Train timetables are a great thing. They’re even better if the train drivers have seen them too, although I guess timetables are a new concept to most Sydney train drivers. Every day I get to work on time just by the skin of my teeth (yes, I have a rare condition which results in skin and flesh developing over my molars). I’m getting quite good at powerwalking, though. I’ve noticed most people in Sydney’s CBD seem to powerwalk everywhere – they’re constantly running late.
I don’t mind powerwalkers as long as they don’t swing their arms about. I was walking really quickly behind a powerwalker at the train station, and his arms were flapping around in some sort of windmill type action. It all got rather offensive when his right hand swung back and hit my genitals. I was rather put back by this, so I tried to move around the windmill man, when he got me again with his left hand. Powerwalking is a very, very silly sport that’s based on people being late.
When I arrive at work each morning, the first person who I usually see is the DJ Accountant. If I ever snap and go on a murderous killing spree, it’ll be because of this guy. Anyone who taps me on the shoulder for 15 seconds straight and says ‘Jeb, Jeb, Jeb, Jeb, Jeb’ as if he needs help with something – then when I ask him what he wants he just goes ‘Ahhh…. Jeb, Jeb, Jeb, Jeb’. He is just a total idiot. He should go back to being a chef and tap people on shoulders in a kitchen. Or he should just try and be a DJ full time. His monotonous reptition of my name sounds like it would fit into a dance song quite neatly.
There was much more stroking of his little triangle goatee thing under his lip than normal this week. He’s also taken to banging his mouse on the table when it doesn’t work (accompanied by the usual spurts of foul language). It looks like I’m not the only person that has the shits with him either – apparently his girlfriend has broken up with him, although I don’t think he’s figured that out yet.
Here’s the DJ Accountant’s end of a phone call this week when he rang a ‘friend’:
Hi. Darren, I’ve really got the shits with you.
What do you mean why have I got the shits?
Why the hell aren’t I invited to your wedding reception?
WHAT?!
Just because I’m not living in the same house as my girlfriend anymore doesn’t mean we haven’t broken up.
So you just thought you’d invite her and not me?
Right, well, I thought I knew who my friends were.
No we haven’t broken up! We just aren’t talking at the moment.
I don’t care what she’s told you. Don’t listen to her. She’s telling you lies.
No we haven’t broken up!
I know I moved out last week but that’s just so we can spend some time apart.
She told you WHAT?
What’s his name?
Fuck.
He’s coming to the wedding reception?!
FUCK!
So am I still invited?
Well, I’d sure like to go.
Thanks mate. I’ll see you there.
I don’t think the DJ Accountant knows that his girlfriend has given him the flick. His friend getting married must have been told they broke up (maybe because his girlfriend now has a new man?) So now he’s going to go along to this wedding and see her getting on with some other guy. The dumb thing is, the DJ Accountant won’t even punch the guy out or anything. He’ll just walk up behind him, start tapping on his shoulder, and repeat ‘Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me’ until the guy listens to him.
We’ve got a new roomful of temps this week – around 8 of them. Some of them are only here for a few weeks but the majority will be around until the end of July. We’ve got the usual gaggle of backpackers from the UK but we have a few Aussies this time as well. One of the backpacker girls is really addicted to the internet. I mean, you and I probably use the internet a fair bit, but this girl stayed back 3 hours after work so she could send email to her friends.
We’ve also got a guy and a girl who have just been gazing lovelorn into each other’s eyes all week. They’re known as the lovebirds around the office. They don’t do much work but they take suspiciously long lunches and touch hands a lot.
Then there’s Scooter. This guy is a really good bloke. He’s my age, a headbanger as well – we get on really well, and spend most of the day having a laugh. I’m glad he’s sitting next to me, the day is more fun with a guy like Scoot. He’s pretty damn good looking too, but.. er… enough of that. We all call him Scooter because he actually has this little motorised scooter. He’s also one of the few people I’ve met in Sydney who has heard of my hometown Torquay – last year he drove around Australia with his girlfriend in a panel van.
We also have a strange temp named Fabian. He’s really quiet and doesn’t say anything, but when he laughs it’s this really loud scary cackle. He has yellow hair, and looks like Tweek from South Park (the kid whose parents own the coffee store). I think Fabian is one of those names, where any person with that name is a bit weird.
