G’Day, Mates!
Okay, so let me shatter the preconceived illusion that people actually use that phrase in everyday speak over here, I regret to inform you that this be a farce. They do, however, use a few interesting phrases that I still haven’t completely acclimated to. I suppose I shall regale you on the unique slang that Australians have adopted over their interesting existence within Oceania. I have been faced with these unfortunately embarrassing scenarios on many occasions, and believe me, my responses were nothing short of ridiculous stupidity… Such as:
Australian Phrase: How are you going?
American meaning: How are you doing?
Scenario:
Café Barista: How are you going?
Me: Ummm... I am walking to work, so I am going by foot. Or did you mean how I am going home later? I am going by train… Oh, I’m sorry, that’s not what you meant? I will just have a cappuccino…
Needless to say I never returned to that
café after that lovely interlude. Don’t you worry, folks, this is not the only
time Mr. Ray has made an American fool of himself!
Australian Phrase: That’s okay/That’s alright
American meaning: You’re Welcome/Of course/No Worries
Scenario:
Me: I had a really nice time tonight, thank you for coming out with me.
Date: That’s okay.
Me: Oh I’m sorry, was your night horrible? Damn it, I knew I talked way too much about Pokemon!
There’s a little insider for you to show
how obscenely awkward I am on first dates. Anyways, I digress… Oh, did you
think that was it? Oh, no, my Americanisms continued to make my life ever so
more uncomfortable.
Australian Phrase: Ta!
American meaning:
Thank you!
Scenario:
Friend: Hey, can I have some of your water?
Me: Yeah, of course, help yourself.
Friend: Ta!
Me: Wait, where are you going? I still want some of it…
Friend: (confused face)
Me: Oh, you’re not leaving? You know, like “Ta ta!” You know Tigger? His slogan? “TTFN! Ta ta for now!”… No, not ringing a bell? Alright then, just drink the water and ignore me…
So there you have it, a basic introduction
on how to converse with the locals down under. If you ever find yourself in
this country for the first time, I desperately hope you remember these
scenarios and do not make a complete idiot of yourself for those first few
weeks.
Making adequate conversation was just one of the seemingly endless struggles of adapting to life in Australia. As seen in the previous post, there were so many adjustments to the lifestyle that I honestly did not anticipate. Perhaps I should’ve been more prepared and heeded the warnings beforehand, but I suppose my head was so wrapped in the excitement of a new adventure that I disregarded all cautions and tossed worries to the wind. BIG mistake, there.
Alright, so let’s begin with step one: Living in an Australian apartment, and the conflicts that come along with it.
Making adequate conversation was just one of the seemingly endless struggles of adapting to life in Australia. As seen in the previous post, there were so many adjustments to the lifestyle that I honestly did not anticipate. Perhaps I should’ve been more prepared and heeded the warnings beforehand, but I suppose my head was so wrapped in the excitement of a new adventure that I disregarded all cautions and tossed worries to the wind. BIG mistake, there.
Alright, so let’s begin with step one: Living in an Australian apartment, and the conflicts that come along with it.
A few days before Jon and I arrived in Sydney, Lacey procured us a quaint little living establishment from a sophisticated meek Italian lady, Miss Elena. We moved in two days after living a fair bit too lavishly in a city hotel, which right away was depleting my ever so futile savings, so I was happy to settle in my own space. We had the apartment for one month while Elena and her family went on holiday back to Italy, so it was a good placeholder for the time being. Her home was nestled in the lovely suburb of Rose Bay, a quiet upscale small town vibe with a gentle charm.
A few words about Rose Bay. This was a cute and serene place to start my journey, but after looking back, I don’t believe it suited the lifestyle I was craving. Moving into a flat so early on in my “backpacker” existence marred a bit of the experience that I originally was expecting to be thrust into. It was far too comfortable for my liking. It made me expect a certain security from that point on that I wasn’t really supposed to have during my travels.
