It’s been about a week since I last updated because I’ve been so busy it’s not funny. As you may know by now, I got a new job last week. More about that later.
Total random thought: I wonder what an orgasm would feel like backwards. It’d be all over before it began, really. But in the case of the male the genitals would handily act as a Hoover vacuum cleaner. (I’m not making Re-Rewind jokes today, I promise).
I’ve had a sniffly nose most of this week (I swear I’m allergic to Town Hall train station, it makes my nose go all funny whenever I go there). In fact, I often get only one nostril all blocked up and the other is fine. A strange sort of half-cold.
I got a message on the phone from one of the Reception Bitches from my workplace of last year, the uni. I recently visited the uni before I moved up to Sydney and they said they were planning to open up a campus in Sydney, and I’d be welcome to return to work for them. An offer I’m considering seriously at the moment. (Well, I wouldn’t say I’m considering it seriously. I’m more toying with the idea, in the way that a buxom lap dancer toys with dirty old men in a girly bar – her heart isn’t really in it).
Every day on the train I usually sit there and listen to my walkman. I’ve got a pile of books that I haven’t read yet sitting right next to me as I type this, and I always think to myself ‘I must start reading those’. But why should I? If I enjoy listening to my walkman, maybe I should just leave it at that. Is reading a book any more ‘healthier’ than listening to music?
Sydney has double-decker trains, and I’ve noticed I always sit on the bottom of the train on the way to work, but the top on the way home. WHY?
Something I tend to do in the morning is try to deter people from sitting next to me on the train. I like to be a bastard and have a seat to myself. Unfortunately, in Sydney, all the seats tend to be taken on the train. I go to all sorts of extraordinary lengths to make myself appear to be the most unsavoury travelling companion on the train.
I’ve also realised that the amount of times I check my pockets on the train to make sure my wallet and mobile are still there is reaching obsessive compulsive stage. I never used to be like this in Melbourne… maybe I don’t feel that comfortable in Sydney yet? I’m just strange.
The other night, Adam and I were watching TV on the couch and annoying each other by poking each other. It was all nice and innocent until Adam poked me softly in the leg, but managed to hit a nerve ending that sent my leg flying (and the stubbie I was drinking at the time as well).
Actually, I gave a similar performance on the train last week. I kept falling asleep, and when I do that on the train, I tend to wake up rather alarmed. I have no idea why. I’ll just be sitting there with my eyes closed, then suddenly:
Me: WAARGH! (shakes violently)
People sitting next to me: (eyes widen)
I saw someone on the train yesterday that I swear was Toadie’s mum from Neighbours. Remember her? Big scary woman with red hair? She was reading a book, and it was most interesting the way she mouthed the words she was reading. If I was a lip-reader, I could’ve been entertained the whole way home.
Speaking of obscure Australian actors, Andy sent me an email:
Just saw your March 9 entry, with the reference to Matthew Krok.
I knew that little kid when he was like 5 or 6, I played in a soccer team called the Doonside Hawks in the Western Suburbs of Sydney. The coach was Matthew Krok’s dad, Alan Krok I think his name was, and the star player of our team? None other than Ethan Krok, Matthew’s big brother. And I think his mum’s name is Helen. Can’t remember, but I was in the Under 9′s or something at the time. This was about 1988 or something.
Let’s all go on a Krok hunt! Anyone have any more info to add to the kitty? Or maybe we should go hunting for someone like Alex Papps…
Pick the odd one out!
* Raspberry crush (delicious, icy raspberry flavoured beverage)
* Lemon crush (delicious, icy lemon flavoured beverage)
* Orange crush (delicious, icy orange flavoured beverage)
* Town Hall Train Station crush (crammed, crowded state of Town Hall Train Station at 5pm on a weekday)
Over the past few days in Sydney, I saw:
* A man announce to a watermelon he would pick up his wife at 5pm.
* A well-groomed woman declare to a passing bus that a compromise was better than no deal at all.