Some of the UK backpackers got a bit excited when they saw the inflatable Mr Blobby doll I’ve got stuck on the top of my workstation. ‘He’s our greatest export,’ cooed one Scottish girl.
On Wednesday the network in our office went down, so the temps couldn’t do any work. We sent them all home early. When Mr Marketing went for his lunch break, he spotted the temp who’s addicted to the internet sitting in an internet cafe. We confronted her the next day:
Mr Marketing: So, how was your afternoon yesterday?
Internet addict: Oh, it was good.
Mr Marketing: Did you have fun ON THE INTERNET AGAIN?
Internet addict: Oh, but I just was sending email to my friends!
Mr Marketing: I bet you were sending email all afternoon.
Internet addict: (embarassed) No, no! I went shopping as well!
Me: Yeah – ON THE INTERNET!
I think the person who fills up our Coke machine is dead. Slowly, one by one, the options you can choose from on our drink machine are diminishing because all the cans of that flavour are sold out. Diet Coke was the first to go – then it was Coke and Fanta. We’re now reduced to drinking Lift and some strange mineral fruit drink. There’s also the option of walking upstairs and going to the cafeteria, but I’m trying to avoid Cafeteria Woman – my last encounter with her was also my final encounter, I think. Someday soon, somebody will notice that all the drink machines in our building are empty and an investigation will be launched into the whereabouts of the drink machine man.
Anyone who uses email at their work will surely get jokes from friends in their inbox. I got a really great email this week – I might put the attachment here on my webpage. My friend sent me this file and told me to turn the speakers on my computer up really loud. When you run it, this guy yells ‘Hey everybody, I’m watching porno over here! WOOHOO!’ It’s brilliant. Scooter gave me a strange look until he realised what was going on.
The network crashed three times this week at work, and each time Mr Marketing would get more and more infuriated. By the end of the week he was blaming everything on the Underpants Gnomes from South Park. We were talking about the Underpants Gnomes episode of South Park and realised that it was one in which the Tweek character features prominently – and Fabian the Temp is a dead-set ringer for Tweek! Something’s going on.
Mr Marketing and I then decided we wanted some pictures of the Underpants Gnomes. I entered ‘underpants gnomes’ into a search engine that looks for pictures on the internet, and all of the results I got were of porno. Not just any porno, but gay porno. ‘Hey everybody, Jeb’s watching porno over here! WOOHOO!’ Mr Marketing cried. It took me hours before I figured out that the ‘underpants’ in ‘underpants gnomes’ were getting me my unintentional porn pictures.
Adam’s still looking for a new graphic design job. I think he wants to get into advertising, but he’s only started getting job interviews this week. He hadn’t been doing much last week.
Adam: I even had a shower today!
Me: Good boy!
This week he got called up for a job interview, and he thought it was with some temp agency, so he didn’t dress up as well as he normally did for proper job interviews. He turned up to the address he’d been given, and it was actually a business who was interviewing people for a job. Because Adam had been applying for so many jobs, he didn’t even know what job he was being interviewed for.
Interviewer: So what attracted you to this job?
Adam: Well, I, er… I really liked the sound of it.
He eventually worked out it was for advertising design, but only because the interviewer mentioned something about advertising. I think he left the place not even knowing what the business actually did.
I woke up on Thursday really tired, so I did what I always do when I wake up tired: I take a No-Doze tablet. These things are the only thing that can wake me up sometimes. I left home and started walking to the train station, when halfway there I realised I’d taken my backpack instead of my work bag.
Off I trundled back home to get my correct bag, and it’s lucky I did. I was so asleep, I’d walked out the front door and just left it wide open. As I took my work bag, I noticed the tablets that were sitting on the kitchen bench weren’t No-Doze. I’d taken something else by mistake.
I walked over to the bench to have a closer look at what I’d taken by mistake, and upon investigation of the package, I realised I’d taken dihorrea medication instead of No-Doze. I didn’t wake up that morning due to No-Doze’s caffeine burst, but rather to Imodium’s stomach cramps.
As I wrestled with my cramps on the train and tried not to let it distort my facial expressions too much, the guy sitting next to me started whistling. And did not stop.
I don’t mind intermittent whistling, but not something continuous like this. Also, when most people whistle, it’s a happy, jolly, spontaneous type whistle. This guy’s whistle sounded like something halfway between air escaping from a dead person’s lungs and a large dog dying.
