Day 188 - the job hunting begins

I hate job hunting.



Right, the time has come. I've been avoiding this day for MONTHS (6 in fact) but I can no longer escape it. Last week I extended my credit limit on my Egg card to 3,000 quid. Guys - I'm gonna be VERY depressed when I get home, so please be prepared to pamper me with all sorts of attention. But yes, the money is running very dry. I'm into my credit card, I'm into my overdraft, and the situation is getting seriously worse as the (albeit weak) australian dollar eats into my savings. Its time to take action.

I've been annoying Sam all the way through australia about working. "we've got to get to Sydney so I can earn some cash". all the way. If we spend more than a day in one place, I start whinging. So here we are. One week into our sydney adventure and the holiday has to stop and the money has to start being made. No more excuses.

So, Monday was relatively productive. I'm geared up to earn cash, and at 12:30pm I get out of bed, lazily shower, grab some cereal, chat to some of the other residents and put on some clothes. I'm out the hostel by 2pm and in the internet cafe, chatting on myspace to Mark from melbourne. By 3pm I have opened my CV in Word and by 4pm I have added a paragraph to cover my bar experience in brighton. 10 print outs laters, its 4:30pm and I'm ready to hit the bars.



So, I kinda decided I'd get a job working in a gay bar in town. I'm not fussy - I'll work anywhere. But I figure I can probably bag a job at a gay bar a bit easier than I can elsewhere. WHATEVER! It seems my sweet smile and charming english accent means absolutely nothing to the gays of Sydney's Oxford Street. The first bar - a very trendy and upmarket bar - seemed disappointed that I hadn't worked in Soho, and begrudgingly took my CV with a view to calling me.

Now, in the second bar, I was looked up and down by the 50-something bartender, then told "we're not looking for work". This was rubbish. This dude clearly looked at me, assumed I was straight, and rejected even the notion of me working there. It was obvious. He had that tone of voice of "what the hell are you doing in here". Like I'd wandered in off the street, oblivious to the vest-wearing, girly-screaming, bitchy prissy queens sitting in the huge open frontage. I stuttered an explanation of "but I'm gay", but before any words came out, he'd turned his back on me. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE HOSPITALITY INDUSTRY. I couldn't believe how rude he was. This place sucks.

So, for the next 6 bars I went to, I tried to camp it up a little bit. Unsuccessfully. All but one of them took my CV without really looking or caring, with the exception of one very seedy looking venue which made me want to vomit, but seemed promising when I was told to return in TWO WEEKS. what the hell? 2 weeks. I need a job now. So I trudged home, despondant and scared for the future, to find that Sam has got a phone number for a flat in Manly.

Good work Sam. So, I get on the phone to the girl. She's a bit mental, but nice. I have trouble understanding her awful australian accent, over the awful mobile phone line, but I get the impression she's nice but a bit high maintenance. And that she's going to vietam for 4 weeks so her room will be free for a little while. OK, this sounds promising. its near the beach too. great.



So, we trudge the 25 minutes up Pitt Street towards the harbour and board a ferry across to the northern shore to Manly. Manly is kinda cool - it has a beach, and its connected to the main city centre by just 30 minutes on a ferry. But after walking ALL THE WAY across the centre of town to get to the ferry port, we find its a whopping $6 (2.50ish quid) to get across, so $12 return (they don't seem to do cheaper return tickets here, its weird). Great. Although, the ride was nice cos we got to catch the sunset behind the opera house. anyway, we arrive at the ferry terminal and guess what, Suzi is stood there with one of the guys we met in Buenos Aires (I bloody love this town). We say hello to her, then scoot up to the bus stops where the flat girl is waiting for us in her car. 5 minutes later we're inside the hippiest flat ever. proper tie-dye throws on the walls, stoner art-work everywhere, mushroom ashtrays, loads of tassled cushions. its small, but nice. and her boyfriend is manic but quite cool. sam and i pace around the flat, gushing about how nice it is and how perfect it would be, but we need to discuss it first.

we say we'll call tomorrow, and get outside, and straight away we agree its not for us. Its nice. and it would suit so many people. But we want a place that we can party in. we want a flat that we can stay up late in, be noisy in, invite people back to. Its not gonna happen here. we'll always be their guests. AND its $6 and at least an hour from chinatown - where all the other backpackers are. yep, its nice, but its not for us. So we trot home, catching some more opera house views, and hit the sack, hoping to feel a bit more alive tomorrow and ready to attempt a different set of bars and some employment agencies.