* A teenager scream at a box of cereal in Woolworths that it was a fucking bitch.
Yes, those hands-free things for mobile phones are really stupid.
In an ideal world:
NRMA person: Hello, welcome to NRMA roadside assistance. Do you have your card number there?
Distressed sounding person: Uh… yeah… (sob) (reads out number)
NRMA person: So what has gone wrong with your car?
Distressed sounding person: Oh God… (wails)
NRMA person: Has your car broken down?
Distressed sounding person: Well… (sniff) sort of…
NRMA person: You’ve had a break down?
Distressed sounding person: Yeah.
NRMA person: Could you tell me where your car is located, and we’ll send out a team to help you..?
Distressed sounding person: No… no, you don’t understand…
NRMA person: Um…?
Distressed sounding person: It isn’t the car that’s had a breakdown. I’VE had a breakdown.
NRMA person: Oh, I seeeeeee! Well, we’ll send a team out to send you straight away.
Distressed sounding person: Oh, thank you, thank you…
If only it was easy as that.
Adam reckons he can beat up Henry Rollins. I don’t think he even knew what Henry Rollins looked like when he said that. I’m not sure. Adam’s a big guy, but… Henry Rollins is Henry Rollins. Actually, I think this all came from me saying that Henry Rollins could beat Adam easily, but Adam seems to think he can beat anyone in a fight.
In the city yesterday, one of those stupid little Fun Size bags of Twisties got stuck to my shoe. Not a good look walking around, towing one of those behind you. But even when I pulled it off and flung it in front of me, it managed to blow back under my foot and stick there again. It was the most rebellious piece of litter I’ve ever seen.
Hang on. No it wasn’t. The most rebellious piece piece of litter I’ve ever seen was a beer can I saw on a train in Melbourne once. I noticed that this particular beer can was rolling around the floor near the entrance to the train. When the train stopped at Parliament station, it stopped rather suddenly – so suddenly that the beer can went flying to the left when the doors opened, and rolled to a stop in between the two doors of the train carriage. When the doors attempted to close so the train could leave the station, the beer can was stuck between them – so the doors were just slamming back and forth trying to close while these beer can was stuck between them. In Melbourne, I don’t think trains are allowed to leave until all of the doors have closed, so the train was just sitting there while these two doors slammed back and forth. Nobody really did anything about it. We just thought it was funny that this can of VB had landed right between the doors.
You know the font Verdana? Adam calls that Veranda. I find this funny, because he’s supposed to be a graphic designer.
A while ago I downloaded an MP3 of Filter playing one of their songs in concert. However, for some bizarre reason, whenever I play this MP3, it plays in double speed. For a song that’s supposed to sound really agressive and heavy, it doesn’t quite come across the same when their singer yells “You think it’s funny! I HATE YOUR FACE!” in a Chipmunks voice accompanied by a hyperactive beat.
So yeah, my job. Where do I begin? It was incredibly monotonous. I performed two functions: checking that people’s names and details are on the database, and if they’re not, ringing people to get the necessary details. I came home depressed out of my skull every night last week and had a big whinge to Adam.
Last week I was sitting next to a guy from the UK. He was only in Australia for a year or something (he had to go back in June) but he was a cool guy. His stories of England make me want to go there even more than what I do now.
He was asking me a bit about myself on the day I started. I told him about Adam (well, I didn’t say he was my boyfriend, I don’t usually tell people that sort of stuff until I trust them) and how he’s a kickboxer and the rest of it. Suddenly, the UK guy got really worried. He thought I got beaten up all the time, for no reason other than the fact that Adam knows how to kickbox.
Then, the guy who sits on the other side of the UK guy piped up.
Guy up far end of desk: Your flatmate’s a kickboxer?
Me: Yeah.
Guy up far end of desk: Does he beat you up or something? Is that what you were saying before?
Me: No… he’s just a kickboxer.
Guy up far end of desk: Oh, that’s okay then. But he could beat you up if he wanted?