However, the apartment certainly was not perfect. First of all, upon entering our humble abode, I immediately thought I walked into an IKEA catalog. From the dishes to the linens, the commercialized decoration was abounding. Half the time I felt like I was on display for some reality commercial promoting the product (queue Robby posing effortlessly with a setting of IKEAS latest china collection, oh so classy! Triangle patterns are so IN!). This oh so minor detail was very easy to get over. Other challenges we came across were not.
Let’s talk about mold. I don’t like it. It’s nasty. I may be allergic to it. Basically, Elena’s apartment was an incubus for the decaying infestation that creeped into our living space. Each morning I would wake up to the sudden shock of believing I have gone blind, when in reality the moist interior created a lovely moldy heaviness to my eyelids that was just the greatest pleasure to deal with on a daily basis. Mold is gross, and Australian apartments are riddled with it. Joy.
Let’s talk about the seasons. So, as we are in the southern hemisphere, seasons are reversed, and seeing as we left our sunny warm American June, we dove right into the inception of rainy chilled Australian June. Now, Sydney winter is fairly similar to the winters I have experienced in Orlando, just a bit more spread through the months. Orlando winter is basically three weeks of the temperature decreasing to 30-40 ish degrees* where Floridians everywhere believe Hell has started to freeze over, and then shoots right back up to the humid sticky 90 degree* climate where Floridians immediately begin counting down to the next winter season. Sydney winter has the same chilly vibe, but it’s more gradual and really begins to get on your fucking nerves by the second month, especially from my selfish Floridian perspective. I want my humid sticky 90 degree* climate back, and I want it NOW! So, this pertains to our living situation in two ways. First, insulation must be a fleeting fancy in Rose Bay, because you could basically feel the biting winds brush through the paper thin walls of Maison Elena, which was taxing and honestly a little bit frightening, I was half convinced the apartment was haunted for a few weeks. Second, this lovely Italian family apparently must’ve been cold-blooded, because they only felt the need to live harmoniously in the winter months with just one teeny tiny heater, roughly the size of a Game Cube. Oh, and what was even more fun was once you really got that little guy’s juice flowing, we would short the circuits in the apartment and the power would go out. So, we learned to coexist in our flat by converting ourselves into cuddling blanket worms, using whatever warmth we could grasp onto.
*Degrees are notated in Fahrenheit... If it was 90 degrees Celsius I'm pretty sure we would be liquified at this point.
Of course, this living situation was not always uncomfortable. Rose Bay was a delightful suburb within walking distance to the beach and a myriad of pleasant little shops and restaurants. The bay from which its name is derived is a beautiful sight to behold. You can always catch a few sailboats bumbling about the gentle waves, and there you can hop onto a ferry and enjoy a relaxing windswept journey right into the heart of the city, with pristine views of the Sydney Opera House.
Our view from the ferry ride from Rose Bay into Circular Quay
A grievously horrible selfie of me and a sailboat during a run through Rose Bay
Yes, once we adjusted to our surroundings, the confines of Rose Bay became quite the appealing place to live for the time. However, challenges arose from not only the physical aspects of our home, but the behaviors of those living there as well. Jon, Lacey and myself each had our own unique expectation of what this adventure would give us, and of course that is bound to create some adversity when living around different opinions and lifestyles. I am not saying that one outlook was better than another, we just had different ideas on how to live in Australia.
For Jon, this was an opportunity to expand his already well-traveled horizons and understand how to portray his adventure with an aesthetic that the world would appreciate.
For Lacey, her reason for being here was twofold: the first was the excitement of spending more time with her boyfriend who had moved to Australia a few months prior, the second was to start working on her ambition to travel and see cultures unknown.
For me, I needed to escape. I needed a blank slate and to really understand myself, and what better way to do this than somewhere foreign? The harsh truth to this was that I really looked at myself as foreign. Not in the way of being from another place physically, but the person I was seeing in the mirror was sometimes unrecognizable. I needed this experience to rediscover the passion for something greater, a passion that I forgot I even had living back in Florida. I needed to scare myself, so much to the point of uprooting my life and landing it on the other side of the world, to wake myself up again. Trust me, it’s working swimmingly so far, but we shall delve into that in later posts.
