Firstly, I should explain/apologise about the delay in updating; basically, I have been working flat out, often rising at 4.45 am, and from that point onwards I have spent my days at a keyboard and monitor, so updating my blog didn't appeal. I've also come down with a cough and a cold, but more about both later.
Many moons ago (Monday 15th August to be precise), my early morning antics were put into practice when I arose at 5 am to watch some crap football team attempt to play the beautiful game. (I am vowing never to write about them again) At this particular time of my life I was still working for my ever-oh-so-appreciative boss in my soulless admin role, but at the time I was satisfied knowing that the end was neigh. For that week I only had two days to put up with him and his antics as I was to starting a twelve day project working on the local election the following day (Wednesday 17th). Alas, I wasn't going to embark on any political lobbying, but instead I, along with some 250 others, were in charge of counting the votes.
Before I go on to explain the debacle that was to follow at my forthcoming employment opportunity, that very Monday in question had the potential to cause me great bother, solely because the Sydney CBD was due to be closed for the Olympic homecoming parade. I happen to work on the very street which was due to be closed (George Street) and four years ago, after their successful exploits in Athens some 100,000 people turned up to welcome them home. Imagine my anguish when finding this out: I had to endure a boss in a role I needed but disliked, but I potentially faced not making it to work for something I couldn't care about. Luckily, however, the green and gold fared less well shall we say (I could use a number of expletives, as I regularly do to Lysey about her nation's Olympic performance) and the numbers were not that of four years ago. Moreover, this potential hazard turned out to be a massive bonus; the streets were deserted meaning this proud Englishman, knowing we beat Australia and sundry in the medal tables, could stroll around the city in the roads.
After those two days I was bracing myself on becoming a social recluse for the next two weeks, because my daily routine would take on the following: arise at 4.45 am, get two trains to work to begin at 7 am, finish at 2.30 pm, and return home about 4 pm - 5 hours before bed time. I am not expecting a medal for my working exploits - I know of many people who work similar hours and I never read blog sites of their daily routines. (These people are computer illiterate, however. You know who you are.) I also know people have got it much tougher than me - after all, all I have to do is arise at 4.45 am, but people in Darfur for example have much more to endure, but again, you never see blogs appearing from anyone in Sudan so I'll continue.
Despite my negative outlook I was actually looking forward to the role because I was going to be working alongside some 200 other people, so I viewed it as a social opportunity. However, as soon as I entered the warehouse that was going to be my office for the next twelve days my demeanour soon changed for the worse. Once I stepped inside the dusty, but extremely spacious warehouse, the organisation was terrible; picture 200+ people gathered around a desk consisting of four informants (all from the employment agency in charge of recruiting for the project - and they must have chosen the four dumbest people on their books) and they were calling out the names, much like a school register, and they were informing them what team they would be assigned to. Unlike the school registers I was use to in England, however, people in this place didn't have your regular names of Steve, John, or a Clive. Instead, they were dealing with people who originated from Vietnam, China, or anywhere in the Far East (globalisation hadn't taken a hold on Taunton during my school days), so they were phonetically pronouncing their names, which sounded hideous, or spelling them out character by character.
As you can imagine, this was most time consuming. Why not put a sign up listing all the names' of the people due to work, and alongside designate them a team and an area to report to? Not rocket science, I know, and I, along with a dozen or so people were moaning about the mismanagement. At this stage I was rather polite about my views despite slating everything that the employment agency in question stood for, mainly because I talking to a lass from South Africa and another from Vietnam. However, the agreeing and subtle tone shared by the three of us was soon broken when I heard, in a Mancunian accent, a chap bleat: "This is shit!" I had to laugh about how brazen and northern this particular person was, but he was only saying what we were all thinking.
Anyway, after an hour or so of complete mayhem, some 200+ people were allocated their seats, leaving about 15 of us, including yours truly and my Mancunian mate, awaiting a desk or some sort of outcome. At this time the morons from the agency were trying to judge how many computers were available to see if they could get us to make up the numbers. (That 'us' being the people who had risen at 4.45 am and had travelled an hour or so to be told this.) I could tell from my vantage point how many computers were free just by subtracting the number of people who had failed to turn up against the amount of computers in operation, but my common sense approach seemed oblivious to all and sundry. I soon explained my theory to my expletive Lancastrian friend, along with my suggestion that they could have made the whole registration process user friendly with some simple signage, and he responded by suggesting I work for the agency and run the show. I told him that my nephew could do a better job running this pantomime and he's only 1 and-a-half-years-old (I think).
Lo and behold, I was sent home an hour or so after arriving. I was far from happy about the situation, as you may imagine, but a number of hours later that day (Wednesday 17th) I had a phone call from the same agency guarantying me work, on the election, the next day. I was also told that the work would last for the duration - up until Friday 26th. So, it was back to the early nights, but I didn't mind as I knew I would be sat at a computer on easy street. (That's how the work was described to me, anyway.)
However, when I rocked up the next day I was told I would be working as a labourer, preparing and collating the ballot sheets. Again I was far from happy, especially as my new title was operating on less pay in comparison to the computer work, and I was also not dressed for lugging sacks around a warehouse. All that was required was some basic communication - an alien concept to this agency - informing me of my specific role and I wouldn't have minded. At least this way I would have worn proper shoes, and not the dap-type shoes I decided to wear for a job working on a computer.