Me: Um.. I suppose.
Guy up far end of desk: So he’s not someone you’d want to meet in a dark alley?
Me: What would you be doing loitering in a dark alley in the first place?
Actually, the guy up the far end of the desk was the only person I’ve ever seen type numbers into a calculator using both hands.
The UK guy had this habit of calling me Nathan. Nathan isn’t my name. I have no idea where he got the name Nathan from. I told him at least three times that my name wasn’t Nathan, and he just nodded and grinned. He musn’t have heard me.
The only other person who really talked to me sat behind me. I had one conversation with her, and that was about if she should go and see a clairvoyant or not. Later that day she noticed that the UK guy had some tablets sitting on his desk.
Woman behind me: What are these?
UK guy: Vitamins.
Woman behind me: (reads label) It says Men’s Tablets! Hehehe…
UK guy: Yeah, they’re formulated for the male body.
Woman behind me: (eats a tablet) OH MY GOD!
UK guy: What?
Woman behind me: I.. I…. I’M GROWING TESTICLES ALREADY!
I was allowed to take my lunch break whenever I wanted with this job. Because I couldn’t stand the job, I tended to wait as late as possible to take my lunch, because then after your lunch break the rest of the day flies past.
I wasn’t really involved in any decision making at all – in fact, I was at the very lowest position in the company, I reckon. I was invited to a small meeting just to observe, though. It didn’t involve much except for budgeting things on a big blackboard. However, when the woman who was presenting the meeting went to write on the blackboard with her chalk, it screeched down the blackboard and snapped in half. It sounded like nails on a blackboard, and everyone did that ‘oooh eeeee’ noise people make when they hear nails on a blackboard. I then made a fatal mistake and tried to be funny:
Me: Oh, listen! It’s the new Bardot single!
This comment was met with very very strange looks. I don’t think many of them knew that Bardot was that manufactured band from the Popstars TV show. It was a classic FuckIWishICouldStartAgain moment.
Also, every morning I arrived at work and got into the lift, I managed to get into the left at the same time as this other guy who worked for the same company as me. I could never understand the second half of his sentences. It was if he was teasing me with the start of a question, then regressing into mumbo-jumbo just to confuse me.
Mumble man: Good morning.
Me: Morning.
Mumble man: So, does snarf fewwbak grattew blerg?
Me: Er… yep!
Whenever someone asks me something I can’t understand, I usually reply Yep! It’s the safest option. Unfortunately, this doesn’t always work. On Friday Mumble Man asked me a question that obviously couldn’t be answered with a yes/no response.
Mumble man: Good morning.
Me: Morning.
Mumble man: Well, fergh bwaaa terruk swart..?
Me: Ah… yep!
Mumble man: (quizzical look)
I didn’t know what to say, so…
Me: Mmmm. (nods)
He looked at me even stranger. Well, what was I supposed to do? Just answer with a random phrase like ‘Certainly – cheesecakes’ and hope that it fitted his question?
On Friday, the guy from the UK was complaining about what a shithole Australia is because we didn’t have the cheap airfare prices of “the mother country”. He was throwing little bits of paper into the bin with such force that I’m sure he was fantasizing he was throwing convicts from the UK into boats destined for Australia. (Little does he know, most Sydney residents wish to throw UK backpackers into boats destined for England).
Some other high-up woman arrived in the office on Monday – she’d been on a holiday up in far north Queensland, which was cut short due to the cyclone that went through the area. I found it amusing when she said she turned on the TV as the cyclone was supposed to be going through the town, to find that The Wizard of Oz was on. That, apparently, was an omen.
On Monday, there was another new person starting. He was introduced around to everyone, and the guy who was showing the new person around didn’t know my name.
Guy showing new person around: Sorry, I can’t remember your name…?
Me: It’s Jeb.
Guy showing new person around: So, this is Jeb.
Me: (to new person) Hi, how’s it going.
UK guy: I thought your name was Nathan!
