I'm disturbed when I find myself involved in conversations based around thermal underwear.

The life of a mature aged student isn’t always straightforward. Granted, the life of ANY student doesn’t always run on a straight path, but there are unique challenges faced by those of us who were born before technology was king and obesity was the main trial encountered by children. The largest problem I faced as a child was stubbing my toe whilst running barefoot on the concrete patio at my grandmother’s house. Alas, I digress.

Along with financial independence comes many responsibilities. Mature aged students have careers, families, mortgages, mountains of bills and the pressure of finishing assignments while their attention is being pulling in at least 17 other directions. Whilst I may not have a family, I do have all those other pressures to deal with along with several plants that demand watering almost everyday. It can be hard. So this semester my pencils have been zipped tightly into their pencil case and my brain has been put on the shelf until I can earn a bit of money to get me through another semester.

Working full time when your heart desires to be plodding it’s way to the end of your degree is always difficult. Working full time in a job that oozes tedium is torture. I sit and type the same codes into the computer for 8 hours a day and I swear if I have to type 29 / 10 once more I will stand up and scream, frightening everyone around me. I constantly finding myself involved in mundane conversations about thermal underwear or why the company won’t pay for better quality pens.

Today was no exception.

I sat, blank expression clouding my usually animated features, tempted to laugh at the extent of my displeasure but too tightly wound up in it to dare. I was on hold to Medibank and I found myself tapping my foot melodically to the hold music. It was surprisingly catchy after the short repetitive ditty played several times over, grabbing hold of you with it’s silvery notes. As my body began to sway gently, I envisioned jumping up and frolicking down the corridor between the desks, humming out my own version of the beats while my wireless headset continued to fire musical inspiration into my right ear. I would clap my hands. Click my fingers. Shake my hips. And kick my legs around a bit, reminiscent of Elaine from Seinfeld. I dared to smile as I imagined the reaction of my fellow employees. Their robotic heads turning to face my antics, not knowing really how to process my outburst, so they simply turn back to their computers to once again enter in the same codes they have been for countless hours over the past decade.

I began to wonder where this hold music came from. Is there some music composer out there who brags to people at dinner parties that his/her music is being used as the hold music that is simultaneously tormenting and delighting health care professionals all around the country? Or did some branch of Medibank coerce one of their employees, who mentioned in passing one day that he owned a Mac, to jump onto Garage Band and dump a bunch of pre-made loops on top of each other to create the humdrum that was now assaulting my ears? I think of suggesting to management that I compose my own number to be sung each morning like some demented camp song. “To boost morale!” I will tell them. I will be shot down, along with my ideas for a free soft-serve machine for the office and no-pants Fridays.

As each loop of music stops and then only moments later starts again, I decide to count how long each loop is. Did they only have to pay for 23 seconds of music in the knowledge that they would simply repeat it over and over again? Cheap skates. One. Two. Three. Four. Before I even reached five I was interrupted by Doreen enquiring about how she could help me this fine morning. Typical. Now I will just have to wait till next time to find out.

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