The last thing I ever heard the DJ Accountant say was ‘BLSSSSSSHHHH’, the last thing I ever heard Know-It-All-Paul say was ‘VIRUSES!’, and the last thing I ever heard Parappa the Rapper say was ‘I wish I could rip his spine out and use it as a weapon’.
It was my last day at work on Friday, and as I jobhunt, I wonder if I’ll ever work with such strange yet interesting people ever again.
The reason the DJ Accountant was saying BLSSSHHH all day Friday is because he has a cold. Unfortunately, he has a rather piss-weak sneeze. It sounds similar to train doors closing. BLSSSHH.
I like the way my sister sneezes. It’s never the same sneeze twice. She’s a walking jukebox of nasal noise samples.
Know-It-All-Paul was screaming ‘VIRUSES!’ at me because we were having an argument over what the plural of ‘virus’ was. I think the argument began when we were talking about how sick the DJ Accountant was. Unfortunately, Know-It-All-Paul is the kind of guy who refuses to believe he’s wrong. Even more unfortunately, so am I. I was convinced that the plural of virus was virii (don’t ask why), and he thought it was viruses. I checked the dictionary when I got home, and he was actually right. Still, virii sounds like a cool word. I might use it if I my career somehow (heh) leads into dance music: DJ Virii.
As for Parappa the Rapper, he was simply voicing his frustrations about the lack of weapon options in Quake 3.
*****
On Friday I sent an email to everyone in the company all over Australia, to let them know I was leaving. I always enjoyed the bulk emails people send out when they’re leaving the company. They’re always full of not-so-subliminal messages that they think the company is fucked, with a few select phrases such as ‘regain some FOCUS’, ‘figure out my DIRECTION’ and ‘time for a CHANGE’ in bold and italics.
After I sent out my goodbye email on Friday morning, I recieved a torrent of email from other employees I knew. It seems most of them wanted to tell me that they had plans to leave too. It was rather strange. Did this happen to every employee who left the company? It’s not as if I had an important position or anything, but suddenly I was being treated as some sort of authority on resignation. I mostly told people just to do the best for themselves, because that’s what I was doing.
The integrity of another word besides virii was debated on Friday by myself. In some departments of work on Friday there was a mufti day. I’ve heard this ‘mufti’ word thrown around a bit since I moved to Sydney – apparently it means when you’re allowed to go to school/work in casual dress. I never heard this word once when I was living in Victoria.
I raised the issue with Adam, suggesting that mufti sounded far more like a goat-type animal than an excuse to not wear business clothes. We checked the dictionary and mufti is a bona fide word, which is interesting. Mufti, mufti, mufti.
‘Mufti’ days at my high school were always interesting. I remember there was always one kid who forgot there was a mufti day on, and wore their uniform to school by mistake. It was always rather exciting to see who we’d get to pick on – it was always even better if the kid didn’t live near the school, so they couldn’t go home to get changed. Of course, I was in that position once and had to wear my uniform all day while everyone laughed. I think the only thing more embarassing than turning up in uniform on a mufti day would be being a member of Sunk Loto, who as far as I can see are the Colette of metal.
*****
Some other people I said goodbye to were the big clients I dealt with over the phone with on a day to day basis. I got to know the people at these organisations quite well, and we’d often chat about all sorts of things.
One of the women I dealt with got to be quite a good friend. We were talking about the furor surrounding the Olympics Closing Ceremony (furor surrounding the Olmypics? What next!) If you’re not in Australia, maybe you haven’t heard about the planned feature act for the Closing Ceremony. They’re planning a celebration of successful Australian films, so we’re going to have Paul Hogan leading out a float of that oh-so-true-to-everyday-Australian-life flick Crocodile Dundee, amongst other films.
The reason there’s so much kerfuffle is the planned Priscilla: Queen of the Desert float. For those unfamiliar with the film, it features three drag queens making their way across the Australian desert in a bus. Certain media outlets are trying to make it look like the closing ceremony is celebrating drag queens in general, but it’s simply celebrating the film.
I saw a side of my friend on the phone that I’d never seen before that day. She started ranting and raving about how she thought it was a disgrace that these people should be allowed in the Closing Ceremony, and that they should all be shot. Sheesh. I know the customer is always right, but I didn’t know they would necessarily be the FAR right.
I know there’s one Australian movie that they won’t be celebrating in the Closing Ceremony. Actually, after I thought up this idea I saw it brought up on an ABC news program a few days later – the bastards stole my idea. Anyway: I guess nobody wanted to celebrate Romper Stomper. One of the movies which brought Russell Crowe to the public’s eye – and I’m sure we can all see an Olympic stadium full of skinheads chasing around all sorts of racial minorities.