Because I was a new employee, they had to gather together some equipment for me. I think they basically just got all the left over equipment from the office and gave it to me. I had the shittiest monitor, it was really dim and kept blinking. When the IT guy found out which computer I was sitting at so he could set up my system, he said ‘They’re sticking him on THAT old thing?’ Also, the chair they gave me had no back support at all. I ended up having really bad back aches by Friday. On Monday, I asked them if I could have a new chair because this one was really hurting my back.
I got a new chair. It was worse than the first one.
By Monday, I was getting VERY jack of the job. I was getting more and more depressed by the minute that I’d be stuck in this shithouse job with no real hope of promotion. I was given a contract to sign, and it alarmed me that one of the terms of this contract was that I had to give 1 month’s notice before I quit the job. I felt like I was really trapped in this bad job I didn’t want. It wasn’t what I had expected it to be at all.
(Also, on the envelope the contract came in, it says ‘Candida’. I hear they’re bringing out a set of notepads to compliment this with ‘Herpes’ printed on the letterhead).
To put it bluntly, I felt like I’d made the worst career move since two men decided to form Jive Bunny & The Mastermixers. And I felt like I was stuck. As I said to just about everyone I knew that weekend, I would rather have eaten dirt than continue on with my job. At least dirt has variety.
I decided to go back to the recruitment company on Friday to let them know how I felt about the job. Predictably enough, the woman who was handling me said:
Recruitment woman: Well, you know, maybe just give it a month. You may get a promotion. Maybe see if there’s other work you can do there. Just stick it out!
What the recruitment woman really meant:
Recruitment woman: Don’t you dare leave that job, it makes us look like we’re sending idiots out to these jobs. What would these companies think if we send someone out and they just quit? Plus it’s costing us time and money. If you leave this job we will slaughter you. So don’t even THINK about it.
So it was rather pointless visiting her.
On Monday morning, I was getting so pissed off with the monotony of the job that I snapped four pens in half in the first two hours. I was thinking to myself about how my friend Lynne quit a job she once had – she went to lunch, rang her boss and told him she’d gone AWOL, then never came back. I was thinking, I should go AWOL. I should just piss off.
I decided that Monday would be the last day I worked for that company. I took a very long lunch break, simply because if I got in trouble it wouldn’t matter anyway.
So I rang up the woman who was supervising me on Tuesday morning and told her matter of factly that I wouldn’t be coming back, and that was why I hadn’t returned my contract sooner. I told her politely that it was too boring, and that I’d come to realise I’ve had creativity in all my previous jobs – this was the first position I’ve had where there’s nothing like that. It was the first data entry position I had, and probably the last. Because I can type fast, I thought I’d really enjoy a data entry role, but you don’t always enjoy the things you’re good at. (Personally, I’m pretty good at accounting, but I find it dead boring).
So now I’m stuck. I actually came home Monday night feeling worse than before, because I didn’t even know where I was headed. What the hell job do I want to do now?
I’ve always thought of these office jobs I’ve been doing for the past year as ‘not a real job’. They’re just things I’m doing until I get a job I really am enthusiastic about. As Leonardo DiCaprio’s father says, it’s not worth going to a job unless you’re happy to put your pants on in the morning. (Honest. He said that). Then again, Leonardo DiCaprio probably pays someone to put his pants on for him every morning anyway.
I’ve decided that I’ve got to have a job where I can get creative. Real creative. The problem is I don’t know what the hell I want to do. The only thing I can think of is advertising, but I’m not qualified for anything, really. All I can do is type at 100 words a minute, and all that’ll do is get me into crap data entry jobs.
When I moved up to Sydney, I actually applied for a job as a postman – it was a 2 month temp position. Why did I go for a job I’ve got no experience in? Because I thought it was interesting, and I’ve never done anything like that before. And it’d be interesting being a postie. The real disadvantage was that I didn’t know the local area at all, but still… if it was only for two months, I’d happily be a postie.