But, alas, expectations are not always met in the way we anticipate. I shall not go into detail, but things with Lacey and her boyfriend hadn’t played out as she hoped, so when we arrived in Sydney, there was a brooding angst around Lacey’s aura and her quirky fun personality was hindered greatly from it. Additionally, she was fighting an internal battle with the possibility of leaving Australia early to start a Master’s degree for an education program she was suddenly accepted into back home while living in Rose Bay. The pain from her boyfriend and her uncertainty on what she really wanted put Lacey into a pretty messed up place for a while.
I am still not completely sure what Jon was
hoping to achieve from this journey, and I couldn’t tell you if he ever found
it, but I will say that after a few weeks into living in Sydney, Jon decided
that this wasn’t the place he wanted to be, and courageously made the choice to
move to Fiji for a few weeks to volunteer at a school.
For me, those first three weeks were the scariest of my life. It was blatant at this point that I had not diligently saved enough money, and my spendthrift mentality was seeping out of every corner of my wallet. Of course I realized this a bit too late, in typical Robby fashion. It was about damn time for me to find a job, like, yesterday.
Which brings us to step two: Getting a job in Sydney is not as easy as they all said!
I honestly couldn’t tell you what kind of job I was expecting to get coming over to Australia. I obviously knew it wasn’t going to be anything like the role I held at Disney, I wasn’t here to stress and manage an operation, I was here for the exact opposite. If you asked me the first day I arrived in Sydney what dream job I would want during my time here, the answer would’ve been “a bartender in a pub that closes by 10:00pm, something mindless that I can just go in and have a good time and leave.”
Oh, Robby, how ridiculously naïve you were, my boy (This is Future Me addressing Past Me, this may happen quite a bit in upcoming posts, be on the lookout).
So, I want to talk about my experience with job interviews in two ways. The first shall be:
That Really Awesome Sounding yet Incredibly Misleading Job in Sales That You Almost Fell For
After I settled into my Rose Bay apartment, I immediately dove into the world of job seeking. I scavenged job listings like a rat in a dumpster for hours each day. Of course, since my background is mainly hospitality driven, I teetered within the realm of “customer service,” a popular category it seemed, since the job postings were abundant.
While on a run through the bay one sunny afternoon, I received my very first call for a job interview. It was for a very impressive advertising firm in the heart of the city, and they wanted me! After a brief discussion with the sweet lady on the phone, I had my appointment set for the next morning. I hung up the phone and in an instant went into what I could only describe was a mix between an Irish jig and “the dougie.” (oh yeah, my white boy dance moves are THAT extraordinary) I was set! I had this interview in the bag! No more worrying about money for me! What was even more incredible is that entire day I was receiving calls left and right for what seemed like every marketing and advertising firm in the city! Talk about a major confidence boost. That next day, I went out and bought a suit (since it never crossed my mind to need one of those during my travels. An investment, yes, but in the end quite worth it) and showed up with an air of such sophistication, so ready to kill this interview.
I stepped into the elevator with a tall blonde girl, who was dressed professional, yet modest. It seemed that she was heading to the same interview as me, so immediately I thought, “Challenger approaching, destroy!”
However, remember my conscience? Yeah, we haven’t heard from him in a while. Well, he decided to put in his two cents at this thought...
Conscience: Robert, are you sure this lady is the enemy?
Me: DUH! She is OBVIOUSLY competition, and this is the job of my dreams! I need to clear the field until I’m the last one standing.
Conscience: Oh, Robert, come on now, you’re being dramatic. Job of your dreams? Have you ever once considered working in marketing back home? Let me save you the exhaustion of that retort and assure you that you haven’t. I’ve been living in your head the past 24 years, you won’t get anything past me. Now, why don’t you put down your weapons and be social? After all, that’s partially why you’ve come to Australia, no?