The upside of this particular work, however, was the overtime and the nonsensical chat. The place was one big anomaly; on the one hand they were paying us overtime on the Friday (19th), but on the other, the Thursday, they were getting us to work slowly because there simply wasn't enough to keep us occupied for the day. We did manage to stay busy for that Thursday (18th), however - all thanks to our deliberate time wasting. My method of choice was being taught how to count in Nepalese as I was working alongside someone from Kathmandu (I remember the number six was 'toh', but that was about it. Their language, as it seemed to me, had a French dialect, but I wasn't any good at that either), and I also got speaking to someone in depth who was on Ramadan. This particular person wasn't allowed to eat or drink during sunlight, and on those two days it was 30 degrees+, so I felt sorry for the lad every time I took a sip of water. It was interesting hearing his viewpoints while he was explaining his devoutness and sacrifices, nonetheless.
My sacrifices in getting up an ungodly hour paid off on Saturday (20th) when I was plucked from the cesspit of labour and promoted to the computer. I can see why it was labeled 'easy street' by one of my fellow colleagues; the job was a doddle inputting the results and then checking them to ensure they were correct. Luckily, the job lasted for the Sunday, too - both days offering overtime rates, but that's where the luck ran out as we were all given the boot that very day (21st) because we managed to get all the work done. Our efficiency was our own downfall, despite promises from the inept agency that the work would last until the following Friday.
In Australia it is law that everyone has to vote otherwise they get a $50 fine. In my opinion, there are pros and cons to this approach; one pro is that nobody can complain about who's in charge as everyone has voted, but the one con in contrast is do people take it seriously or are they voting to avoid a fine? It's fair to say not everyone took the voting process seriously, but that's all I can as I am sworn to secrecy - and we all know what happened the last time I spoke out.
Anyway, enough on a brief guide to Australian politics as I was back on the unemployment heap come the start of the week (Monday 22nd). Expecting some 200 or so people to be bombarding the agency I decided to hold fire until later that day when I made a call (why did I rely on the same agency? They've given me nothing but trouble so I don't know what I was thinking) and luck had it (or bad luck as I am about to explain) that I found work starting the next day - Tuesday 23rd.
My new role was an admin role, and like most beforehand, it was soulless. I was working for a international watch maker and my job was to input various bits of paperwork relating to on-going repairs and to also deal with customers over the phone about the progress of their watches. It's not my type of work at all - I have never worked in a call centre type environment and I never want to. I do not have the required customer service skills for such a role, and I see that as being a reason why I don't want to return.
Before setting off on that Tuesday I read of an adage about attitudes. It stated: 'Attitudes are contagious - is yours worth catching?" Well, I was working alongside a German who had never heard of Lynx or any other brand of deodorant and an Irish lass who slagged off every customer she dealt with. It's fair to say neither attitude was worth catching, but I ironically caught a cold from the German who was teaching me the ropes. I have since been off work as I have come down with a virus and I expect my contract to be terminated. One other downfall of the job was that the office had no air conditioning; I had drank all my water inside 20 minutes and with summer looming I can't see myself tolerating the heat of that place.
I was, however, working alongside an Aussie who's soon going to be teaching English to immigrants. She definitely had an attitude worth catching, and I would love to do that kind of work. In order to be considered I'd need to complete three months of further education training, which is not possible on my current visa (I would need a student visa meaning I could only work for 20 hours a week. On my current visa - a working holiday visa - I am not entitled to any form of education). If I was to return to these shores with Lysey to set up shop I may consider working in such a field.
Anyway, I received my first piece of luck in the work related arena on my very first day at the new job. It was a windy lunch time, and I was pondering whether to return or not when I checked my answer phone messages', and I had indeed received one from the fire brigade - my employers for four months or so last year. They were asking me to return this Monday (29th) and I have agreed to do so. In my previous stint at the fire brigade I was employed by the same morons as those who found me the election role, but this time around I was advised to apply with a different agency as the brigade no longer deal with the company I was initially with. To my great surprise, through this new agency I am on $4 more an hour than I was with the previous clowns, thus justifying my reason why I owe them nothing. I haven't informed them that I have found a new job and I don't think I will. I have told them I have been ill, which is true, but I didn't tell them I wasn't enjoying my new role and that I have no intentions to return. While at the election role one of the informants told me I am too honest and that I should lie more often in order to find work, so consider me doing as I am told. The irony.
As I have been off work since Tuesday I am attempting to get myself fit for my mother and my nan who both arrive this Tuesday (30th). It's been something like 20 months' since I last saw them, and Skype or MSM Messenger aren't the same, so I am looking forward to their company and to showing them the place I consider to be my current home. I have plenty in store for their three week holiday so it promises to be good.
In order to aid my battle to be fit I have been enjoying some Miso soup. For all of those not in the know, Miso soup comes with sushi and it is packed with plenty of goodness, such as tofu and seaweed. Before leaving Blighty I could never picture myself eating such foods, but I swear by it. The next time you're ill reach for the Miso and not the Lucozade. (Why was that deemed good for you whenever you were ill?)
Finally, just to emphasise how much of a different man I am from the time I left England, both Lysey and I got a joint bank account this week (Thursday 25th). We need this for our forthcoming trip to Fiji, and it's a big step I know, but I trust her and I think she trusts me.
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