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March 2009
Kirsten gets her driver's licence
Immigrants love a challenge
I'm still not used to :
The ride of my life
My word is my word
Kirsten gets her driver's licence
There’s a quote by Henry Ford I like… Whether you think you can or whether you think you can’t… you’re right.
It makes a lot of sense, but of course we all know that it’s easier said than done.
After successfully passing my learners theory test, it was now time to get on with the practical.
Legally, when you land in Australia as a permanent resident, you have 3 months in which to convert your licence. What many fail to mention is that once you pass your learners, you are forced to get your drivers within 1 month… Furthermore, if you fail the first time, you have to wait another 14 days before you can redo the practical. So if you work out the math… you technically only get enough time to do it once, with a push maybe twice. For those that fail, well… my sympathies go out to you.
Once passing the learners theory and new Australian driver has to complete a 50 hour driver’s log book, with an experienced driver. Only once they have completed this log bog, can they apply for their P1 - provisional licence (and have a big plastic P plate stuck on the bag of the car). Once they have completed a hazard perception test (?) and vehicle on road test can they then apply for a P2 licence. At any time can their P2 licence be downgraded back to a P1, and a P1 back to a learners licence…
It’s all just crazy, and it would take at least a year to get a full South Australian drivers licence. I reckon it would take me about 3 years…
Anyway, failure wasn’t an option and Bernard got in touch with the driving instructor and arranged my first lesson the very next day - some might think motivated, I just kept thinking overeager… overboard… insane… mad… and all I wanted to do was act like an ostrich.
You see, I thought ‘I can’t’… I can’t drive an automatic; I can’t drive an Aussie ‘tank’… I mean I am 5 foot ‘high’ for goodness sake. How could I see over the dashboard LET ALONE parallel park?!!
On the day of my lesson I asked Bern to phone the instructor and cancel, he just raised an eyebrow, and hid the phone… I even begged him to do it for me… what was I thinking?!? And who was I kidding?! Bern should have stuck a big giant ‘L’ on my forehead, not for learner… more like for loser!!!
Minutes before the instructor was due to arrive; Bern shoved me out the house with a kiss and a wave… My stomach was churning… How could Bern be so unfair and uncaring I thought, why did I have to go through this… until it dawned on me… Bern had to do it too…
Would you believe that after a couple of successful driving lessons, and bucket loads of sweat, I actually began to enjoy driving the ‘tank’… Being five foot was no challenge when I had power steering and a 3.5 litre V6 on my side.
The observe, gear, indicate, observe, drive routine was becoming second nature and I realised that I could actually do this. I could actually pass… and in fact I could escape the tedious Australian driving system that those poor Australians have to endure.
I was ready, with the attitude of I CAN!
But, the ‘I CAN’ attitude didn’t help two days before the practical when I had a nasty fall off the bike.
Picture this… 3:10pm, all the school children milling about, cars driving up and down, parents chatting and me riding with Becca attached on her trailer bike.
She tends to wobble a tad (perhaps an understatement), and on Thursday she decided to wobble, just as I was making my way between a passing car, a number of hysterical children and slow walking parents. And as she wobbled hers, my bike did too, but my foot was stuck in my left pedal… and with nowhere to go, I had to literally ‘put the bikes down’. And without any thoughts of my own well-being I made sure I fell just right that the impact would be taken by me, and not Becca… or my bike.
And for a brief few seconds it felt like everyone stood still… cars and kids… just stared, and then I realised that the parents were running from all different directions to come to our rescue. Of course, that’s when I jumped up and made sure Becca was ok, she started to whimper as more and more adults gathered around. And as any mom knows, you know when your kid is hurt or not… and she was just fine. I was in agony both physically and emotionally, with disapproving glares all around, I had to act like it was all ok. Thanked everyone for the help and gave Becca ‘the look’. She knew to drop the whimpering act and get on the bike. Thanking everyone for their concern, I pushed the bike through the gathering, making sure not to limp… and rode off, with a smile on my face, into the sunshine…
Becca was fine, and had not received a scratch. I actually think she was whimpering because she knew she was going to have a lecture from me about wobbling the bike. But I was just too damn sore. My left knee, because I couldn’t unclip had dealt with the impact of the fall, along with the neck and wrist… of course the worst was the knock my ego took…
And I had my drivers two days away… it dawned on me that perhaps I could score some sympathy points with the sore neck and knee… much to my dismay the bruising and grazing didn’t appear life threatening, and my sympathy-pass plan could not fall in action.