In Sydney, on my lunch breaks last week, every time I went to lunch, I’d walk past this group of city bicycle couriers having lunch. They all seemed so happy, they were laughing, talking about the work they’d done that day. They looked satisfied with what they were doing.
Actually, I came home and had a real sook on Monday. It felt like everyone I know was going places with their careers, and I’m stuck with not a lot. And I’m scared I’ll stay this way, in crap nowhere jobs for the rest of my life. I’m incredibly jealous of Adam, he’s going for jobs at the moment, and I can tell he could really walk into any graphic design job he wants – one look at his portfolio and people are amazed. He’s going for what I’d call a dream job at the moment – great pay, groovy office, incredibly cruisy atmosphere – hell, they even stock staff fridges full of beer. A job he’d definitely be happy to go to every day. The kind of job I would be happy to go to every day.
I sure wish I could do something like that. Then again, I’m only 20, there’s a while to go yet. I’m just feeling… well, pretty useless at the moment. I’m going for some temp jobs at the moment, just more office crap, but at least they’re not permanent. I’ve just got to seriously figure out where I’m headed career wise.
So, the key word is creativity. A job with creativity.
But as far as getting some sort of qualification goes, it looks like I’ll be heading back to TAFE pretty soon.
So I left work on Monday and started walking up the street, and noticed all these police cars and motorbikes come around the corner. Oooh, I thought – maybe there’s a big celebrity in a car about to head around the corner! I got rather excited, as did most of the other people standing on the corner.
Then, from out of nowhere – RAHHHHHHHH! A giant protest against the Northern Territory’s mandatory sentencing laws came roaring around the corner. Everyone around me decided it’d be a bad idea to cross the road straight into the melee and scampered off in the opposite direction. I thought bugger it, I can’t be bothered detouring – I just want to get home. I forced my way through the protest, working against the tide, and decided it was almost not worth it, so I ducked into a McDonalds, bought a McFlurry (mmmm, McFlurry) and waited for the protest to thin out.
When it looked like there was a bit of room to move, I walked outside with my McFlurry, only to be accosted by two hippies.
Hippies: Don’t eat that shit, man! You’re supporting globalisation, deforestation, and all sorts of other bad shit…
Me: But it tastes so good!
Hippies: HEY! MCDONALDS IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THOUSANDS OF DEATHS ANNUALLY!
Me: Oh, piss off.
So now both Adam and myself are going for job interviews. Except Adam already has a job and I don’t. This job he really wants, he finds out if he gets it tomorrow. He spent most of last week working on his portfolio for his job interviews. At 4.20am (when Adam normally wakes up) on Wednesday last week, Adam turned off the alarm, got up, pottered around for about ten minutes, then got back into bed.
Me: (half asleep) Why are you back in bed?
Adam: I just remembered, I’m sick today.
Me: Oh, right. (These things make sense when you’re half asleep)
Turns out he was being ‘sick’, so he could work on his portfolio. Actually for one of his interviews this week, he made me pre-tie his necktie the night before. I think people who never untie ties are lame – people who just leave them ready to put round their neck. You’re not a hardcore businessman if you can’t even bloody tie up a tie, for crying out loud.
I saw another bad company name this week: Fashionating. (They’re a fashion design company).
On Saturday morning, Adam and I realised that we probably should clean the enormous pile of dirty dishes on the sink. I started washing everything up, and one bowl was full of curdled milk. I asked Adam if he could go outside and throw the milk out over the balcony.
He walked outside to the balcony, then came back in a few seconds later with a sheepish grin on his face.
Me: Did you get rid of the milk?
Adam: Yep. I got rid of the bowl, too.
He accidentally threw the bowl over the balcony. Now it’s just sitting on the lawn downstairs. We can’t really be bothered making a special trip down there – besides, Wez (the dickhead who lives downstairs) will probably just grab it soon and say ‘Woo hoo, a new mull bowl!’
