The Sydney public transport system seems to be surviving the Olympics fine. I guess Sydney residents were secretly hoping things would majorly stuff up, and then the world would see how bad our train system is – thus forcing the government to upgrade it sufficiently. However, there is a reason why things are running well.
Sydney has already used up this month’s quota of train incidents over the past few months. Think about it: we’ve had heaps of extra delays and derailments than normal (although it is alarming that derailments are classified as ‘normal’), so it’s cancelled out the potential amount of accidents. Unless the rail system is doing the equivalent of holding its breath rather urgently until all the international visitors leave the country – sending out a tidal wave of derailments, spot fires and train line shutdowns as the collective network crashes. We’ll have to wait and see. Maybe we’ll be lucky and Central station will get bombed, and they’ll be forced to upgrade. Perhaps the Daily Telegraph, continuing it’s love-to-hate relationship with CityRail, could report the event written in a way suggesting that it wasn’t actually a bomb but a result of CityRail’s ‘neglect’ for the rail network.
I have to stop being so enthusiastic about wanting Sydney to get bombed.
But I repeat – we’ve already used up our quota of train incidents. Adam and I were stuck right in the middle of a major delay a few weekends ago – in fact, it was when Cam was visiting Sydney. We’d left the city and halfway home, an announcement blares through our carriage that they’re experiencing point errors (they love jargonization… and I love making up words when I’m not sure if they exist or not), and we were all forced to just hang around at the station. Nobody told us for over an hour what was happening – a great deal of cold, angry, tired passengers were milling around the concourse unsure of what to do. A reporter turned up and started taking photos – some folk thought it was a CityRail representative and prematurely abused him. Eventually some buses arrived to ferry us home, but Adam and I ended up getting home over 3 hours late. What really took the cake was when the CityRail station staff left for the night – in a taxi. They deserved all the heckling they got.
*****
I haven’t mentioned Wezza of late, because he’s been really quiet and well behaved. Wezza usually causes 80′s metal-induced frenzied parties every Friday and Saturday night (actually, Thursday night too – that’s dole day) that end either with a loud explosion followed by a lot of people leaving, or his toaster catching on fire or something. I think I’ve found the cause of his quietness, though.
Over the past few days I’ve noticed female company at his unit. He’ll constantly be seen with women hanging around him. He must have a bloody good personality because he’s certainly drawing inspiration for his appearance from a decade associated with hypercolour leg warmers.
I was walking home from the shops this week, and walked past him. Normally he looks at me like I’ve just performed oral sex on his mother, but today was different.
Wezza: Heh-hey!
He was even ANIMATED as he said this. Now, I’ve got problems with this. A muttered ‘Hey’ would have been fine, but that extra ‘heh’ seemed to communicate some sort of attitude. As if he demanded some sort of respect. As if he eminated some sort of coolness. (Not that I’m cool in any form or shape, but Wezza is Wezza). The two girls giggled and Wezza bobbed his head up and down happily. Heh-hey is not a greeting I approve of.
*****
In my depths of continuing unemployement, I decided to take a final visit to the city before it descended into sheer Olympic madness. I journeyed to the city on Wednesday – a weird time to be in the city, really – all Olympics arrangements were in place but the crowds hadn’t arrived yet.
I felt vastly out of place because I didn’t have one of the various neck tags and/or stupid coats everyone seemed to be wearing in the city. The Daily Telegraph was giving away a free Olympics concert guide in a neck tag with plastic wallet attached – I considered wearing that and flapping it around really fast so nobody noticed what it was, but decided better of it.
I noticed that one of the jazz bands playing in Hyde Park had the name George Washingmachine. I like.
I thought the best place to get the full tourist atmosphere would be Darling Harbour – the area of Sydney designed as a magnet for tourists (anywhere in the world featuring an Imax cinema is a strictly tourist-only zone). It’s rather silly that although most major cities of the world have an Imax screen, when you visit another big city on holiday (presuming you live in a major city yourself) you won’t hesitate to visit the local Imax. I love the way every single Imax screen promotes itself as ‘The largest in the world!’ – they can do this because they’re all the same size.