The worst part was the next day when I had to ride Becca to and from school. Every time my leg bent in the pedal motion, the newly scabbed knee was tested… and the skin was pulled freshly open…
Who says girls can’t handle pain?!
By Friday evening I was pretty calm about the whole practical, so ‘calm’ in fact that I decided to let the hair down and have a couple of drinks… Looking back, I think, perhaps it was a bad idea, the alcohol clearly numbed all the bodily pain and any stress I had felt consciously or subconsciously and the glass never stood empty. And I went from having one beer with Bern, to a couple of Malibu and cokes… and then when I had finished half the bottle of Malibu, went in search of anything more. Luckily (unluckily?) I managed to find a bottle of Southern comfort. I even remembering chuckling to myself about living in Southern Australia, and drinking the ‘Southern’ comfort!
Now most of you will expect that the brain must have been rather clouded in the morning, but I woke up feeling so chilled. Perhaps, the effects of my binge still hanging around…
I had the whole day to relax, my test was only at 5:00pm, and I felt great about it… until about 2 hours before… and then I became my usual self… completely worried about failure… And to make matters worse, everyone knew I was doing the practical that day…
The drive to the testing area was a breeze… observe, gear, indicate, observe… I was cruising! This would be easy, so my instructor decided to practice my parking… Perfect… I can do this…
BUT… I just couldn’t… Half an hour before my test started, I had gone completely blank on parallel parking. Backing into the bay, I started wondering which way I was supposed to turn the steering wheel… and ended up turning away from the curb instead of towards the curb. My poor instructor just sat quietly, as I verbally abused myself over every failed attempt.
And as I am stuffing up each and EVERY attempt, we get a text to let us know that my practical has been rescheduled and is a little earlier. With 10 minutes to go, my instructor reluctantly asked me to give it one more go… and I finally made it… but the question was: could I do it in the practical?
We usually chat so much during lessons, but I am sure we were both wondering if I could pull this off and never said a word as we drove to the testing area.
Meeting the driving examiner didn’t help the nerves much, when he mentioned he’d had a bad day and just wanted to get home, my heart sank.
Even more so, when he mentioned he had failed three people that day.
Climbing into the car, I realised that any moisture that was normally in my mouth had gone to my hands… so my mouth was dry, and my hands were dripping.
I tried to make arb conversation, but he wasn’t joining in, clearly he had had a bad day and wanted to go home. Somewhat irritated, he mentioned that I could go… BUT…
Earlier I had noticed he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt… and I had this inner conflict going on. Do I tell him? (and risk p!ssing him off even more) or do I just go? (and risk failing to tell my passenger to belt up)…
And so, after his third request to go, I turned and said…
‘Please could you put your seatbelt on, and I will start the engine’… gulp…
‘Ah’ he said with a huge grin on his face… ‘I’m impressed, I’ve never been told to do that before’.
His bad day mood had changed and he chatted away continually, so much so that I could hardly concentrate… or hear his instructions… because as he was directing the route, he was also giving me directions to the nearest pizza shop…
So it went something like… ‘At the next road turn left, then from your house to the pizza place turn right into North road, turn your next right, on the left of the hotel you’ll see the pizza place, now do a u turn, make sure not to miss the pizza sign on the left”…
But I managed to get through it all, including the parking… and when we drove back to the start, I pulled the car next to my driving instructor. Both the examiner and I shook our heads and looked down…
My poor instructor looked dismayed… until the examiner and I started laughing…
All was good, I hadn’t let anyone down… and all the stress was for nothing…
And typical of all Aussies, the examiner gets out the car and says ‘No worries’….
Immigrants love a challenge
Something, I keep putting off is my C.V…
We had decided initially that I would stay at home for a while, until life here started settling down. But lately I wake up every morning and wonder if maybe ‘now is the time’… time to get off my rear, and get a job.
Bern has the job, we’ve found our rental and Becca is settling in at school… our 6 boxes that were shipped from South Africa are long unpacked… so really, there’s nothing that requires me to be sitting at home all day. And I’m just not the kind of person that likes to be at home… I mean, when it comes to housework, well… I’m a bit of a cheat.
I have total admiration for women (and men) that enjoy staying at home. Making sure early morning is spent in the kitchen and laundry, cleaning clothes and dishes, making sure the beds are made and the rooms are swept midday, shopping in the afternoon and picking up kids, then coming home to prepare a glorious meal and attend to homework and such like.