*****
After work on Friday, I caught the train to Adam’s work – we were going to the pub with a friend of his. His friend rang Adam’s mobile and gave us some decidedly vague directions – Adam wasn’t too sure which pub he was talking about, but I thought I did. That was such a moment of glee – finally, I knew more about Sydney than someone who’d lived here since childhood!
Off we trotted into North Sydney. North Sydney reminds me a lot of South Melbourne – it’s basically yuppie central. At least South Melbourne doesn’t have as many yuppie pubs as North Sydney, though. The streets are a bit weird in North Sydney, too. The street blocks were mostly triangles rather than squares as far as I could see. I wonder if the guy who designed Canberra’s going-around-in-circles city plan was responsible for this.
We walked around some triangles looking for the pub, and my confidence was soon deflated as the pub I thought the guy was talking about proved to be non-existant. I was sure I’d walked past the pub we were looking for a few days ago when I met with a job interviewer, but said pub was actually a printing company or something. We ended up walking full circle around a few blocks (well, full triangle) before we realised we were lost.
We decided to just go and sit in the pub closest to the directions we’d been given. It was around this time that Adam warned ‘Oh, before you meet him, there’s one thing…’
I hate it when people say this right before I meet someone.
‘There’s one thing. He’s not gay, even though he appears really really gay. So don’t say anything about us. Or him for that matter.’
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Is he a bit girly or something?’
‘Well, kinda,’ Adam replied. ‘That, and the leather pants.’
It really does make me uncomfortable when people warn me of some quirk a person I’m about to meet has. It means there’s a chance for me to slip up in conversation. That little worry is always there. And because I’m conciously trying not to mention whatever quirk they have, I usually end up mentioning it anyway. A long time ago, a friend I made at uni and I were going out in Melbourne one night. Right before I introduced him to friends, he said ‘There’s one thing. You have to introduce me as Fletcher to everyone.’ His name wasn’t Fletcher. I don’t have any idea who Fletcher is, but whenever my friends met him again, he had to be known as Fletcher. Of course, as soon as I spotted my group of around ten friends at the pub we were going to, I announced ‘Hi everyone, this is my friend Joel,’ and Joel/Fletcher walked out the door.
As time went on, Adam and I had a few drinks (my first since my little alcohol ban after the knife episode), and still no sign of the leather panted one who wasn’t gay. Adam tried ringing the guy’s phone but it was turned off. Eventually we got sick of waiting and went home.
It was when we arrived at Town Hall station that Adam realised we were supposed to meet the guy at his office rather than the pub. This explained why there wasn’t a pub at the address we’d been given.
But yes, North Sydney. I’ve applied for a few jobs around that area, so I wonder it would be like working in an environment like that. I’d have to yupp-ise myself, something I’ve only done once. That was when I got my first full time job on a measly wage, but man, I felt rich. It sure beat Austudy, in any case. (Actually, I don’t think I was ever eligble for Austudy while I was at uni… I got Mumstudy or something).
I noticed a Burger King was alive and operational in North Sydney. Seems all the Hungry Jacks stores are morphing into Burger King outlets now (but let’s not open that can of worms, lest I get email from Burger King HQ again). Burger King seem to pride themselves on the fact that if you want more lettuce, you can have it. If you want more tomato, you can have it. If you don’t want the pickle, they can do that too. But what I’d really like to ask them for is:
Me: I’ll have a Whopper, with no bun thanks.
Burger King denizen: What?
Me: A Whopper. With no bun.
Burger King denizen: Hang on. (checks with supervisor) No, we can’t do that.
Me: It’s not much to ask.
Burger King denizen: Well, we just can’t do it.
Me: Oh, I see. So you don’t reduce your profability, eh? I was still prepared to pay the full price, you know.
Burger King denizen: Uhm… yeah.
Me: In that case, I’d like to have EXTRA bun, thanks.
Burger King denizen: (sighs)
And while we’re on the subject of fast food…
To: webmaster@kfc.com
Subject: Satisfied customerDear Sir/Madam,
I would like to thank you for the fantastic service you have provided to me over the past six months.
Over this period I have been working at a location near a KFC outlet. Despite your morally questionable advertising which desecrates the fond memories many have of The Colonel (he would be turning 360 degrees in his grave if he saw those caricatures of himself swivelling his hips, chanting ‘Go Colonel, Go Colonel’); I have found your outlets to provide a very satisfactory service.