In the morning, I did pretty much the same as yesterday. Late rise. Sam's still sick, but she's well enough to check her email next door at the internet cafe. I'm pretty depressed at this point, and despite the urgency to get a job, I need to get some fresh air. Things are low. So, I leave Sam in the internet cafe, grab my camera and my iPod and head out across town for a walk. alone. I get loads of shit out of my system when I walk. I always have. whatever is going on in my head seems to come out of my pores when i walk. and afterwards, I might not feel any better, but I feel more prepared, more ready to tackle stuff. So i started walking.





a couple of parks passed me by - I wasn't paying much attention. this massive fountain that I quite liked reminded me of Paris. Onwards into The Domain, a huge expanse of grass and trees stretching as far as the eye can see, and yet right bang next to city centre. And there she was. Sat, staring at me, smiling, was my mate from home, Jenna.



Now, I LOVE jenna. she's one of Dora's friends, and she's mental. And I knew she was in town, but we'd not arranged a meeting point yet. And here she was. Not in a bar. Not somewhere obvious like a busy high-street. Not even somewhere totally random but predictable, like a tube station. No. This is the middle of nowhere, practically in the middle of field, alone, sat on the grass. sketching. I LOVE this stuff.

I'm all thick-headed from the stress-busting walk, so I'm not making much sense, but we sit down and shout it out for 20 minutes, before I head off for more walking, agreeing to meet Jenna for a drink later today. I carry on, down through the botantical gardens, under trees filled with bats, around fountains, across bridges, past poisenous plants and signs that politely ask 'please walk on the grass'. Its pretty, and the sun is shining.



And a quick stroll along the harbour bank and I find my spot. You know when you find a place that you just sit down and soak up everything around you? This was my place...



It was nice. I had a view of the harbour bridge, and the opera house in the foreground. I had a panaroma of the city. The water of the harbour lapped at my feet and everytime a huge boat passed by, even far away, the waves would splash around by my dangling feet. I sat there for an hour. There was something about it that sucked me to the spot. I dunno what.



And then I headed on. spirits rising. feeling more myself. not even thinking about the time I was wasting when I should be looking for a job. I walked round the harbour this time to the opera house itself (passing Jenna again on the way, this time facing an iron fence around an old tree). And man, is that opera house amazing. shit. Its SO photogenic its unreal. And the curves are like WOW. And changing perspective of the shell-like turrets are awesome. I loved it. There's only a very limited area you can walk around the building, but I spent 30 minutes plodding around, stroking the brickwork and admiring the structure. Its nice guys. Its EXACTLY as you'd expect it to be from the photos. But its just SO COOL being here and walking around it.









I then I headed back into town. I went via a christian bookshop, bought myself a new bible (yeah, that'll help with my already flagging financial situation) and headed home. And before I knew it, I was drunk again with Jenna, laughing about everything and being as mischievous as we could.

So, wednesday, and I have to start concentrating on getting a job again. No more days wandering around. I'm prepped and ready to make today count. Well, I kinda am. Today is my RSA. Yes, in order to serve underage kids and alcoholics in a bar, you need to pass a day-long course in the 'responsible service of alcohol'. So, I'm up at 8am, out the door by 8:30am and sat at a chair discussing the positive (more relaxed) and negative (fancy ugly people) effects of drinking alcohol. Its boring as hell, and it goes on and on and on. We're not set to finish until 4pm. And when we do, my pervy teacher (who practically touched a girl up during class when commenting on her sunburnt chest) insists on quizzing me about cricket, which I know nothing about. I shoot back to the hostel, and since its too late to actually job hunt, I settle for the hostel pub quiz and an early night.

And then its Thursday, and after a usual late morning, 2 hour internet session and opne hour 'lunch break', its 4:30pm before I start my job hunting. I'm SO RUBBISH at this. The one agency I go to tells me there is noone in the office to talk to me and tells me they'll call me (they never did) and I head home, sinking into the depression that made me so rubbish on Tuesday. Things are bad. So what do I do? I know, I'll go out and get drunk and spend some more money. Indie night it is, and of course, its messy. This time we drag Jason out from the hostel and he gets Sam wasted on champagne and gets me free drink passes!







And so onto Friday, and another lazy, hungover morning is accompanied by an afternoon scouring the local market for some respectable work clothes (which I'll need when I finally get a job). None found. Check in town - everythings too expensive. I HATE SYDNEY. I wish I was still travelling - not worrying about jobs and timescales and finances and flats and stuff. I hate thinking about what I'm gonna fill my time with. I hate thinking that I'm still gonna be in this position at christmas, and hence have no cash to last me through china, SE Asia and India. And I hate even more the thought of running out of cash BEFORE christmas. I have no secret stashes. I have no hidden reserves I can credit into my account. I'VE SPENT THEM ALL. Urgh! Sydney's great, right. But I badly need a job. My sanity depends on it...