I have a problem with spending the whole day doing chores… so the days that Bern gets home and the place looks kept, it’s only because usually I have cycled to the school in the afternoon and picked up Becca, dashed home, and rubbed the genie out the lamp.
Within an hour and a half I can do two loads of washing, tumble dry and hang clothes, pack the dishwasher and unpack it, vacuum the viewable areas, make the beds, prepare supper and complete the homework…
I just don’t see the logic of spending an entire day cleaning… and perhaps it has something to do with the fact I have always worked, and managed to cope with general house duties… without making a day of it.
So what I am saying is that it’s not like I have an excuse like ‘I need to keep the house clean’ to stay at home, when I know very well I can accomplish the task during the late afternoon.
So I decide to start looking on all the job sites.
But I have a tall order… I want a job whereby I can leave late so I can get Becca to school, and I want a job that ends a little earlier so I can pick up Becca before school ends… BUT, I don’t want a half day job that ends at lunch time. I want a job that allows me to communicate with people, a job that is close to home, preferably on the bus route and I want a job that pays fairly well. A job that I will be able to be trained in, and not thrown in at the deep end. Also, I want a job where I can wear smart/casual attire (all my work clothes are still in a box somewhere on a ship at sea)… But most importantly, I want a job where my personality gets me the job, and not my skills.
I don’t have qualifications, but I am prepared to make things work. The problem with that, especially being in a new country… you have no credibility. You can’t say I worked with so and so, or I did such and such… no one could really care.
And for the two weeks I gazed stupidly at the advertised jobs, wondering what to do…
You see anything secretarial they want to test your words per minute, and if it wasn’t that, you had to have MYOB… (it stands for Mind your own business). For those in RSA, I think it’s something similar to Pastel accounting software. And for everyone that knows me, well, I have no accounting skills.
So my CV was just a blank page named résumé… saved in a folder under ‘My documents’.
Until two weeks ago, I saw a job that sparked some excitement!
Bern sat up with me, late into the evening, helping with every detail of my CV. I had such a good feeling. This job had to be mine.
Friday the 20th of February I sent them my C.V… and for a week I heard nothing.
Not even an automated response thanking me for the application.
And then, doubt and recession talk crept into the equation. How could I be so silly, to think that in these ‘bad economic times’ I would be even asked to come for an interview, when there were probably hundreds of Australian applicants…
A week and a bit later (this Tuesday) I received a call… Was I still interested and would I be able to come for an interview the next day?
Wednesday I was dressed in my (put-together –lack-of-clothes-that-fit) interview best, and caught a taxi in the pouring rain to my interview…
An interview for a job that
- Starts at 9:15am (enough time to get Becca to school)
- Ends at 2:45pm (enough time to pick up Becca from school)
- Requires speaking to people
- Is on the bus route
- And is only 2km’s from home
- Requires no typing and words per minute
- Requires no accounting
- Will provide training
- And pays fairly well.
I had to have this job. It was mine, and I walked in wanting it…
I was interviewed by two women, who run the call-centre. I was told upfront that I wouldn’t know the outcome of the interview until they had checked my references and had interviewed all candidates.
I understood…
They spoke about the economic recession… and I understood what that meant…
I could only be considered once the human resources manager had read through my questionnaire… I understood that too…
They asked the usual…
What are your strengths and weaknesses… and all I kept thinking was… I know I went over this, but geez… what are my strengths?!
Three words that best describe you… oh my… how can I describe myself…
I just went blank… uh caring… I said… Who says caring as a word that best describes you in an interview?! Well, I did…
And then, they asked if I had any questions, and we all kinda laughed because I had been asking questions the whole way through…
And then the weirdest thing happened, we started talking and got completely off topic, and then the one lady turns to her colleague and says… I really like her… right in front of me!
Then she says, well, it’s not normal practice but we think you would be great??
I was gobsmacked… and responded with ‘does that mean I get the job’?
And, I did. I’ve just received my employment letter in the post. I start next Tuesday.
I had got the job, the one I could have only dreamt about. Sure, it’s not what I know, and I’m sure I’ll face some challenges… but I’m an immigrant… we love challenges…
Lunch with the girls
So I’m now a working gal… and not the type that stands at the street corner, I’m one of those damn telesales gals that just can’t get enough of the word NO!