Because I’m a lazy bast, I decided to catch the tram to Darling Harbour. The person sitting next to me was attempting to purchase a $2.50 ticket with a $50 note. Trying to give a $50 note to a public transport worker is as pointless trying to get them to speak clearly (‘Next stop – Mmmblgghrrr!’) It’s always almost embarassing to pay for something with a $50 note (unless you’re somewhere upper class, I suppose). It’s the ‘Oh, sorry’ note, although you’re not sorry at all.
I offered to swap the guy’s $50 for some of my smaller denominations. He thanked me and introduced himself – he was Charlie from Canada, loves sport, visiting the Opening Ceremony and various sports events, and also, do I trim my goatee?
The goatee question was unexpected. My facial hair has never been a concern to other international tourists I’ve ever met. I got kinda embarassed – jumping from sport to intimate pieces of my body was a bit too early in our relationship for me – so I gently tried to steer the conversation back to the Opening Ceremony. Still he persisted with goatee questions. It got rather awkward when he tried to touch it, and I became convinced he was a gay man with a goatee fetish. People were starting to look at us as if he was lovingly fondling me – I was DEFINITELY not ready for this in such early stages of our relationship. Fortunately, it was my stop and I escaped Charlie from Canada rather quickly.
I think he unwittingly offended a couple of people on the tram. I suppose really, if it had’ve been a girl it would’ve been the norm, but I’m not in the mood for debating about all that stuff today.
I know some gay people who are absolutely militant when it comes to affection in public – they should be allowed to do what they want, when they want, and everyone has to put up with it. I think some of these people confuse obscenity with homophobia a lot of the time – I knew two lesbians in Melbourne who would snog rather passionately on public transport and question why people should tut-tut at them, but honestly if it was a man and a woman people would be saying the same thing.
But back to Darling Harbour. I stepped out of the tram and was immediately greeted by a pile of fresh steaming horse crap. To me, nothing says ‘Welcome to Sydney’ like a pile of fresh steaming horse crap. I suppose it was from one of the police horses circling the area, getting a little too excited by the Olympic spirit.
I stumbled upon a sign that announced ‘Olympic Information’ with an arrow pointing towards a large building, so I walked in there to see what was going on. I got a little worried when I spotted a metal detector and people flashing more passes. As soon as I walked in I was hassled and asked which media organisation I represented. Apparently it was a media-only event, so rather than bluff my way in I decided to walk a bit further up the road.
I realised that I was close to Star City, Sydney’s casino. I’d never been there before so I decided to go and have a look around. I was walking the entrance to one of the car parks when I was almost run over by a speeding convertible. Admittedly, he did have right of way, but… oh, why am I trying to justify this? I can blame my blind eye again. What was strange was the way the man screamed ‘Star Cityyyyyy!’ at me, as though I represented the entity of Star City itself, and was responsible for him almost killing me.
After looking at the prices of Casino drinks, I decided it would be far cheaper to duck into one of the nearby convenience stores to get a drink. I took a Dr Pepper to the woman at the cash register, and she clearly and succinctly pronounced ‘Is that all you want to buy?’ I nodded, and she replied ‘That’s two dollars. TWO DOLLARS. LITTLE GOLD COIN.’
‘What?’ I asked, a little confused at the Play School improvisation.
‘Oh, you speak English,’ she exhaled. ‘You’re probably the first English speaking person I’ve had here all day.’ ‘Sí, los turistas están por todas partes,’ I replied, and continued on my way.
The area was clearly buzzing with media types – I was sitting innocently sipping at my drink when I witnessed a Channel 7 four wheel drive pull up to the kerb suddenly, and Mike Whitney jump out of the passenger seat swearing. I resisted the urge to offer him $20 if he dared to swim in the harbour.
I retraced my steps and returned to the main harbour area, and saw an NBC film crew setting up some deckchairs on the jetty. Americans were running around everywhere with enough plastic passes round their necks to build a small house (which would, unfortunately, be made of plastic and therefore rather silly – but I repeat, they were Americans).
A large-ish crowd was jostling to take a look at what they were doing. I hung around in the back of the crowd for a while before attempting to walk back to the tram stop.
As I turned, I was confronted by a giant, scary NBC woman. ‘Are you from Sydney?’ she demanded.
Me: Yes, I am.