On the weekend Adam and I had Chinese for lunch. I had sweet and sour something. The sauce they put on it was putrid, a real bright red. In fact, it was the same colour as the Raspberry Merinda soft drink that Adam got with his meal. I think that stuff could’ve easily eaten through the napkin they gave me with my meal.
Speaking of napkins, that reminds me of something that happened to me back in year 8 or 9 or something. My mum was having a party, but she realised she’d forgotten to buy napkins for the meal. She asked me to go down to the supermarket and buy some, but just to get the smallest pack, beacuse she only needed ten or so.
So off I trotted down to the supermarket and wandered around. I managed to find a no-name brand pack of napkins – and it was a 10 pack as well, just what my mum wanted! I came back home and gave it to her.
She burst into laughter. I’d bought ‘sanitary napkins’, otherwise known as… yes, pads. When you’re in year 9 you think the sanitary part of a sanitary napkin refers to preventing food from spilling on your lap. When I found out that sanitary napkins were quite different from normal napkins, it suddenly made sense the way the supermarket checkout chick laughed at me.
Adam and I also went into a Dick Smith store in the city on the weekend, where I bought a copy of the game The Sims. As you’ve probably noticed, at the moment Dick Smith (the person) is ranting and raving about how we should all buy from Australian owned companies. To help us, he’s now selling a publication in Dick Smith stores called ‘Australian Owned Companies’. The most alarming thing is that this publication is little more than a small leaflet. Musn’t be many Aussie owned companies left.
There’s a reason I turn my mobile phone off when I get on the train. It’s because I don’t want to have the stupid conversation that everyone has on the train, when someone rings them on their mobile.
Person with mobile phone: Hello? … Hello? … I’m on the train. … I SAID I’M ON THE TR.. HELLO? I’m on the train. …THE TRAIN. I’m just heading up to the station now. …THE TRAIN STATION. ..Hello? …HELLO?
Another thing that irritates me is the symphony of stupid mobile phone ringing tunes that lasts the whole train trip. I can’t stand mobile phones that play a song when they ring. Just have it ringing for crying out loud!
Last Saturday, me and Adam went and had lunch with MJ and her girlfriend. On the train on the way there, we saw a man with a ball and chain attached to his leg. Ah, Sydney.
That evening, we went around and had some drinks at Torana’s place. He was pretty maggoted, but then again I think we all were. Most of that evening was pretty much a blur, except I do remember when Adam knocked my elbow by mistake and made me spill a drink all over myself. I then saw it fit to kick the glass he was holding and spill his glass all over his jeans and shirt.
Luckily, Torana gave us some spare shirts, as we were planning to go out to a few local pubs and clubs. Also, by some bizarre coincidence – the kind of coincidence that can only happen when you’re drunk – Torana also happened to have three pairs of black shoes that would fit us all.
I can’t really remember what we talked about that night, only little snippets of conversations. I remember telling Torana (a major NRL fan) I had no idea about NRL, because I was a big AFL fan. I expected him to pay me out like most NRL fans would, but he was pretty cool – he even started explaining how it was played, using a game that was on the TV in the pub to help me along. Of course I can’t remember a word of what he said to me, but I think I agreed with him that AFL would be better if hardcore tackles were allowed.
We also managed to get rejected from all but one of the clubs we tried to get into. Actually, I’ve noticed that the pub closest to here, the property that it’s on is quite large, but most of the property is taken up by this enormous lawn. I don’t even know why they bother mowing it, it’s only there for people to pass out on really – it’d look better if potential patrons couldn’t see the vagrants lying around everywhere because the grass was really high.
I’m also surprised that nothing dumb happened when I was drunk. Whenever I get pissed it seems that at least one really dumb incident happens. A classic example of this would be when I was in Year 12 and drinking at a friend’s house one night. I was putting a CD in the CD player, when suddenly I couldn’t figure out where the CD had gone. It was as if it had disappeared right out of thin air or something.
