An Internet Resumé

I have had a bunch of jobs over the years, mainly in the wonderful hospitality industry. I have said many times that working in hospitality is enough to make anyone lose their faith in humanity. If you have worked in a busy restaurant or café, you will know what I'm talking about already. If not, just check out Not Always Right and you will understand.

Without a doubt, the best job I ever had was at the specialty tea and coffee house where Meattrain, Vegatrain and I all used to work together. At the time it was owned by Vegatrain's parents and therefore was quite a casual set up. We got to play our own music (although the mix cd I made ended up being thrown across the shop by Meattrain for including a twee pop cover of George Michael's 'Faith'). There was a uniform, but we didn't always wear it. I remember being told that I was the first person to stand behind that counter wearing metallic silver boots. I took that as a great honour. The only shirt that ever caused problems for me was a threadless number that featured a cartoon policeman holding hands with a cup of coffee and a donut. I thought it was quite appropriate, considering most of our clientele were policemen from the big station across the road. The boss thought it was quite inappropriate for that exact same reason.

And yes, we used to defend ourselves with our barbed-wire wit and use the specials board for jokes. I remember we once got a work experience kid who was a fan of Questionable Content and he nearly wet himself. He got me to recommend him some excellent bands (which I was more than happy to do. I am all for educating the next generation.) and then basically begged us to give him a job. Unfortunately for everyone, the shop ended up being taken over by a bunch of morons who didn't think they needed to have a clue what they were doing in order to run a café. It is heartbreaking to see how badly they are ruining that place.

But even in the best case scenarios of hospitality there is still a very high douchebag quotient. I always liked Meattrain's method of sussing out a customer's character. If they were paying with a card he would say "Just put in your PIN number. Oops, pardon my tautology!" and see how they would respond.

I always used to love the people who would come in and order a cup of tea. Just a cup of tea. When we would inform them that we had over 100 varieties (v... varie-teas? Ok, I'll let myself out) of tea, they would get frustrated and insist that they JUST WANTED TEA. Here's a hint, genius: you are in a specialty tea store*. If you wanted a teabag, maybe you should have stayed at home. And I am going to resist the urge to make that dirty joke. If you feel it's necessary, feel free to insert it in your heads... now.

I could go on for hours about how much I hate customers in any capacity but I thought I'd detail some other places I have worked. This being my "online resumé" after all.

The place I used to work in Newcastle was a large degree of fucked. It was one of the biggest companies there, which makes sense considering most of its profit came from drinking and gambling, the city's two official pastimes. I worked in catering, hopping from section to section. And I actually found it vaguely tolerable most of the time, even though the customers there were the rudest people in the entire world. And I say that with all certainty, having also worked a brief stint in telemarketing.

I can recall one incident where I was serving a young man at the bistro. He decided that the best thing to do was to make fun of me for working at a bistro. I could have said something about how I was actually only doing this to support myself while I was at uni, but before I had the chance the man next to him asked him what he did for a living.

"Oh... I'm unemployed," was the response. After that I didn't even think I needed to say anything.

There was a slew of regular customers, all of varying weirdness. The meals were cheap, so a lot of people would eat there every night. The problem was that a lot of them were also putting a significant portion of their hard earned welfare dollars through the pokies. As a result they had this attitude that they had already paid for their meal in some way and should be getting something for nothing. Here's a hint: that is not how gambling works. Also, the meal is actually already subsidised. If you are paying $6 for a full plate of curried sausages and vegetables, maybe don't start whinging when I can't give you extra potatoes for free?

I have a lot, and I mean a lot of stories about that place. The staff were often just as bad as the customers, but I am actively trying to be less angry at the moment so I am going to try and tell a happy story. Even with that last one I just found myself going back over to edit out the shouting. Deep breaths, Smackie, deep breaths.

There was a girl who worked there that I quite liked. Her name featured in one of my favourite songs by The National, and I would occasionally serenade her with it. Now, she worked there for a few months before her sister decided to join the ranks. Not that unusual but for the fact that they were identical twins. I don't think I was ever more excited to work there than I was on that day. I had so many ideas. I demanded that we put one on the serving end of the bistro and the other on the till. I even suggested we give them both the same name tag and start insinuating that due to staff shortages we began a dodgy human cloning operation in the back sheds.

Of course, no-one listened to me as a general rule. But that didn't mean I couldn't have my own fun. I started by telling one of them of them, casually, that she was my favourite of the sisters. The next time I worked with the other one, I told her the same thing. I built this up until I was saying it every time I saw either of them, regardless of which one it was. Of course, they never let it get to them. I guess they must be the type of family who actually discusses things. I can imagine them heading home from work:

B1: So did Sarah tell you that you're her favourite again today?

B2: Yeah. You?

B1: Yeah. She's weird, hey.

B2: Yeah.

But at least I amused myself. It was probably what stopped me from going crazy and killing every last one of my coworkers. Although that is not to say I didn't come very close some days.

-Smackie Onassis

*I was actually talking to an old friend of mine about tea the other day. He was always a loose leaf aficionado so I started telling him about the wonderful pot of Nilgiri I had recently consumed. He responded by saying "Never heard of it. Jesus Christ, you're so indie that even the tea you like is obscure."

Role Models, or, A Possible Explanation of Why I Am Such A Spacecase

I often refer to myself as an "absurd human being". I will admit that I do practice a form of rational insanity in everything I do. I will tell you that for free. I have tried a few times in my life to act like a normal person, but it inevitably ends up leaving me feeling empty and depressed. I have a lot more fun being absurd. But I have been thinking and I have noticed that this could well be because I have had a great deal of role models in my life who have been nothing short of totally batshit insane.