Scary NBC woman: Oh, great, great. (calls to nearby NBC people) Guys, I’ve found someone. Now, what I want you to do is look into the camera, wave and say ‘Welcome to Sydney’.
Me: Okay.
Scary NBC woman: Let me hear you say it.
Me: Welcome to Sydney.
Scary NBC woman: Right… now say it like… um…
Me: Say it in a really Aussie accent?
Scary NBC woman: YES! YES!
Me: (ocker) Welcome to Sydney.
Scary NBC woman: That was great. (pats me on back as if I’m a genuine novelty)
Me: (joking) I’ve got an akubra hat in my backpack if you want me to wear it.
Scary NBC woman: Really? REALLY? Akubra hat? Is that an Os-sie hat?
Me: I was joking.
Scary NBC woman: Oh.
*****
This is not the first time I have been on television. My glittering media career has included guest apperances on…
* Agro’s Super Sunday Show. On this particular episode, Agro was ‘sick’, so I was deflated – at age 10 my family was holidaying in Brisbane, where the show was taped. My moment of fame came when it was time for the Birthday Wall – a giant mural of caricatures of people, with the holes where the heads should have been (the kids stuck their heads through them). It was my birthday at the time, and for months leading up to the event, I had been planning to poke my head through the hole of the caricature of the weightlifter. When I actually got behind the wall, another kid already had his head through it. I stepped on his hand and my face replaced his as he howled in pain.
* Talk To The Animals. In my nerdy early teens, I was involved with some CSIRO science research projects. One of these included going to the Melbourne Botanical Gardens every weekend for about three months and counting the bats in the rainforest area of the park. Talk To The Animals taped a feature on the kids involved with it, and they interviewed me for around 30 seconds, until they found out a girl had just been peed on by a bat, so they ran off to talk to her instead.
* MTV. About three years ago I won tickets to The Falls, which is a music festival held over the New Years period in Lorne (only 20 minutes from my hometown, Torquay). The way I won the tickets was rather suspicious – I recieved a phone call from MTV, and all they wanted to know initially was if I could get to the venue myself, so they wouldn’t have to shell out for a plane trip for me. I still think that was rigged. A few days before the event, an MTV host came to my house with a camera crew to give me the tickets. When she arrived, she explained they were going to go back down the road, drive up to my front door, and I’d have to pretend that I didn’t know they were going to arrive. It was all going rather awkwardly because she wasn’t asking me questions yet still expecting me to say things. I don’t know what possessed me to ask it, but the first thing that came out of my mouth was ‘Weren’t you on Paradise Beach?’ She went all quiet and crimson and replied ‘Yes’, which was even more embarassing. For her, and for me.
*****
Then there was the Olympics Opening Ceremony. You’ve all probably seen it so I won’t talk about it too much here, but a few points:
* That ‘underwater’ sequence? One word. LSD.
* Chelsea Clinton appeared at the ceremony wearing the same set of clothes she’s been wearing the whole time she’s been here in Australia. She also looked bored as hell, half-heartedly waving her torch around as if she was wishing she was back home.
* I was very surprised when Julie Anthony began singing Advance Australia Fair that she didn’t try to flog St George Bank in the middle of it. (‘Australians all let us rejoice, St George accounts have really low fees..’)
* The torch, although impressive, looked like a large-scale model of the alien ship from Independence Day. It must’ve taken a lot of sci-fi nerds a lot of time to piece it together.
* Adam absolutely exploded when Dawn Fraser carried the torch through the stadium. I’ve noticed lately that he can’t stand the woman – I’ve got no idea why. I asked him about it:
Me: What is it with you and Dawn Fraser?
Adam: Oh my god. Get her off my television. I can’t stand the fat cow.
Me: But she was one of our best Olympians ever!
Adam: She’s a bloody whinger. Her name means ‘sunrise’. Oh my god. It’s like walking up to her and saying ‘Why, hello Sunrise’. I fucking hate her. Get her off.
Me: But you still haven’t explained yourself. What is it you don’t like?
Adam: She has the same name as a washing detergent for crying out loud!
Me: No, listen to me. What exactly don’t you like about her?
Adam: She whinges.
Me: When?
Adam: Remember how she almost went broke? She just whinged and whinged until people gave her money, and she thinks she can do that just because she’s famous.