… That fucking conscience, I swear. What could I even say to that?
Me: … fine. Whatever. If we sit next to each other I will strike up a conversation. But that’s the best I can do.
Well, turns out the girl and I sat right next to each other in the waiting room (grumble grumble), so I couldn’t go back on my word.
Ladies and Gentlemen, that is how I met my very first friend in Australia, and fell in love with her. Platonically, of course. Females, gross.
Her name was Lucy, she was from Wales (NOT England!), and she was instantly a Rock Star. We bonded over the fact that our application forms were ridiculous, seeing as how our resumes had all the same information, and we laughed and shared little quips about our countries and heritage. In the meantime, a teeny smiley girl with big lustrous blue-green eyes overheard us speaking and chimed in the conversation. Her name was Charlotte, she WAS from England (Birmingham, to be exact), and she was instantly a hoot. The three of us giggled and shared stories for the next ten minutes before being called into a large conference room where our group interview took place.
Afterward, with all of us giddily excited about the prospect of employment with this seemingly pristine company, we were all offered second round interviews the next day. We celebrated at a nearby café with overpriced Chai lattes, and life was beautiful in that moment. I was doing it, ladies and gentlemen! I was getting a job! I was making friends! I was BALLER at Aussie life! What could go wrong?
Well, let me tell you just what. So, upon returning to our lovely future job establishment for the second round interview, eagerly awaiting the moment of employment, we were less than pleased to discover that the job was a purely commission based role, where we would have to basically verbally abuse the masses in order to make a pretty penny. My heart sank at this dreadful news. I was THIS close to being a happy little rich boy, living without a care, making what I was lead to believe “$1000 a week!!” Well, this goes to show that you should always read the fine print in things.
Yes, I fell prey to false allure of the backpacker’s sales job, and I was almost fooled enough to accept. But, alas, I could not justify going to a job that would not guarantee me any money at the end of the day, this was far too risky. So, back to the drawing board I went.
This leads me to my second segment of job interviewing:
Apparently Australia hates the fact that I worked in the American Food & Beverage Industry
Since I was determined to not be duped by the myriad of elusive job ads, I decided to revert to roles that I knew I had experience in; Hospitality! So, perhaps I went into this field with a slightly bigger head than I should have. But come on, look at my track record! I worked as a server & bartender at a swanky country club in college, then spent five years parading around Disney World as a performer, event planner, and most recently a catering manager. To me, I had more than enough skill to conquer the hospitality world of Australia. How different could it be, really?
I really need to stop asking myself these questions…
I managed to secure myself an interview at a classy little brunch establishment in the heart of Sydney’s botanic gardens. To me, this was just the picturesque place for me to spend my days. I would serve the charming Sydney folk delectable dishes with an air of polite grace, and life would be grand.
Apparently, the manager did not seem to think I was up to par.
Upon seeing my experience in America, he immediately dove into an elaborate speech on how “my American style of service is not nearly as strenuous as here in Australia,” and how “he just didn’t believe that I could keep up with the pace.”
Fuck you, mister douche face manager.
The entire interview was one degrading comment after another, and it became all too clear to me that Australians had a very different approach to the world of hospitality, and apparently my years of excellent guest service in the States left little to be desired by the powers that be. I had my own opinions on the matter of Australian vs. American service, and trust me, living in a career where your entire paycheck was dependent on your ability to please your guests and win a fair tip is certainly “strenuous” enough.
So, there I was, denied employment within the very field that I exceled in. I was at a bit of a loss for words at this point. I really did not think that this would be that much of a challenge. All the meanwhile, my money was draining from my bank account at roughly the pace of a waterfall.
I was fucked.
That’s really all I could think about at this point. I was screwed, nobody wants to hire me, and basically I am going to have to go home in a few weeks. My spirits hit an all-time low, and I began to sink into a miniature depression from the overwhelming stress of where my life found itself. Had I made the wrong decision to come here? What would everybody think if I had to quit and come home after only a few weeks? I didn’t want to be seen as a failure, but at that moment, that’s all I could feel.