Often I don’t get time to eat breakfast properly at home, so I try to scoff something down when I get to work. Jen always tells me off.
Jen: Did you have breakfast this morning?
Me: Um…
Jen: You didn’t, did you? You know it’s the most important meal of the day.
Me: Well, I ate some fingernails earlier on.
Jen: I don’t think fingernails are very nutritious.
Me: Oh, and an anti-dihorrea tablet, but that was in error.
Scooter and I were talking about vegetarians, and how we just couldn’t figure out how people could go without meat. One of the UK temps overheard us:
Vegeterian woman: I’m a vegeterian, you know.
Scooter: Ha ha ha! Loser!
Me: Out of interest… why are you vegeterian?
Scooter: I’m yet to hear a good reason for turning veggie.
Vegeterian woman: Well, it all started when I grew up living behind a slaughterhouse for the first 15 years of my life…
Scooter: Er, you might have something there.
I’ve mentioned that Jen is leaving her position in around a month’s time. Jen and myself are the only two people in the comapny who do our particular job, and I found out they’re not actually going to replace Jen’s position but instead outsource the job. They’re going to pay some company to get 5 people to do our job, but my boss wants me to be one of those 5 people, so they’ve got an ex-employee of the company who knows how things work. I’m not really too impressed by this, it means I’ll get moved to some big anonymous call centre – I really like working with who I work with currently. Because Jen’s leaving, it also means I have to take on her hours, which means I’ll start working an extra ten hours a week – a fifty hour week. I worked out, by the time I come home each night, I’ll only have 90 minutes before I have to go to bed for the next day. It’s going to be very, very, trying.
Each day this week when I arrived at work, I noticed Scooter’s long hair is turning more and more mop-like. I think he must just hose himself down at the end of each week.
Because Scoot is a bit of a revhead, we talk about cars a fair bit. One day he started talking about ‘Beemers’, and I didn’t even know what he was on about. I learnt later on that it’s a slang name for BMW. I’m so glad someone told me that, because I would have tried to use the word Beemer in casual conversation in a totally wrong context, and gotten into trouble as a result.
I haven’t mentioned a fellow employee of mine named Slow Sally in my journal yet – mainly because I believe she’ll get fired soon. Slow Sally works in the afternoon shift of the DJ Accountant’s job (they only work 5 hour days each). Where the DJ Accountant’s great strength is in annoying people, Slow Sally makes up for it with her genuine stupidity.
Slow Sally: Hello Jeb.
Me: Hi there.
Slow Sally: Well, ah ha ha ha ha. Your hair is all flat today!
Me: Um… yes, it is.
Slow Sally: So you didn’t spike it up today?
Me: (wondering how obvious the answer is) No. I did not spike up my hair today.
Slow Sally: So what did you do to it then?
Me: Um… I didn’t spike it up.
Slow Sally: Well, ah ha ha ha ha!
This week, I also sent a package to a client in an overnight postage bag. However, the client called me up the next day complaining that he hadn’t recieved it. Fortunately, all overnight postage packs come with unique ID codes, so you can track it’s progress. I gave the ID code to the customer so he could chase up Australia Post. Of course, Slow Sally didn’t quite understand all this.
Slow Sally: Why didn’t he get his package?
Me: Australia Post didn’t get it to him.
Slow Sally: Well, if you sent it in an overnight bag, it would have got to him.
Me: Yes, but I did.
Slow Sally: So why didn’t he recieve it?
Me: That’s the issue. He didn’t.
Slow Sally: Oh. (turns this over in her head for a while) So where did it go?
Me: It’s probably on his way to him. He just didn’t recieve it in time.
Slow Sally: Maybe he was supposed to pick it up at his post office.
Me: No. It’s just a normal overnight envelope.
Slow Sally: But aren’t they special yellow envelopes?
Me: Just because they’re a different colour envelope doesn’t mean they go somewhere else.
Slow Sally: Oh. Well, I hope he gets it one day soon.
Me: He’ll get it. Don’t even worry about it.
Slow Sally: Oh, I won’t. Ah ha ha ha ha ha!
On Thursday night, Slow Sally and Parappa the Rapper were talking about Fabian, the temp who looks like Tweek.
Slow Sally: Do you think Fabian is gay?
Parappa the Rapper: I don’t really care.