As work day approached my emotions varied… I was excited but apprehensive… eager but not overly… relaxed but stressed… in fact I was a walking contradiction…
So much so that when I went to bed I guess the excitement and the lack thereof cancelled each other out and I was able to get a good night’s sleep.
When the alarm went in the morning, I just wanted to shut my eyes and sleep… I was shattered. Perhaps the riding on the weekend contributed… we had of course done a ride the day before … and ridden five hours, the day before that!
I did my usual routine, still with eyes half mast… sandwiches and snacks for Becca and Bern… coffee to wake the senses… and plonked in front of the TV. When Bern left for work, I was still lounging on the sofa… still in denial of the day ahead. Greeted Becca with one eye shut, and set the alarm for 7:30am. Now let’s just put this into perspective.
Becca has to be at school at 8:35am.
We aren’t riding because I need to be in my ‘first day best’ attire, and we have never caught the bus in the morning, AND I have no clue when the bus departs.
It’s now 6:45am and I decide to sleep just a tiny bit longer. How long can getting ready take anyway???
It gets to 7:45am and I just mange to get my butt off the sofa… anyway, I manage to drag myself up to the shower and freshen up… Barking commands at Becca along the way. The shower helped, except I realised that by the time I had finished, it was now 8:05am… and I had wanted to leave at 8:15am… Mmm… problem… I don’t know what to wear…
I mean, this is of course is every woman’s downfall. You think you can conquer the world… and then you open the closet… and, oh dear… What the hell do I wear?!
Brown dress with leggings… dress is feminine and leggings… good combo… but crap, shoes don’t match… I need more shoes…
Next, Black pants and white button up blouse… nice and corporate… ugh no… the buttons are popping open and I look like a sloppy waitress…
Next…
and let’s just remember that I don’t have the time (or the inclination) to pick up the discarded clothes off the floor…
Jeans and T-Shirt… who am I kidding, right… next…
Ah yes, black dress with leggings…. Black is always good, and luckily I have shoes to match.
By this time 8:15am I am happy with ‘the look’ but have sopping wet hair… and a face completely devoid of any and all war paint… Yip, that’s right… I should have left five minutes ago, and I haven’t done the final touches… Running around doing mascara and eyeshadow, I realise that we don’t have bus fare. So I have to con my seven year old into lending me some of her well saved dollars… I convince her that I will pay her back (with interest) and we are ready to go… I remember to brush my teeth at the last minute, stumble down the stairs, tripping over my own two feet… and shout to Becca… You’re ganna make me late (oh, whatever… find anyone to take the blame)… Tapping my foot at the door, Becca informs me that she has lost the money… our bus money!!
And that would probably be about the time, I thought human combustion was possible. I threw her bag in a fit of panic… and marched out the door… it was her money after all, and hell… the worst thing that could happen was that she would be late for school.
We literally ran up to the bus stop… Becca moaning every step of the way! We managed to catch the last school bus and the bus driver, when I enquired about the cost said… ah if I’m driving ya darlin’ no fee… but another driver will cost ya about 5 bucks’…
Bliss!! We caught the bus down the road (it’s a long road people, don’t judge) and hopped off just before the school…
Apologising for any unmotherly behaviour I gave Becca a kiss and a wave goodbye. And headed on for work. The walk itself was somewhat tedious and rather hot… I was relieved to have worn black…
And relieved that I had got to work on time…
I was met at front reception and lead to the ‘dungeon’… The call centre is like the dingiest part of the building… right at the back and at the bottom of the building. I think we’re in a basement actually…
I was so relieved when I met the other new girl
Meeting the other women was daunting. They bombarded the call centre with loud voices and large personalities! Openly checking us out… looking us up and down… I sent Bern a panicked sms that said ‘This is scary, a bunch of loud Aussie women”… and his response was… Welcome to Australia.
I hate being the new girl. And what’s even worse, I’m that dodgy new girl with that dodgy flat voweled accent. I was relieved when training began. Although, my stomach sank when we cut training early because the other new girl was proving to be the local call centre know-it-all… and I must have exuded some sort of call centre confidence that they thought I could do it all… just fine. At the desk, I had my telephone ear piece awaiting, with a cold lead book staring back at me…
Now picture this. I am trying to sell Lottery tickets to raise funds for a local charity. The tickets are $50 each. And I am trying to sell these tickets to people from all over Australia. So yip, I am having to speak with people from the bushfires, people from the floods and people ALL over the country having to deal with the whole ‘ Global economic crisis’…
It was tough… but it went quickly because with so many tours, introductions and “training”, effectively I only had to cold call for an hour and a half. I had made it through the day… and the girls seemed ok. Tomorrow was going to be ok, and so was I.
