vic-bashing as well. Most supporters of the Port Adelaide AFL team hate Victorians with a passion – remember those ‘Kick A Vic’ bumper stickers going around a few years ago?
What happened to everyone paying out Tasmania, eh?
I was chatting with MJ tonight and I just remembered a promise my mum made to me a long time ago. Before I was born, my parents had a cat. He was a weird cat. At night he’d run around under the house and hit his head against poles. He was used to being the centre of attention, and when I got born he was a bit jealous. So jealous that he took it upon himself to jump on my face and claw me. I went to the doctor and got stitches, the cat went to the vet and got put down.
My dad realised after we got rid of the cat, his asthma got better. He was allergic to cat hair. I really wanted a cat as I grew up, so my mum gave me a Cat Voucher to cash in when I left home. Basically, when I cashed in the Cat Voucher my mum would buy me a cat.
I think I left the Cat Voucher at home. I’ve been holding on to it since I was 14, and she knows this. I should try and claim my Cat Voucher.
People I Will Personally Slaughter When I Become The Totally Ruthless Undisputed Master Of The World: the idiot who wrote that ‘My Mother Was A DJ’ song
Speaking of bad songs… you know that new-agey chanty song Optus uses on their ads now? (You know, the ads with all the animals prancing around). I used to quite like that song. Now, every second ad on TV is for Optus, and when I ring up my ISP’s helpline, I have to listen to the Optus song for half an hour before someone helps me. What’s Optus’s slogan? ‘The power of Yes’? ‘The power to induce murder’ more like it.
I’ll have to start writing my own songs soon. There’s a few sounds I’d like to sample and make into a techno song:
* Traffic lights (the slow noise when you can’t cross the road for the verse, and the fast noise when you can for the chorus)
* That stupid ICQ uh-oh noise
* That bloody loud ICQ foghorn noise that scares me shitless every time I run ICQ
* Adam cracking all his joints simultaneously (this is quite a talent)