Slow Sally: I think he’s gay! (like it’s some big dirty secret she’s been keeping from us)
Parappa the Rapper: It doesn’t bother me one bit. There were heaps of gay people at my old work, I’ve got no problem with it.
Slow Sally: Oh, there’s nothing wrong with it, but.. (makes hand motions that indicate that she does in fact have a problem with it)
Parappa the Rapper: I’m actually more against people who aren’t upfront about themselves, because they’re only lying to me.
There’s a new concept: inverted homophobia! How very new millenium.
Before he went on his tour of Australia last year, Scooter used to work for an office furniture company. When we walk around our company together, he’s always pointing out obscure pieces of office furniture and telling me their names. He seems to really appreciate a good piece of office furniture. I think he was admiring his chair out loud, when I realised he talked about chairs as if they were women. I asked him:
Me: So what part of the chair is equivalent to the breasts?
Scooter: WHAT?!
Me: (realising I haven’t yet told him that I think he talks about chairs like he talks about women) Um… er…
Scooter: You’re sick!
I’ve been listening to the new Deftones album all week – still. I’ve also noticed how easily the Deftones song ‘My Own Summer’ could be turned into a jazz song. That riff could SO easily been done with a trumpet/saxaphone section, to a 3/4 beat. Maybe.
Jen stole a scarf from some woman’s desk at work. She knows the woman, and was planning to give the scarf back, but only if she walked over to Jen’s desk and wanted to know where it was. Jen got a phone call from her girlfriend, and started worrying about the scarf, because the woman hadn’t noticed it was missing. She was really obsessing about it on the phone to her friend:
If I saw a real nice scarf on someone’s desk and took it, is it stealing?
What if I knew her?
What if I saw a really nice scarf on her desk, took it, then told her I took it? Is that stealing?
What if I told her it was a really nice scarf?
Do you think I should have left her a note saying that I was borrowing it for an indefinite period?
Do you think if I give it back in court she’ll be okay with that?
I was talking with a guy on the phone at work whose name is Cornell.
Me: So could I just have your name and address please?
Cornell: My first name is Cornell -
Me: Ah, like Chris Cornell from Soundgarden.
Cornell: A what garden?
Me: You know, Black Hole Sun?
Cornell: What kind of garden are we talking about here?
Me: Remember? Soundgarden? They broke up.
Cornell: A breaking garden? What? I don’t understand.
Me: Um… don’t worry.
Jen was eating a Magnum icecream on her lunch break, when I suddenly started craving something from my childhood: a Heart icecream. It was just a heart shaped piece of ice cream on a stick covered in chocolate, but I always had them as a child.
Me: I’d love one of those Heart ice creams you used to be able to buy.
Jen: They still make those.
Me: Oh, bullshit.
Jen: I bet you they do.
Scooter: I haven’t seen them in ages.
Me: Neither have I. I reckon you’re telling porkies.
Jen: They do so! Ring up the ice cream company.
Me: Who makes them?
Scooter: Try Peters Icecreams. It could be them.
I looked up the number for Peters Icereams and gave them a call.
Peters Icecream woman: Hello, Peters Icecreams, how can I help you?
Me: Um, hi. This might be a bit of a strange request, but do you still make Heart ice creams?
Peters Icecream woman: Well, yes and no.
Me: Oh?
Peters Icecream woman: We make that ice cream but it’s now called Hava Heart.
Me: Have-A-Heart?
Peters Icecream woman: No. Hava Heart. H-A-V-A.
Me: Hava?
Peters Icecream woman: Yes.
Me: Is that some sort of foreign word or something?
Peters Icecream woman: I don’t know. Would you like me to put you through to someone in marketing?
Me: Um, no. That’s okay. (I’d already sensed that only a marketing executive could come up with a word like Hava)
Most weekdays I get to wait at the train station with Ash, but I’ll be waiting alone for a few weeks, because she’s on school holidays. She was going to Wonderland for her last day of term, which is a theme park here in Sydney. Ever since I moved up here, I’ve been vowing to go to Wonderland drunk, and I still haven’t done it.
Anyhow. I was visiting my local Liquorland store when it struck me: Liquorland sounds a lot like the name of a theme park. Can you imagine all the different rides they’d have at a theme park revolving around alcohol?