Wednesday was my worst day. If I thought I was tired the day before, it was NOTHING compared to what I felt like then. I couldn’t face going to work … Bern had to make lunch… and eventually had to drag me out of bed before he left for work… My alarm still set from the day before, I decided to sleep in on the sofa again… and again, having to drag myself up to the shower barking orders at Becca… and again having wardrobe dilemma’s… and again slapping on make up at the last minute. By the time my mascara had dried, I was in tears… I wanted to stay at home and hide from the world…
I hopped on the bike with Becca (much easier than walking and catching the bus), dropped her off at school and headed for work.
I had to stop a couple of hundred metres ahead and dry up the tears. I felt so stupid… I must have looked really stupid.
Walking into work was a bit better than my first day. And I knew it was going to be ok because I had done the job the day before BUT what I wasn’t prepared for was doing the job for five straight hours… Five hours of sitting in the same postion, staring at the same sheet in front of me, getting rejected by every person that I phoned… having the phone slammed down in my ear, people verbally abusing me… the list goes on and so do their excuses.
When lunch time came, I picked up my phone to get some reassurance from Bern. This is where I have to hand it to the guys. They do this whole immigration thing like true champions… whilst the wives/partners (ok, I’m speaking for myself here) generally have moments of complete collapse!
Bern was trying to find out what was wrong… but there was nothing to explain… the work was ok, the people were really nice… the office was welcoming… AND I had made one sale… but, I was still in tears.
I now know that it was just because I had to spend my entire day being rejected. And I like to be liked… I mean let’s be honest here… who wants to be hated?!
The girls in my office were fantastic, and even managed to help with lifting my spirits, and reassuring me that it would all be ok… It was hard but each day got a little better. I was even invited to join a bunch of them on a quick lunch excursion to the local salvo’s (Salvation Army shop). And on Friday, I got to know them all a little better when we went out for lunch to celebrate one of the ladies birthday’s.
Now you see, you have to remember that we don’t really get to talk because we are on the phones the whole day… so I can only really judge by appearances. But whoever said that you can’t judge a book by its cover, sure was talking about these gals…
When I arrived at the lunch they had a tequila shot waiting for me… mmm… let’s think about this, we only have an hour for lunch, and we still have to go back and work BUT the girls are drinking like escaped convicts. I was about to decline, until she asked if South Africans didn’t know how to knock back tequila. So I grabbed the salt, licked the hand, poured the salt, licked the salt, shot the liquid, chewed the lemon and proved South Africans girls know how it’s done…
Lunch was truly an eye opening experience… and not what I had anticipated at all. I think working in the call centre is going to add an awesome chapter to my new beginnings…
Till the next time, take care…
I’m still not used to:
- Having to make sure I always have coins in my wallet when I shop at Coles. You see, because so many people use trolleys (and then walk home with them), Coles have developed a system whereby you insert a coin ($1 or $2) and the trolley chain is unlocked from the others. This has become a real pain, especially when you are trying to do a big shop. A trick though, if we are in a more up market area, we know that generally the people are too lazy to push the trolley back to the trolley bay, and they forfeit their coin. In the lower income area’s there is no hope in getting a trolley, because if someone has left it standing, someone has pushed in back to claim the dollar. Becca has also learnt its fun to push back lazy people’s trolleys and score a little cash.
- The way the Australians criticize their politicians… If you thought South Africans moaned, well you’re in for a surprise! I often used to think that the Aussie’s had no clue what other politicians were like BUT I have since decided that the government here HAS to work for its people otherwise they will get thumped. So good on you Aussies… carry on with the criticism.
- All the signs. To say that the Aussies are safety conscious is perhaps an understatement. Often I expect to see a sign that reads ‘Mind your step, beware of sign’… or better yet, I almost expect to see when we are mountainbiking a sign that reads ‘Uneven surface’ or better yet… caution ‘cyclists ahead’. Then again, there is no excuse for ‘not knowing’ or doing the wrong thing.