For example, at the last job I had before moving to Adelaide, my boss was this crazy Czechoslovakian guy. He had the same name as a very famous surrealist painter so I am going to call him Breton. He was absolutely insane. A usual day working with Breton would consist of him storming in, waving his arms around wildly, yelling incoherantly and then running off again. Needless to say, he wasn't the best boss I've ever had. I also got the impression that at work we were getting the LESS crazy side of him. Apparently he had a cannon in his front yard. An actual, working cannon. In his front yard. The police told him many times to remove it, but he did not listen. How did I hear about this? From the boss I had before him, who apparently knew him because Newcastle is like that.

Before the job with Breton, I worked in a small independant fashion retailer. I was only being paid $10 an hour which I knew was well below minimum wage but I didn't care. It was the best job I had ever had. I got the job in a strange way. The shop was around the corner from my house and I wandered in one day and started talking to the owner. This is how the hiring process went:

(inane chatting)

Boss: You know what, I like your style. You're hired.

Me: But I didn't apply-

Boss: You start Monday.

Me: Sure thing boss.

For a while, I was the sole employee. They had another shop over the road and when I was hired the owner took the chance to spend his time in the other one. I would scoot in every morning on my little razor scooter. They would give me the keys and I would open the shop, "work" and then bring over the takings at the end of the day. I was alone in the shop, free to do my own thing. One of my favourite things to do would be to make mixtapes to play while I was working. I do recall a woman once making a rude comment about the song currently playing and I took way too much offence. I was very proud of my mixtapes. I remember this way too vividly. The song was "Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying" by Belle & Sebastian and an old woman said "Well! I wish he would hurry up and die already!" I didn't kick her out of the shop on the basis that I wanted to make money off her, but when she turned around she got the dirty look of a lifetime, let me tell you that much. 

The shop itself was fantastic. I got some of my favourite items of clothing from there, including my metallic silver boots and candy pink trench coat. I seem to remember once selling a pair of barramundi skin boots, which I thought was fairly random. My boss was exactly the kind of person you would expect to sell that kind of item. I seem to remember him once telling me about his Christmas party. Apparently he had honed this recipe for a punch that was extremely alcoholic, but didn't taste it at all. So, at his party he had two bowls set out: one was the obviously alcoholic eggnog, the other the seemingly innocent punch. Apparently, he got way too much of a buzz out of people who weren't planning on drinking supping on the punch thinking it was non-alcoholic and then driving home. He laughed maniacally when he told me this story. I laughed too but my laugh was not so much maniacal as it was awkwardly humouring him so he wouldn't drug my coffee. I'm sure there are a bundle of other stories about how insane he was, but there is already too much material for this entry for me to drag those out of my memory. I do remember that I ran into him a year or so after I stopped working there and was duly informed that he didn't have a facebook, but his goldfish did.*

As for other insane role models, you need look no further than the educators I have had over the years. In high school I had an abundance of crazy teachers, but I would rather save that for it's own entry. Let's talk about uni for a moment. The first lecture I went to was taught by one of the most openly insane people who has ever attempted to teach me anything. He walked to the front of the hall with his eyes much wider than anyone who is not a serial killer is physically capable of. I don't know, they have some kind of gene. He spent the lecture gesturing wildly and stroking his big bushy beard. If I recall correctly my notes from this lecture looked something like this:

• A dog / A not a dog
• What is this man talking about
• What am I supposed to be writing down
• What is even going on
  

I thought maybe this was just the first lecture, and that things would improve from there, but no. There was no discernible point made in any of his lectures.

Now, those are only three of my "role models" and of course I had a lot that were completely sane. What I'm saying is, they were in the minority.

-Smackie Onassis

*This fish did not accept my friend request. Apparently even goldfish think they are better than me now.

The Best Thing In The Entire World Ever

The other night, just as it was starting to get dark, I was at the counter at my local IGA supermarket. I was in a world of my own, headphones on, wallet in hand. They were about to close so there wasn't many people in the shop.

However, when I looked over at the next counter there was a clown buying a loaf of bread. An actual clown. Not just a guy who looked a bit clown-like but a clown, with full costume and make-up. He didn't have a wig on, but I could see what he was going for with the whole ensemble. I told my housemates about this and everyone started telling me that I hadn't lived in Adelaide while the Fringe festival was on, and that I should be prepared to see a lot of weird stuff. 

The thing is though, I have seen probably more than my share of weird stuff. I seem to attract it in some kind of wonderful 'Round the Twist'-style way. I could tap out a list of some of the best of them, but I think I can sum it up with the story of what I would say is the single greatest thing I have ever seen.

I used to work in this really huge Leagues Club in NSW. In the one building, there were about eight different restaurants and cafes all owned by the same company (as well as a bunch of different ways to drink and gamble), and I worked in all of them.

One shift I was floating around the food court clearing tables, when I heard a voice from behind me.

"Excuse me," a man said, "Could you bring me a steak knife?"

"Certainly," I answered.

The man had a plate of roast beef and veg in front of him, so asking for a steak knife would not have been that unusual. Except for the small fact that he had hooks for hands.

That's right, he had hooks for hands. Both hands. Hooks. And there he was, eating a plate of roast beef with a knife and fork that he was gripping between his hooks. It was probably the best moment of my entire life.

I have since been thinking of what would happen if I combined the two events, if it had been a clown with hooks for hands. I thought it might be funny, but straight away realised it would be unknowably terrifying. But still, don't anyone go stealing that idea, ok? Mine. I have a copyright symbol on my keyboard and I know how to use it. See look: 

-Smackie Onassis©