Welcome to Liquorland! We hope you enjoy our many rides – all designed to simulate the effects of alcoholic drinks.The Champagnecoaster
A rollercoaster that loudly roars its way through tunnels filled with nubile dancing women/men in little more than their underwear, all crying out your name and screaming that you’re the most attractive person in the world. At the end of the ride, you will be hit on the head with a giant mallet.The Cocktail Simulator
You are placed in a giant padded room. It then vibrates wildy, and rotates 360 degrees on three dimensions.The Wine Coolercoaster
Just when this rollercoaster starts to gather speed, the sound of someone crankily moaning ‘blerrrr’ emits from speakers in your carriage, and the ride comes to a sudden stop.The Bourbon Merry-Go-Round
Fun for all the family on the Bourbon Merry-Go-Round, as you ride around on a plastic horse, and ward off the people who periodically jump at you from all directions and try to pick fights with you.The Chardonnay Scenic Train:
A very, very, very slow boring ride in a train filled with senior citizens recalling their experinces in the depression.The Beer Experience:
Make your way through a large room full of men singing rugby union songs.The Tower of Vodka:
Hold on tight to your seats, as your carriage rises high up to the sky, stays there for around 45 minutes, then suddenly plummets.
I found out this week that Mr Marketing drives a shitty old car like mine. I think this is good. I’m sick of how high-up executives all ponce around in their BMW’s Beemers – I mean, even if I have a million dollars, I will still be driving around in a Datsun.
Then again, gay guys are a totally different kettle of fish. Gays only want to drive a Barina. Well, not all gays – maybe only the really stereotype-ish gays. Of which there are a lot in Sydney.
But my Datsun will do me fine. It suits me perfectly – it’s just a crap car. In fact, when I first got my car in high school, I took my then-friend Lauren in it for a spin. She was my first passenger. She was sitting there for a while when she suddenly declared:
Lauren: This car needs a name.
Me: Yeah, that’s a good idea.
Lauren: Hmm.
Me: How about Homer or Ren? A cartoon character name.
Lauren: No, I don’t think a cutesy cartoon name would suit this car.
Me: Oh?
Lauren: No. This is a crap car. It needs a name to suit.
Me: (not sure what I should be thinking) Oh… right.
Lauren: Your car’s name is Crap.
Me: You’re going to call my car Crap?
Lauren: Yes. This car has a name, and its name is Crap.
Me: Is it really that crap a car, that you need to NAME it Crap?
Lauren: No, I think you’ve misunderstood me. Your car is crap, but it’s crap in a good way.
Me: Ahhh.
Lauren: Just like you. You’re crap too, but you’re crap in a good way.
Me: I think I’m starting to understand now.
That was almost a point of revelation for me. I think not only did Lauren name my car Crap, but she also named my life Crap. I don’t have any problem with this. I embrace crap. Crap is a way of life. Crap is good. Everything I do in life seems to be just a little bit crap. When I die, I want to leave behind a long legacy of crap. (I want my hearse to be a Datsun, too).
Have you ever tried asking someone a question while they’re in bed half-asleep? They never actually say out loud the words ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but they will only shake their head. The problem is, because they’re half asleep and lying down, it’s a sort of diagonal head shake that could be interpreted as either yes or no. You’ll ask them the question again to try and figure out what they’re trying to tell you, and they’ll just shake their head diagonally even harder. You just have to make up your own mind in the end, because if you ask more than three times, you get blamed for waking them up.
GST struck Australia yesterday. In case you’re overseas and haven’t got a GST in your own country, it’s a tax that’s now being imposed on all goods and services. Well, nearly all goods and services. There’s quite a few confusing exemptions and rules and it’s all a bit difficult to figure out. Especially if you woke up on Saturday morning with a hangover like I did, and stumbled into the service station to be confronted with GST pricing. It was just all too much to take in.
As I returned home, I could hear Wezza downstairs yelling ‘GST? FUCKING GST?!’ Presumably his drug dealer was trying to charge GST.
So in an attempt to help out the Australian public, I present: Jeb GST Tax Advice.
Today’s tip for consumers: Don’t buy chicken. (Too confusing).
Today’s tip for businesses: If you sell food, make sure you call it all ‘fresh food’.
As a public service, I will also be answering your GST questions. (Incorrectly). Today’s question is from… well, actually it isn’t from anyone. I made it up.
Can you please explain how the GST affects food pricing? It’s very difficult to understand.
Oh, it’s not that hard at all. Just remember: healthy food gets cheaper, nice food gets more expensive.