With my mind a bit scattered, I needed to figure out my next steps, before all hope was lost.
For me, those first three weeks were the scariest of my life. It was blatant at this point that I had not diligently saved enough money, and my spendthrift mentality was seeping out of every corner of my wallet. Of course I realized this a bit too late, in typical Robby fashion. It was about damn time for me to find a job, like, yesterday.
Which brings us to step two: Getting a job in Sydney is not as easy as they all said!
I honestly couldn’t tell you what kind of job I was expecting to get coming over to Australia. I obviously knew it wasn’t going to be anything like the role I held at Disney, I wasn’t here to stress and manage an operation, I was here for the exact opposite. If you asked me the first day I arrived in Sydney what dream job I would want during my time here, the answer would’ve been “a bartender in a pub that closes by 10:00pm, something mindless that I can just go in and have a good time and leave.”
Oh, Robby, how ridiculously naïve you were, my boy (This is Future Me addressing Past Me, this may happen quite a bit in upcoming posts, be on the lookout).
So, I want to talk about my experience with job interviews in two ways. The first shall be:
That Really Awesome Sounding yet Incredibly Misleading Job in Sales That You Almost Fell For
After I settled into my Rose Bay apartment, I immediately dove into the world of job seeking. I scavenged job listings like a rat in a dumpster for hours each day. Of course, since my background is mainly hospitality driven, I teetered within the realm of “customer service,” a popular category it seemed, since the job postings were abundant.
While on a run through the bay one sunny afternoon, I received my very first call for a job interview. It was for a very impressive advertising firm in the heart of the city, and they wanted me! After a brief discussion with the sweet lady on the phone, I had my appointment set for the next morning. I hung up the phone and in an instant went into what I could only describe was a mix between an Irish jig and “the dougie.” (oh yeah, my white boy dance moves are THAT extraordinary) I was set! I had this interview in the bag! No more worrying about money for me! What was even more incredible is that entire day I was receiving calls left and right for what seemed like every marketing and advertising firm in the city! Talk about a major confidence boost. That next day, I went out and bought a suit (since it never crossed my mind to need one of those during my travels. An investment, yes, but in the end quite worth it) and showed up with an air of such sophistication, so ready to kill this interview.
I stepped into the elevator with a tall blonde girl, who was dressed professional, yet modest. It seemed that she was heading to the same interview as me, so immediately I thought, “Challenger approaching, destroy!”
However, remember my conscience? Yeah, we haven’t heard from him in a while. Well, he decided to put in his two cents at this thought...
Conscience: Robert, are you sure this lady is the enemy?
Me: DUH! She is OBVIOUSLY competition, and this is the job of my dreams! I need to clear the field until I’m the last one standing.
Conscience: Oh, Robert, come on now, you’re being dramatic. Job of your dreams? Have you ever once considered working in marketing back home? Let me save you the exhaustion of that retort and assure you that you haven’t. I’ve been living in your head the past 24 years, you won’t get anything past me. Now, why don’t you put down your weapons and be social? After all, that’s partially why you’ve come to Australia, no?
… That fucking conscience, I swear. What could I even say to that?
Me: … fine. Whatever. If we sit next to each other I will strike up a conversation. But that’s the best I can do.
Well, turns out the girl and I sat right next to each other in the waiting room (grumble grumble), so I couldn’t go back on my word.
Ladies and Gentlemen, that is how I met my very first friend in Australia, and fell in love with her. Platonically, of course. Females, gross.
Her name was Lucy, she was from Wales (NOT England!), and she was instantly a Rock Star. We bonded over the fact that our application forms were ridiculous, seeing as how our resumes had all the same information, and we laughed and shared little quips about our countries and heritage. In the meantime, a teeny smiley girl with big lustrous blue-green eyes overheard us speaking and chimed in the conversation. Her name was Charlotte, she WAS from England (Birmingham, to be exact), and she was instantly a hoot. The three of us giggled and shared stories for the next ten minutes before being called into a large conference room where our group interview took place.
