I have been out of action for quite some time. I have been flitting here. Floating there. Prancing has been involved. As has meeeting the majority of Sydney. I figure I will put these random meetings into a series of posts. I have discovered that preception is the main factor in determining wether you like or dislike a person and of course footwear.
Early morning light streams through my window creating an eerie red glow around me. I lift my groggy head and haul my lifeless limbs from beneath the comfort my duvet brings. I stand beside my bed in a sleepless delirium and listen to the peak hour traffic roar down the street. A moth lands on my shoulder and I jump in fright. I kick yesterday’s clothes out of the way in frustration and stomp down the hall listening to the sound my own footsteps make in an empty house.
The lounge room greets me with its usual hum of activity left from the person before me. A half empty coffee cup sits on the kitchen table and the TV blasts out more bad news of death, politics and opinion. I sigh and wonder why I religiously listen to Mel and Kochie tell me horrible things every morning. Bad news first thing in the morning can’t set the tone for a good day. I turn my head from the TV and emerge myself in the ritual of making coffee.
The kettle springs to life and emits strangled, odd gurgling noises before clicking off signaling me it’s ready for me to pump caffeine into my tired body. A frantic search begins for my favorite coffee cup. I find it put back in the wrong place by somebody who doesn’t know how much it annoys me not to have my favorite cup easily accessible.
I carry my cup full of life saving brown muck with me to the courtyard spilling it down my bare leg as I go. I pull a chair into the sun, switch on the radio and smile knowing that I could sit with my favorite cup in the sun all day if I wanted to.
For those regular readers and the people who know me personally should be aware, I am a receptionist. I answer phone calls. All daylong. It’s highly repetitious and not at all stimulating. The telephone number that I answer is also a crossed line. I answer some interesting, WRONG phone calls more than I answer right phone calls.
Lots of old biddies call up thinking I am the hospital. Lots of angry, important sounding men call looking for Peter Costello’s office. I also get the odd person looking for some obscure, suss sounding company.
Last Thursday afternoon switch springs to life. I answer the phone in my usual fashion, “Good afternoon welcome to My Silly Company. This is Natasha.” The person on the other end of the line answers me with strangled breathing. “Hello?” I ask. “Is Leanne there?” A panicked, elderly voice asks. “Ugh…No. Nobody by that name works here, I’m sorry.” At this point I’m a little worried that the person I am speaking to is trying to get in touch with her doctor because she sounded as though she was having some sort of fit. “Is? Is Leanne there? I need to speak to Leanne!” The lady asks again through heavy breathing. “I’m sorry. It’s a crossed line. Leanne doesn’t work here.” I say. An odd sound of fear lingers between the old lady and myself. “Can you help me?” She asks. “Yes, sure.” I say. “Call Leanne for me. I don’t think I can dial the number.” The lady gives me the number for Leanne and I take her number just in case….Of what? I’m not sure.
I dial the number and the receptionist answers. “Hello, um. My name is Natasha, I’m calling from My Silly Company and what I am about to say is going to sound a little weird. I am on reception and our line is crossed with your line so I get a lot of phone calls from people looking for their doctor…” The receptionist interrupts me. “This is a paediatrician’s office.” She says coldly. “Oh. I just had a lady call having some sort of fit I thought she must have been looking for her doctor. She was after a lady named Leanne. The lady’s name was Katherine.” I explain. I hear the receptionist gasp. “I’m Leanne! Oh my god! That’s my mother!”
Leanne asks for my phone number and promises to call me back to let me know if her mother is ok. I hang up the phone feeling a little shaken. The poor lady sounded as though she was in need of help. Friday rolls around and I don’t hear from Leanne. I put the incident to the back of my mind and only wonder what happened to the lady a few times over the weekend. By Monday I’ve completely forgotten it had happened.