Me: She was selling her trophies, you dolt. Of course she’ll get money for that. I think it’s bad she had to do that to get money.
Adam: Now see? That’s it exactly! I have trophies for kickboxing but you don’t see me waving them about and whinging whenever I get the phone bill, do you?
*****
I’m just recovering from a bit of a sick patch. I’ve had all sorts of illnesses lately, from feverish flu-like symptoms to good old fashioned blood vomiting. I was going through some sort of viral megamix, but still had some sniffles until Friday.
I’ve been mentioning this job I want to get on here for a few weeks now. I don’t understand what the big hold up is – I think the guy who runs the company is just so busy that he hasn’t had time to make a decision between me and the other person yet. I got a call from a recruitment agency I’ve dealt with recently on Tuesday to let me know they had a job I might be interested in – it certainly sounded good, so I agreed to take an interview with them. I thought I could use this as a ‘backup’ job, in case I didn’t get the job I wanted.
I arrived at the building for this new company and was immediately blown away. It’s a giant open plan office built only a few months ago, and is so futuristic. The view over the bay is absolutely spectacular, too. Everyone was wearing casual clothes which would make a nice change for me. Although this job paid less and wasn’t as “important” as the other job I was hoping to get, I started to think that perhaps it would make my life a lot less stressful and I’d have a job I’d be happy to go to every day.
I tried to impress the interviewer. I was especially conscious of my sniffly nose – I didn’t want to do anything that would leave an impression on the guy. If he was trying to decide between me and one other person, what’s to say he wouldn’t think ‘Ah, that’s the sniffle guy’ and hire the other person? I was worrying about all sorts of things – the sniffly nose, how scruffy my hair was, how visible my nipples were through my shirt.
We were sitting in a very sunny office for the interview, and my feet were in the sun. Eventually my shoes started to heat up and began burning my feet because they got so hot. There was no escape from the sun, I just had to squirm uncomfortably for the duration of the interview. I was told they’d interviewed a lot of people and were making a shortlist of people to have a second interview tomorrow, so they’d call me.
I got a call back that evening – they wanted to see me again on Thursday. Cool, I thought. Maybe I’ve kinda got a chance at this job.
This time I had a meeting with someone higher up in the organisation. The first thing she did was offer me something to drink. I asked for water (I always ask for water – the whole coffee thing is a little too confronting for me in interviews, and I worry that Coke could be seen as a little lame or childish. Yes, I overanalyse).
‘Water?’ she repeated, as if I’d made the wrong response from a multiple-choice question, to which there was a hidden correct answer. ‘Would you like fizzy water?’ she offered, as if hinting towards the response I should have given. ‘Yes, yes, fizzy water!’ I quickly requested.
I didn’t even know there was such a thing as fizzy water, until I found out it was actually just mineral water. We sat down in her office and I tried to open the bottle, but my fingers were just slipping off the cap. I’m not the strongest guy in the world, and to make things worse, I can’t really use any mechanisms such as bottle openers, can openers or corkscrews. Opening difficult containers usually involves grabbing one of Adam’s big knives and just stabbing until the damn thing opens.
Quickly concluding that an impromptu stabbing of the bottle in this interview could be markedly symbolic of how successful my interview would go, I continued to try to open it. Once again I was worrying that she would remember this little incident. She’d make some sort of little note on her pad. ‘Can’t perform simple tasks.’ Something like that. ‘Too crap to open small bottle.’ Eventually I opened it by putting it under the desk, wrapping my tie around the cap and opening it like that.
I gulped down most of the drink once I’d opened it because I was quite thirsty. Thus began the battle not to burp loudly whenever the lady asked me a question.
Interviewer: So what would you say was one of your biggest achievements in your career?
Me: (loudly) BWAAAARP!
Interviewer: (takes down frenzied notes)
If the burp battle wasn’t bad enough, her office fitted right in with the cool decor of the environment. She had weird little trinkets all around her office that kept distracting me. When she asked me about my previous employment, I couldn’t help but notice she had a Pop-Ball – I hadn’t seen one of these since I was in primary school. When I was questioned about what my longterm career goals were, I was momentarily distracted by three lava lamps blobbing innocently at me. When she inquired about what I wanted in a job, I was busy wondering why she had a fireman’s hat on top of her monitor.