The next morning, as I was leaving, I noticed the CD was in the drainpipe on the roof. I don’t know how it got there. I’m surprised nothing dumb like this happened to me on Saturday – it wouldn’t have surprised me one bit if Torana’s dog ran up and bit me while I was taking a pee in his backyard that night.
You know how you say ‘chin chin’ when you have a drink? Sort of like saying ‘cheers’? I found out this week that ‘chin chin’ is Japanese for penis. I don’t want to associate genitals with my beer, thank you very much.
Remember how I was saying we have some 5 month old potatoes underneath the sink? Adam cleaned them all out on the weekend. He deserves a bloody medal – they weren’t even potatoes anymore, they were black goo, and it reeked like hell. He did pretty well, he only dry reached once. At least all the bugs flying around the unit have gone now.
Adam’s two brothers live together in a unit, in the same block of units that Adam and I live in. They’re pretty cool guys, they pop around to borrow Adam’s vacuum cleaner and to use his phone (theirs isn’t on yet). When Adam’s brother returned the vacuum cleaner he’d borrowed, he said:
Adam’s brother: Thanks for the vacuum cleaner. It really sucked.
Well, I thought it was funny.
The other day, I withdrew some money from an ATM in a shopping centre near here. After my money was dispensed from the machine, I grabbed the receipt and started walking off, when I noticed that the ATM had spat out a second piece of paper. I grabbed the second piece of paper – it was my receipt. What was the first piece of paper it gave me? It was this:
That’s right. The ATM gave me a McDonalds voucher, redeemable at the McDonalds store situated opposite the ATM machine. Even stupider is this:
The offer expired at the end of November last year. (Bursts into Cher song) If I could turn back time…
Adam noticed the other day that Wez (the dickhead downstairs) had two goths visiting him. They were saying something like “Oooh, let’s all go and buy some CANDLES!” Actually, I hope Wez turns into a goth. At least it’ll make him quieter at night.
There’s only one thing worse than goths, and that’s gay goths. Goths sulk around moaning that nobody understands their pain and all the rest of it, but gay gothics are even worse because they feel that they have a cause that extends past the personal pain and torment of Trent Reznor.
Actually, when I was at uni in 1998, I went over to this gay goth’s house once. I was trying to meet new guys around the city, but this guy was a total weirdo and creeped me out. He kept looking at me real strange, and I noticed that his music collection was comprised entirely of horror movie soundtracks on vinyl. (Oh, except for a copy of Fear Factory’s ‘Demanufacture’ – he said it was good music to be violent to). He kept offering for me to stay the night, and I feared more that he’d try to kill me than make a move on me. He was telling me strange things the whole time, like how he goes to KFC, orders a giant bucket of chicken, then sticks his face in it and just gobbles, so there’s chicken all over his face and hair by the time he finishes (presumably accompanied by a rather Satanic look on his face). He also kept telling me of his intense hatred of Christians. He was one step away from being a serial killer, I reckon.
When I moved to my friend’s house in Melbourne last year, I noticed that the area I was living in seemed strangely familiar. It was a month before I realised that I was now living across the road from the Gay Goth man. I used to really worry I’d encounter him again some day.
Coles supermarkets have been opening up Coles Express outlets in most central business districts of Australia’s major cities. The only difference between a normal Coles supermarket and a Coles Express outlet is that everything is marketed as ‘gourmet’, everything costs more and the staff wear berets. In the Sydney central Coles Express, they’ve installed a new checkout system. You know how in normal supermarkets, when they scan items through at the checkout, the item that’s being scanned appears on the little display on the cash register in green writing? Well, at the Coles Express they’ve got giant LCD screens – as each item is scanned through, a picture of the scanned item appears on the screen, along with the name of the item. They also have banner ads on the screen – in my opinion, the sole reason Coles installed these new screens – more advertising, more money! But perhaps these screens do have some use…
Checkout chick: (weighs pumpkin and scans it through checkout)
Customer: (reads screen) Oh, it’s a PUMPKIN! I would never have known what it was if it weren’t for this screen.