On Thursday of the following week Leanne calls. “I just wanted to thank you for doing what you did.” She said. “Oh, that’s alright. I just…” I trailed of. What did I do? I thought. Would everyone have done that? Or would they have just hung up on the lady and continued going about their 9 to 5 job, never to think of it again from the moment they put the phone down? I gathered my thoughts and continued, “No problem. Is she alright?” I asked. “Yes, yes. She’s fine. It’s good to know people out there still care enough. What is your address I would like to send you something for you’re kindness.” She said. I was shocked that the five minutes I spent to make a phone call had touched her enough to want to send me something! “Oh, no. You don’t have to do that!” I say. “No. I do. I want to thank you.” I give her my address and she thanked me again before hanging up the phone.
A few weeks go by and nothing arrives. Again, I push the incident into my memory bank and don’t think of it again until an envelope arrives for me at work. Immediately I know who it must be from and open the envelope to discover a thank you card that reads “You’re kindness is something I thought died a long time ago. Thank you for what you did.” and a lotto ticket. How sweet, I thought. Needless to say I felt like a saint for the rest of the day.
I put the card in a box a friend gave me when I left QLD for the big city full of words she had written to remind me how fabulous I am when the city became scary. A few days later I called into the newsagent to check my lotto ticket. I’d won $50.
That put a smile on my face for a week.
I’ve been tagged. For the first time.
Apparently, I am to divulge 20 useless pieces of information about myself. Hold onto your hats! Here goes…
1. There are certain foods I can only eat hot and certain foods I can only eat cold. For example, I can eat avocado hot but the thought of it cold makes me need to vomit.
2. I’m extremely clumsy. Evidence of this is down the front of my white shirt.
3. I’m a walking contradiction. Both good and bad things have come out of this. It really affects my life and the way people interact with me.
4. I’ve been found in various places after drinking myself into oblivion. The worst, being 4 blocks from my house in a stranger’s front yard amongst a stack of hay.
5. People more often than not take me the wrong way upon meeting me.
6. I’ve had to file a sexual assault claim.
7. If I’m not doing 4 different things at once I’m booooooooooooooored.
8. I have no tolerance for dickheads. If you don’t know what the definition of a dickhead is, then you are one.
9. I’ve had a marriage proposal.
10. My biggest fear is being in a car accident. I think sub consciously this is why I won’t ever get my licence.
11. I use to have panic attacks. A lot.
12. I’m from a sleepy town.
13. I’m detoxing this week. It’s making me feel delirious. Today is fruit AND vegetable today. Opposed to yesterday which were vegetable day and the day before which was fruit day.
14. I can’t wait for next year. The last two years haven’t been the best and I can’t wait until Jan 1st rolls around so I can put it all behind me.
15. I miss my friends from my sleepy town. If I didn’t hate the place I would never have moved.
16. I’d spend half my life in the bath and the other half in my nightie. If I could.
17. I’m secretly hoping I’ll be able charm my way up the corporate ladder without having to go to uni.
18. I have loved/love all my pets as though they are human.
19. I have a tattoo that I got whilst drunk as a skunk. I don’t remember having it done. I am now going through the painful process of having the bastard thing removed.
20. I’m paranoid. About everything.
There you have it. 20 useless pieces of information about myself.
Thanks to magical_m for my first tag.
I’m a tad confused. A smidgen irritated and extremely frustrated.
On two separate occasions yesterday, I was told I was “looking well.” Looking WELL? Hearing those two words immediately send me into a paranoid, over thinking frenzy. What does “well” mean? “Well” as in; jolly, well fed i.e. “you’ve put on a weight”? “Well”, meaning, “I’m thinking really dirty thoughts about you and how hot you look right now”? Or is it just another unnecessary pleasantry that you say to someone you haven’t seen in a while?
I’m expecting you all to sit back and say, “It’s a compliment. Deal with it.” In my books a compliment is telling someone truthfully how great a thing they did/look/are. Not some cryptic, half arsed comment.
One thing I can’t stand in a person is the inability to be blunt. Say it. Say it like you mean it. Don’t mutter, skate around the edges or imply then walk away leaving me hanging in limbo waiting for an explanation. It’s not fair and it makes me doubt myself.
Honesty is my policy.