- The school system. Kids here are encouraged to have self discipline. I mean, can you imagine what that must be like for our poor Saffer kids that come over here. They come from a system which would make Hitler proud… a system of fingers on lips, respecting anyone just because they are older/wiser, a system of standing in lines and a system of ‘because I said so’. And they get to school here and our kids act like they have been freed from the shackles of dictatorship. I couldn’t understand what was happening to Becca… from being a fairly ‘rule abiding’ kid, she went AWOL… And within four weeks of school, she’d already been sent out the classroom twice, pulled some girls hair in the bathroom, been sent three times to join another classroom AND been sent to the principal’s office for pushing some boy. And the more she went berserk at school, the more I went berserk at home. I tried everything, took away privileges, play time, reading time… and nothing worked…. Nothing…. And before my eyes my daughter had turned into my worst nightmare… and even worse, I had turned into the type of mother I never wanted to be… And only on discussing this with the school secretary did my lightbulb (finally) switch on… and I realised that it was because Becca has NEVER experienced self discipline. She has always been told what to do and how to do it… both at home and at school. And the more control I was trying to regain at home, the more out of control she was getting at school. I had to force myself to suppress the control freak in me… and I am still getting used to the new approach, it seems to be working… she hasn’t had any warnings this week… well…. she hasn’t had any warnings yet. And like Bern said, even though I was trying to help her avoid punishment at school, she has to learn about consequences herself.
- Calling a bakkie a ute, a robot a traffic light, a koki a texter, a sausage a snag, a swimming cossie a bather, a bottle of Tip-Ex a bottle of liquid paper… really the list just goes on!
- Saying Yip instead of yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Saying Hiya instead of Howzit, and saying Seeya instead of Cheers. And eating dinner at lunch time, at tea at dinner time.
But, I am now used to:
- Those people that were once complete strangers. I think its part of the reason we have been able to settle so quickly, we have managed to find friends that we just ‘clicked’ with. Many that come over want nothing to do with South Africans in the early days… and only to make Australian friends.
However, when we got here, we realised the importance of sharing experiences with people who have gone through similar situations. And in time, I am sure we will make a few Australian friends… But we have a lot to learn before we understand their humour, their passions, their background and their way of thinking.
And it’s just awesome to be able to say voetsak, howzit, skattie, yaaaah, laaitie, bliksem and braai… and not have to explain myself.
The ride of my life
Many immigrants will tell you, that at a certain point in their journey everything feels surreal… and as much as you feel at home, you don’t.
This is called new beginnings because that’s exactly what it is. Everything is new… the smells, the sights, the sounds, the people, the fauna and flora… everything.
The first time I experienced a rainfall here in Adelaide, I felt a familiarity I haven’t felt in months. The cold rain hitting the tar awakened my senses and took me back home… and home wasn’t Africa… Home was that place in my heart, those comfortable candy-floss feelings…. that smell you just can’t verbally describe… yet a smell that describes wonders to your heart…
And as an immigrant you begin to understand that when you packed your suitcase, your box of comfort was a luxury that just couldn’t quite squeeze in.
Whoever said home is where the heart is truly underestimated the power of those words…especially for an immigrant. It’s amazing to see how people long for home… and yet, they are unable to describe why. They are enjoying their new life, new surroundings, new job…
I think they long for familiarity, that comfortable candy-floss feeling… and so they long for home… the only place they know… the only place they felt comfort.
BUT… living without comfort opens new chapters to your life… A new beginning, with no limitations placed on yourself or others.
I feel I can do anything here, be anything I want to be… I have no one judging me on past experience or social standings.
I can be the person I wish others to see…
I can be a paper delivery person, a shelf stacker, a dog walker, a window cleaner… even a call centre operator… it’s all about choice.
What you can’t choose is the direction your life leads… but luckily so far… I have been pretty impressed with life’s decisions and the path it’s chosen for me to walk along…
Or should I say ride along… because that’s all I seem to do these days… well, at least I’m having the ‘ride’ of my life!
My word is my word
Shopping is always such an interesting experience, especially when we’ve forgotten our stupid dollar coin for the trolley. I learnt tonight an easy way to remedy the situation…. Just head off to the nearest teller and ask for cash out… and ask them to make sure they give the cash out in dollar coins. Funny, I expected a weird look… but I didn’t get one… maybe I’m learning to be more ‘stralian…
We’ve started a little routine here… shopping on Thursday’s. Apparently that’s the night to do late night shopping, I say apparently because we always go so early I wouldn’t actually know what late night shopping entails. It just means that on a weekend we don’t have to fight with the masses to secure a fresh loaf of bread and a couple of food items. Tonight being no different, we head off to Coles.