I got a phone message from the recruitment company who got me my job yesterday. They want me to call them – I’m not going to. They’re probably just going to yell at me. They probably want their movie ticket back, too.
Yesterday I went to go and get my hair cut at Just Cuts. Just Cuts is a rather unusual experience, they’re a hairdressing chain that operates under the rule that you don’t have to make an appointment – you just turn up.
If McDonalds ever branched out into hairdressing, they’d operate like Just Cuts. I was in and out in less than five minutes! It was kind of weird though. The whole thing was very ‘get them in, cut their hair, get them out’. In fact, there wasn’t even any of the awkward small talk that I’ve come to associate with hairdressers. Maybe I had to pay an extra fee for that.
The hairdresser asked me some strange questions, too.
Just Cuts woman: (in highly strung voice) So, whaddya want.
Me: Could I just have a short back and sides, thanks.
Just Cuts woman: All over?
Me: Yes, thanks.
Just Cuts woman: Are you sure? Don’t want me to leave any parts or anything?
I realised that this would be my big chance to have a bogan/westie haircut by leaving a patch of my hair growing and shaving the rest – then I would truly fit into the western suburbs of Sydney like a local. However, I opted to shave all of my hair on this occasion. Still she persisted:
Just Cuts woman: Would you like me to leave your fringe?
Me: Yes. I think having a close shave all over EXCEPT for my fringe would look fantastic.
Well, I didn’t really say that, but… it was a bit of a dumb question. So now my hair feels like a dish scourer. It’s kind of weird, it’s never been this short since I was a kid. I’ve also realised that I can get away with greasy hair and nobody will notice. Maybe I should just throw out the shampoo and conditioner right now.
I was considering coming home without getting my hair cut and just saying to Adam ‘Oh, well the hairdresser was closed, but one of the staff let me inside and I rooted her’. But… I didn’t.
I’ve noticed that every major city has an AM radio station devoted entirely to “sports” (read: horse racing). Examples include Sport927 in Melbourne and 2KY in Sydney. They may have low ratings, but they can probably charge more for advertising than other radio stations, because they’ve got a very direct target audience. I imagine the advertising on these radio stations is primarily for bank loans, the TAB, casinos, pokie outlets and Cash Converters.
On the train yesterday was a carpenter who had an interesting way of dealing with his mobile phone when he lost coverage.
Carpenter: Yeah sure mate. Exactly. That’s what I … hello? Are you there? FAAAAARK! FAAAAAAAAARRRRRK! FAAAAAAARRRRRRK! FAAA.. oh, you’re back. Well see if she’s going to go running around telling people that, then… hello? FAAARKK! FAAAARRRRRK! FAAAAAAARRRRK!
Speaking of the train, Sydney residents will be familiar with the disembodied voice who reads out train information at all train stations in Sydney. I personally love the way the CityRail announcements man pauses in mid-sentence, because most of the messages are fill-in-the-blank type things. Example:
CityRail disembodied voice announcement man: The train now arriving on platform… FIVE… is the… Bondi Junction… train, stopping… all stations… to Bondi Junction.
Can you imagine the CityRail dismebodied voice announcement man on a date? The poor guy.
Woman: So, how are you tonight?
CityRail disembodied voice announcement man: I am… good. I have had a… satisfactory… day.
Woman: That’s good to hear. What would you like to eat tonight?
CityRail disembodied voice announcement man: I would like to consume… chicken… foccacia… with… a side salad.
The funniest thing is that CityRail disembodied voice announcement man sounds like he’s inserting at least five full stops into a sentence that should rightfully only have one.
I noticed at the ABC Shop yesterday a book called ‘The Scratch ‘N’ Sniff Adventures of Tommy!’ Maybe they should make some new books in the series. ‘The Scratch ‘N’ Sniff Adventures of Tommy at the Sewage Processing Plant!’ or ‘The Scratch ‘N’ Sniff Adventures of Tommy at the Tannery!’ are all potential bestsellers.