soundtrack to my life: sunny road by emiliana torrini

I was a 20 year old Arts student trying to figure out if I could be a writer, living in Brunswick, having just dragged myself through my then-boyfriend's first psychosis-induced hospital visit. Guess who has two thumbs and decided to move in with someone diagnosed with schizophrenia? This guy!

I'd lost my previous job working at a chocolate shop because of the afore-mentioned unexpected hospitalization of boyfriend, and once the dust had settled, had the tough reality check that I needed the pocket monies real bad. Living off Youth Allowance in Melbourne is challenging and requires levels of creativity I had not previously been exposed to. I was also concerned about having to give up the most important luxuries of an Arts student: coffee and cheap red wine.

My lovely love of a friend Bridget hooked me up with a sweet gig making shitty nachos and overdressed salads in the kitchen at The Retreat Hotel on Sydney Road. My interview: "Do you have black pants? Can you be here at 7?" The answer to both was yes, and I was in.

Even at the time I knew it was the sort of experience I'd reminisce about some 10 years later from the comfort of my much-better-paid career path job (jury's still out there, kids - give it another 10 years maybe). I had a sweet crew of mates in next to no time, and we good-naturedly tried not to burn each other, trip each other, or bury each other in plates stacked in death traps, all the while being secretly in love with each other and desperately pining for those two free knock-off drinks. I got to love a whole lot of rock and folk music chosen by the bar staff (always a little more self-important than the kitchen staff; they, after all, were not covered in oil and gravy), absorbing some excellent live bands through quiet lunchtime shifts. I ate a lot of cold chips.

This song was on high rotation on triple j one very hot summer. The kitchen was not airconditioned. I lived for the moment our boss shut the curtains, signalling the end of service and the start of the race to straighten up the kitchen before we could knock off. We'd work quickly, the radio blaring in our kitchen cocoon. Emiliana Torrini's beauty of a song made me nostalgic for a life I hadn't yet lived, shoulder to shoulder with people who I loved. This song makes me think of Bridget, McGregor, Georgia, Cesar and Ben and yes, even Lach. This song gives me that feeling of catching a flash of a breeze from the back door; a momentary relief from heat emanating from the grill and the ovens of that tiny space. Life seemed very busy in a way where nothing moved too quickly past the familiar and the fun. This song makes me wish just a little for another half-second of that juicy and glorious time.

photo: thursday 23

Working and showcasing my tattoo at the same time. Multitasker.

#fmsphotoadaynovember 5. 5 o'clock

this is boolominbah. it is an old building. it used to be a private residence, but since then it has been a functioning part of the university where i currently work, UNE. it is divided up into offices and special rooms for meetings, and a place to eat (that is varying degrees of tasty), and to get coffee.

i've been reading stories about it which have come across my path while working on a project, and the one that keeps striking me is that most of the university, in its first incarnation as New England University College (from 1938 to 1954 in fact), fitted into this one building. Granted, it is a big building, but students lived, ate, studied and hung out here. How did they all fit in??

Another element that interests me is its life as a private residence. i imagine servants and dressing up for dinner and etiquette in manner of Downton Abbey.

these are just some of the things i think about as i walk past this building every afternoon at 5 o'clock. one day i might make jennifer take me on a heritage tour. then i would definitely have more to share.

on a Friday: best and worst customer awards

best customer:

shallow, but this cute guy who i know from SOMEWHERE... who knows where, he probably sells me my coffee every day or something, anyway, he made a big donation of clothes and we swapped clever flirty banter each time he brought another bag in. it's the little things that make the day good.

fail = not finding out where he works or if he's leaving town, or staying here to buy me a drink sometime.

worst customer:

this dude came with 2 couches loaded onto a trailer. first of all i was busy helping someone else and he pretty much stopped me in what i was doing and demanded i help him right away. then one of the couches had a huge tear in it. the other smaller one was sellable. so i says to him i says, "we can take the smaller one, but i'm sorry, with a tear the bigger one won't sell, so i'll have to say no to it". and he says "well i'm taking them both to the dump then", gets in his car and drives off.

fail= he obviously got to the dump and didn't want to pay the dumping fees, so he left the smaller couch with us after all. his fail, not mine.
my fail was not being there when he brought the smaller couch back to give him a smug smile.

a very small rant about my job, and people, and community service

so i've had a few interactions with "customers" in the past week or so that have left me a little grumpy. probably annoyingly self-righteous too.

i work for community services, at their thrift store. the thrift store is responsible for over 80% of the funding for over 30 programs running in our area. these are programs such as youth outreach, food bank, the greenhouse project, kidsport, support networks for senior citizens, whistler survival guide... those are the big ones. we support more than 15 families in the area, helping them with rent, food, education, clothing... www.mywcss.org

our store runs on donations made by the community. we sort and price everything and it goes for sale. sure, i get paid, but there are a lot of volunteers putting in hours too, cleaning, sorting and organizing. 2 times a year myself and my manager drive to vancouver to compare the prices of other thrift stores with our store. some of the salvation army stores charge up to $400 for a bed. we charge $40 for the same set-up. likewise for books, clothes, linen.

so when a customer asks me to the furniture section for a price, then reacts by saying to their friend, "see, i told you this place screws you", when i have just asked for $30 for a $200 table, when the money is not going into my pocket but into the hands of people who need it, well, that's when i have to bite my tongue. which of course i do, because i am good at my job.

i guess what i mean is, people, not to be all touchy-feely, but love each other. help each other out.

please.

treasure:precious, precious time

10 minutes is really not enough time to blog when i also have to put shoes on and check in the mirror to make sure i don't look scary to other people, but i am going to blog briefly anyway.

i have felt for the last 4 months like i am running out of time. perpetually running out of time. it's probably because i have been working so much, and whenever i get a spare second all i want to do is sleep.

i need more time- time to read books and write poems and eat a proper dinner and go running and write letters to my long lost loved ones, the ones who i think of and miss and never get time to tell them so.

soon, oh so soon, i will have my weekends, and oh! the things i will do.

secret: too much sugar makes me overshare

i work at a supermarket, well i've given notice, so in a week i will no longer work there, but that is not the point- the point is right now, i work in a supermarket.

i worked there today. i also worked at my other job, the thrift store, which meant that i worked from 9.30am to 10.15 pm. not ideal.

to compensate i ate too much sugar.

then about 8.30pm i started telling personal things to total strangers (customers) and giggling in a somewhat hysterical manner at my own jokes, which were disjointed at best, and mostly competely random.

i wish i could be a bit cooler sometimes, that's all.

secret: i'm scared that if i have holidays for too long, i won't want to go back to work again. ever.

my job is assistant manager at a thrift store. sounds like the coolest job on the planet, right? well mostly it is, but i have a fairly intense boss, and i have a big workload too.

i currently have 2 weeks holidays, which makes me dizzy with excitement, except that i will get used to not having work run my life, and i won't want to go back. so. what to do?

perhaps just... not. go. back.

but then i can't afford to stay in whistler, and that makes me do a sad face :(

if i can't afford to stay in whistler then i cannot snowboard, drink excessively without any need for excuses, or see small black bears.

and small black bears are RE-ALLLY freekin cute.