Rebecca completely ecstatic because we have promised her a Barbie doll.
The Barbie doll is a reward for all the money she has been lending us, yes you read right. The worst part is, is that she has been funding our developing gambling habit… yes, you read right again.
Mother and father are robbing the child blind to pay for our footy tipping gambling habit. Footy (Aussie rules football) is big over here… the Aussies are passionate about the game. So, take the passion for the game and couple it with another national obsession… pokie machines… and you get footy tipping.
And at both of our companies, our colleagues have felt it imperative that we join in on the fun.
Secretly I think they want us there because we’ll help to increase the final winnings. That being said, Bern and I both came home, to confess that we are involved in the office footy tipping. What can you do but laugh…
So we choose who we think will win over the next 22 rounds, and maybe with some luck we’ll guess the winning teams and bring home a couple of bucks. Maybe not… I mean how do you go about choosing which team will win, especially when you’ve never watched an entire footy match! Bern was horrified to find out how I had chosen my ‘winning’ teams. Take for example the Lions vs the Eagles… I thought well, I am from Africa and so is a Lion… I’ll go with the Lions. And what about Hawthorn against Geelong… easy, our council flats were in a suburb called Hawthorn… you get the point… hey, at least I tried!
Back to shopping… We pile the trolley full… with this and that, stopping of course to grab 3 bags of Liquorice Allsorts. Coles has an amazing range, and quite a few of my yummy South African favourites… Nando’s peri-peri, Mrs Balls Chutney and Beacon Liqourice Allsorts to name but a few. I’m still searching for that elusive bottle of green cream soda… I long for the day when I can buy it like any other regular Aussie drink.
We get to the teller, and we’re piling the food on the counter, when the cashier turns and holds up my pack of baby corn…
‘Do you know how much these were’?
So I give Bern the puzzled look, and tell her …’No’ … thinking … what was SHE thinking, surely she wasn’t expecting me to tell her how much it was… and then take my word for it!
So she calls some chap, who heads off to the veggie section to look for the price on that silly pack of baby corn. He comes back with an even sillier look on his face and blankly says… ‘Ah, I can’t see a price on them; I think they’re about $4.50’.
At this point, before he can ever utter another word… my poor brain is working overtime and shouting out thoughts like… you think… you think?! $4.50…. well, I think you can sh…
And then he said, ‘so if they’re normally about $4.50… how would $1 sound’?
Huh?! A dollar… the mid chatter stopped… and we both said happily… ‘Yeah, a dollar sounds good’…
It didn’t take me long to mention to Bern that I should have taken two… but he just laughed and so did the cashier.
It still amazes me how trusting the Australians are. At our office we have a box of chocolates that sit on the front desk. At any time, you just put your money in and take a chocolate. No one checks your money and you can help yourself to change if need be… and what I find completely mindblowing is that every time they count up the money vs the amount of chocolates, everything adds up. In the shopping centre’s they have trestle tables OUTSIDE the shop doors and windows… unmanned. No one takes anything… and if they do, it’s because they’re heading INTO the shop to pay for it. Even the petrol… you fill up your tank and THEN you pay for it. Quite often if Bern is filling up, I go inside to pay. Bern usually drives forward to let the next person fill up… and often I expect someone to run screaming out from the store… But no one ever does… And I mean, look at the facts in front of you. We’re driving a buckled 1989 Mitsubishi that has more smoke pouring out the back than a diesel engine could ever compete with!
When we went tenpin bowling we were literally ‘bowled’ over when they gave us the bowling shoes, but did not want our shoes to hold as security. They probably wondered why we wanted them to ‘look after’ our shoes! At IKEA when you buy a coke, you pay for it and they hand you an empty cup in return.
Once it is filled and finished, there is nothing but your integrity stopping you from filling it up again… When we went on our first tram ride, the tram conductor never checked that we had tickets; all he asked was if we needed any…
But my best has to be the guys and gals that check your bags when you leave a store!
You hand them your bag filled with items that could have been easily from theirs, and they nod their head and say… ‘ah yeah, it’s all good’.
And when you reach out with your till slip proof in hand, they don’t even take a slight glance.
One thing I love about living here…My word is my word… and no one questions it.
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