Afterward, with all of us giddily excited about the prospect of employment with this seemingly pristine company, we were all offered second round interviews the next day. We celebrated at a nearby café with overpriced Chai lattes, and life was beautiful in that moment. I was doing it, ladies and gentlemen! I was getting a job! I was making friends! I was BALLER at Aussie life! What could go wrong?
Well, let me tell you just what. So, upon returning to our lovely future job establishment for the second round interview, eagerly awaiting the moment of employment, we were less than pleased to discover that the job was a purely commission based role, where we would have to basically verbally abuse the masses in order to make a pretty penny. My heart sank at this dreadful news. I was THIS close to being a happy little rich boy, living without a care, making what I was lead to believe “$1000 a week!!” Well, this goes to show that you should always read the fine print in things.
Yes, I fell prey to false allure of the backpacker’s sales job, and I was almost fooled enough to accept. But, alas, I could not justify going to a job that would not guarantee me any money at the end of the day, this was far too risky. So, back to the drawing board I went.
This leads me to my second segment of job interviewing:
Apparently Australia hates the fact that I worked in the American Food & Beverage Industry
Since I was determined to not be duped by the myriad of elusive job ads, I decided to revert to roles that I knew I had experience in; Hospitality! So, perhaps I went into this field with a slightly bigger head than I should have. But come on, look at my track record! I worked as a server & bartender at a swanky country club in college, then spent five years parading around Disney World as a performer, event planner, and most recently a catering manager. To me, I had more than enough skill to conquer the hospitality world of Australia. How different could it be, really?
I really need to stop asking myself these questions…
I managed to secure myself an interview at a classy little brunch establishment in the heart of Sydney’s botanic gardens. To me, this was just the picturesque place for me to spend my days. I would serve the charming Sydney folk delectable dishes with an air of polite grace, and life would be grand.
Apparently, the manager did not seem to think I was up to par.
Upon seeing my experience in America, he immediately dove into an elaborate speech on how “my American style of service is not nearly as strenuous as here in Australia,” and how “he just didn’t believe that I could keep up with the pace.”
Fuck you, mister douche face manager.
The entire interview was one degrading comment after another, and it became all too clear to me that Australians had a very different approach to the world of hospitality, and apparently my years of excellent guest service in the States left little to be desired by the powers that be. I had my own opinions on the matter of Australian vs. American service, and trust me, living in a career where your entire paycheck was dependent on your ability to please your guests and win a fair tip is certainly “strenuous” enough.
So, there I was, denied employment within the very field that I exceled in. I was at a bit of a loss for words at this point. I really did not think that this would be that much of a challenge. All the meanwhile, my money was draining from my bank account at roughly the pace of a waterfall.
I was fucked.
That’s really all I could think about at this point. I was screwed, nobody wants to hire me, and basically I am going to have to go home in a few weeks. My spirits hit an all-time low, and I began to sink into a miniature depression from the overwhelming stress of where my life found itself. Had I made the wrong decision to come here? What would everybody think if I had to quit and come home after only a few weeks? I didn’t want to be seen as a failure, but at that moment, that’s all I could feel.
With my mind a bit scattered, I needed to figure out my next steps, before all hope was lost.
What eventually would become of this
endeavor? Do I manage to pull myself out of the dark crevice of uncertainty and
piece this journey back together? Well, that will have to be a story for another
time, my friends (this post is getting too long, in actuality).
I shall reveal the results of this foggy future I had before me soon in the next post, so be on the lookout!
As always, much appreciation for the time you have taken, I am always thankful for you, my friends.
Until next time,
-Robby
I shall reveal the results of this foggy future I had before me soon in the next post, so be on the lookout!
As always, much appreciation for the time you have taken, I am always thankful for you, my friends.
Until next time,
-Robby
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