No other plastic surgery program could have instilled breasts such as those I now sport, except for KFC. I am indebted and gratified, and will recommend your service to everyone I know.
Kind regards,
Jeb
*****
Well, you probably won’t believe it, but I wouldn’t believe it if someone said it to me either. I don’t really care. This was a conversation I had with the woman I was talking about the Closing Ceremony with last week:
Woman: So why did you quit the job?
Me: Oh, I don’t know. I guess it wasn’t my thing, I really didn’t enjoy it.
Woman: Oh, well, duh! Tell me something about you that I don’t know!
Me: I had sex with an AFL football player.
Woman: WHAT?
Me: I said, I had sex with an AFL football player.
Woman: …….
Me: You asked me to tell you something about myself that you didn’t know.
Woman: Are you having me on?
Me: No! I had sex with an AFL player. Last year.
Let me explain.
Last year, after I broke up with the bong guy I was talking about before, I was a little upset about things. I didn’t feel I’d ever meet anyone decent. A friend of mine was going through Pinkboard (now we all remember THAT personals site, don’t we?) and found an entry that read something like ‘I have a fantasy about doing it in my footy jumper’. The friend was joking that I should respond to the ad.
Well, he ended up not joking at all, because he responded to the ad on my behalf. He seemed to think it would be just the thing to cheer me up. (In the end it actually made me worse, but never mind that). So I went ahead with it, and the deed was done. I didn’t really enjoy it at all – I’ve never liked doing things casually.
A few days later, it ocurred to me: what if he really was a proper AFL player? I remembered the team colours he was wearing, and the number… a quick check on afl.com.au later, and what do you know: it was the same guy. I never really told anyone because I didn’t think anyone would necessarily believe me, but all I will say is this: he played for Richmond last year. Meh, heh, heh.
Shit, I hope I’ve told this to Adam before.
*****
Jen rang on Friday (I used to work with her). She’d just gotten back from a rather bad holiday – she broke up with her girlfriend.
Jen: I’m a bit sad now, but I guess things will get better in time.
Me: Yeah, they should. I haven’t had a lot of experience in relationships I guess, but things work themselves out.
Jen: I sure hope so.
Me: They do. Anyway, there’s plenty of other fish in the sea.
Jen: (roars) WHAT?
Me: (quickly realising I’ve said the wrong thing) Um… um… I didn’t mean it like that…
Jen: Oh my god. This is my ex-girlfriend we’re talking about. (voice falters)
Me: Jen, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it the way we-
Jen: My girlfriend has broken up with me, and all you can come up with is some sort of dodgy fish metaphor?
Me: Um…
Jen: (rambling) You wouldn’t have said that if she was killed in a car crash, would you?
Me: Jen, I think-
Jen: You wouldn’t have said, oh, (does a rather accurate impression of me) Gee Jen, never mind. There are plenty of other girls out there who have the advantage over your ex of not being dead.
*****
Way My Parents Traumatised Me, Number One: When I was very young, my parents took me to this dodgy theme park in Melbourne called Wobbie’s World. They have a ride where you sit in a little firetruck, which runs along a track. They gave us all fireman’s hats and it was all very theatrical. Of course, as a child, I wanted to sit behind the wheel. I was very excited, when the guy operating the ride said:
Wobbie’s World carnie: Make sure yer steer that wheel good.
Me: Why?
Wobbie’s World carnie: See that yellow pole ahead?
Me: Yes…
Wobbie’s World carnie: Well, if yer don’t steer the wheel, the yellow pole will be red.
I turned this over in my head, and was overcome by a mild wave of panic. I turned to my parents – always a reliable source of reassurance – to ask them if I really was going to be steering the ride, and they laughed – probably thinking that I WANTED to steer the ride – and said ‘Oh, of course you will be!’
That was the most terrifying ride of my life. I even had nightmares afterwards where I would find myself in my parents car, and be forced to drive it around, not knowing how to work the brakes, and eventually plunging over a cliff into the sea.
Ways My Parents Traumatised Me, Number Two: My sister was stung by a bee when she was about 4, and I was a bit scared by the amount of pain she seemed to be in. After it was all over, I asked my mum if many people got stung by bees.
My mum: Oh, it happens to all sorts of people, all the time.
I somehow interpreted that to mean that it was inevitable I would one day be stung by a bee. It was a life event that simply had to happen before you reached a certain age. I was terrified of most flying insects from that point onwards.