Oxford Street and I are tight. I visit her on a fairly regular basis. Usually on a Friday or a Saturday at night. She is one of those great friends that is always up for something new & interesting. Sometimes down right, scary things, truth be told. Even so, I enjoy visiting her. We have drinking competitions (she usually wins). We do silly things (tattoo, anyone?). We get acquainted with strangers….We swear together, jovially at passers by. We can’t help but cackle at the man sitting in Taylor Square clutching his goon bag for dear life.
Sometimes though, she gets a little drunk and rowdy and leaves me to my own devices. This is where things get a little out of control. A little, frightenly out of control. When she leaves me strange things start to happen. Men come up close at the lights and whisper sweet, insanities into my ear. I freeze. Stiff with fear that the person behind me has a knife, and is ready to whip it through my flesh.
People take advantage of the fact I am wearing a skirt. No, bare legs aren’t there for you to grab. Don’t touch the merchandise, fucker. “Oxie? Come back to me!” I whimper. “Bring me a chardy!!” I yell. Oh, how I need a chardy after my many ordeals.
Oxie and I have been close for several years now but I think we are drifting apart….It’s not how it use to be. Incidents aren’t funny anymore. They are down right scary when she leaves me.
On Friday we met for a quiet one…Well, few. I sat her down, looked her in eye and said “Oxie, this isn’t working anymore. I don’t think I can be friends with you. It’s been fun but we want different things these days…” Stone, cold silence answered me. I reached out and lay my cheek against hers. “Oh…Oxxxieee!” I slurred. “Talk to mee!!” I pleaded. I patted her sympathetically. I pulled my inebriated body of the ground and strode away.
No more talking to pavements. I’m done.
By now, I should be safe to assume that you are all aware of my lack of knowledge in politics. If not, please keep in mind that I know nothing about politics while reading this.
I awake Sunday morning without my usual groggy Saturday night head, stumble into the lounge room and annouce that I will “not be leaving the house due to the weather and all the exeuctive decisions that are awaiting my disapproval, daaahlings.” Consumed in my own pyjama clad importance all day I don’t give one thought to the time all day until, Ma comes bursting through my bedroom door, eyes glazed over with excitment chanting “It’s time! TIME! Wind you’re clocks back!! Wind em’ back!!!”. I respond with a blank stare. “Daylight savings starts….now!” She says. “Fuckin daylight fuckin savings. No! I am not winding my clocks back! Come on, let’s boycot!” I say enthusiastically. “Ugh..Can’t be bothered.” Ma replies, and with that she turns and quietly shuts the door behind her. Somewhat deflated that my excitement about time changing before my very eyes wasn’t as equal to her own.
Let me explain why I am boycoting daylight savings. There are few reasons, they are as follows:
1. I can not for the life me grasp the concept.
2. You can’t fuck with time. Who do the government think they are? God?
3. I lose an hour of sleep. That’s not on. I am not down with that.
4. I can not accept the fact that one minute it was 10:00am and now its 9:00am. You can’t just TAKE an hour for the sake of longer days! We all know the government are a bit greedy and like to take the odd thing that doesn’t belong to them but, TIME! You can’t steal time! It’s MY time! MINE!
5. Why don’t they do it in Winter when the days are shorter? Why do it in Summer when the days are lighter for longer anyway? That doesn’t make sense to me. You’d think that daylight savings would be enforced when it gets darker earlier in WINTER, not in Summer when the days stay lighter for longer. You with me here?
For the whole duration of daylight savings whenever I check the time a little alarm goes of in the back of my head that says; “But, that’s not REALLY the time…Is it now?” You see? You see what daylight savings does to me? Voices in my head telling me to question time. Surely, that can’t be good for my mental health.
At the end of a long hard day for a smile to creep accross my face seems unlikely. In the middle of peak hour I watch other people make the trek home by public transport wearing equally as grim expressions as my own. I make my way down the dark stretch of road to the comfort of home. A bus passes on its way into the city, brightly lit with harsh fluroescent lights . Empty. All but two 70 year old men dressed in suits, and bowties. A smile creeps accross my face.
I wonder if there is enough money in my suprefund to retire?
I have packed up and left blogspot for greener pastures. Pastures governend by Mishku.
In a vain attempt to give my life some organisation I have moved internet home.
Don’t bother taking of your shoes at the doorstep, I have already made a mess.