However, the interview seemed to go well. She commented I was the only person she’d spoken to that day who actually opened up and kept talking – she really had to pry and question the other interviewees, apparently. She said she’d let me know the next day when they’d made a decision on who to hire.
Friday morning, I recieved a call to say I’d got the job. I’ve decided to take this over the other job I wanted – this just seems like such a funky, groovy atmosphere. Hell, the office even has a built-in bar. Most of the employees are in their early 20′s, so I’m sure to make a lot of friends my age, and they’ll be sure to be on my wavelength – it’s a very net-oriented company. I’m really looking forward to it. They even said they don’t mind what time I turn up on Monday because of the Olympic crowds, as long as it’s before midday-ish. I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to wear, because although most people were wearing casual clothes, there were a few suits floating around. I’ll take the safe option and wear something in between, I guess.
Very excited, but I have to break it to my other job agency that I won’t be taking their job. They’re going to be a little peeved, especially because they’ve been arranging this for me for three weeks. Then again, do they expect me NOT to look for work during that time period? The guy handling me there always sounds like he’s on the verge of crying so I’m going to feel a little bad. I’ll have to call him tomorrow.
*****
Me: It’d be cool if we lived somewhere where I could catch the ferry to work every day.
Adam: I used to do that. It was fun.
Me: What’s the difference between the normal ferries and the Jetcats?
Adam: Well… (spoken as if he’s talking to a small child) They’re faster. Hence the ‘jet’ part of the name.
Me: Ohhh. So are they.. quiet?
Adam: Yes… hence the ‘cat’ part.
Me: Cats aren’t that quiet.
Adam: Yes they are.
Me: No, I think a true Jetcat would roar across the water going Raaaaawwwwwwwrrrr.
*****
Reasons My Mother Shouldn’t Be Allowed On The Internet, #85:
From a recent email:
Ah, I found a fantastic internet site the other day. I’m staying up later and later every night just looking at weird things. I found a brilliant page dedicated to torturing marshmallow rabbits, you know I’ve always loved torture!
*****
My Top Five Favourite Adam Looks
1. Angry
2. Beating Up An Inanimate Object
3. Tired
4. Just Woken Up
5. Can’t Find His Jeans
*****
Me: I had a bad dream last night.
Adam: Oh?
Me: Yeah. I dreamt two clubber-gays (our term for the very-gay variety of gay guys) were talking to you, and you decided you’d had enough of me.
Adam: Hahah.
Me: It’s weird though, because a lot of things in dreams actually mean the opposite to what they seem.
Adam: Really?
Me: Yeah, so it could mean that we’ll be together for a long time.
Adam: See, there you go.
Me: Of course, another ‘opposite’ interpretation’ could be that I leave you instead, so HA!
*****
I saw a really bad incident of road rage yesterday. I’ve seen people yelling at each other before, but this involved the police.
I was walking past the shops, which are adjacent to a one-way street. A car was hurtling down the street the wrong way, and someone was just about to pull in to the road. They yelled at each other when they almost crashed, and then the car going the right way parked nearby. The other car reversed rather quickly back to the other car, and a yelling match ensued.
One of the young Westies in the car that reversed jumped out of his car, and the guy from the other car stomped over and started punching him. The nearby fish and chip shop guys ran over and seperated them, and dragged one of them close to me. I retreated into a nearby bakery for safety, and watched with another man from there.
One of the other Westies then emerged from the car with a knife, and proceeded to run over to the other car and start trying to slash the tyres. Upon seeing this, the owner of the car ran over to stop him, when the guy turned around and stabbed him in the leg. It was a bit freaky seeing that happen. The guy in the bakery called the cops, and the fish and chip shop guys held everyone down. I hung around long enough for the police arrive, because I was the only person who had seen them almost crash their cars – I had to give evidence.
The sneaky thing was, when I was standing in the bakery transfixed by the unfolding events, the bakery woman managed to sell me a pie. She must have asked me ‘Would you like a pie?’, and me, not even listening to her, probably just muttered ‘Yeah’. So as I walked back home with a pie in my hand, I could barely remember even purchasing it.
If I ever become a salesperson, I want to be good enough to sell to people in moments of distress too.