My Future Career Checklist

As my semester break from uni lingers and I am surrounded by the reality of employment for at least 39 hours a week, I begin to ponder what I will look for in my post uni career. As with many uni students, particularly those who have returned to study after being in the workforce for several years, I have gone to uni to ensure I will never spend my days asking overweight people “Do you want fries with that?” But apart from my future career being one that doesn’t involve Happy Meals, there are a few other criteria that I have.

1. My future employer must have carnivals.
Now many of you may believe this to be the strangest of criteria to hold against someone who is offering you a job, and even more strange that I have made it number one in the list, but having experienced my first ever work carnival today, I can confidently say that job involving fairy floss, even if it’s only once a year is a must.

The day started as it always does, the whirring of my computer mixed fiendishly with the sound of phones ringing, making me sigh maybe just a little too loudly, employee X sending me a weary glance, either sympathising with me, or just wishing I would shut the hell up, I’m not quite sure. I was working a late shift and therefore left with the worst desk in the office, the one right next to the managers office. The token wobbly office chair made me feel like I was sitting on a slant, it’s bung wheel making it impossible for me to get close enough to the keyboard. I made a last attempt to pull myself closer in, and the chair shot off at a comical angle, my hands flailing wildly in an attempt to keep myself from imminent disaster but instead causing me to simultaneously humiliate myself and mess up the pile of paperwork I had just neatly stacked.

As Gloom began to leach into my brain, it’s whispery tendrils grabbing hold of motor functions, my teeth began to clench and my hands curled into fists. But moments before Gloom possessed me completely I heard a noise. A noise out of place in a hospital. Was that music? Did I hear laughing? Did someone say clown? As the noises grew louder, Gloom retreated, melting like the Wicked Witch of the West at the end of Wizard of Oz.

“You’re the Voice, try and understand it”

Oh God, I was right, there was music wafting down the corridors, along with the potent smell of cooking sausages. Yes, I will admit it was John Farnham, but when you spend all day cut off from anything musical , even the melodies of ol Johnnie Farnham is a cause for celebration. I stood up and crossed to the window not sure what would assail my eyes when I looked out....but it was good. There was sunshine, fairy floss, and yes even a clown. Today, apparently, was Carnival day. A day when the Catholic Church gives back to it’s hospital employees in the form of sugary treats and and oversized stuffed animals. My childish enthusiasm kicked in as I raced out to collect my goodies. I ate, I laughed, I ate a little more and then I tried to win a giant turtle to give to my boyfriend. Although I didn’t win the turtle, the Catholic Church didn’t want me to return to my desk empty handed. Oh no, the Catholic Church instead made sure that everyone was a winner and I was presented with a Bertie Beatle showbag, just like the ones from the Royal Show.

As a clutched my chocolate filed prize to my chest I realised that the only criteria that I would have for a future employer, is that they must have Carnivals.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99P7TTvpO1g

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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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I went to Maylands

The wind blew my skirt sideways scandalously exposing my calves, as I bobbed rhythmically through Maylands, encouraged by the dangerously debonair sounds of Sinatra. 'Twas windy, 'twas cold and I developed a unnatural attraction to a bridge. We approached eachother liking courting teenagers of the 1930's. We were shy, reserved, he gave me a flower. I flirted and batted my eyelids a little until he laughed. He opened up to me and allowed me to capture the small beauties of his details. As the wind picked up even more I knew we had to part. But I left with a wink and a promise to return.

Check it out

Now that I am back working full time my days are filled with flourescent lights, headsets and churlish middle aged women. I don't enjoy my job, and plan to find something else as soon as my debts are paid off so I must find ways of dealing with the monotony of the long stretches of boredom. Hence on my lunchbreak, I escaped behind my beloved 450D, iPod whispering sweet notes in my ears as I walked around Subiaco.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kacy4/3886621018/

Late night with a 450D, a tripod and some weird metallic sounding stairs.

The first time I walked up my staircase I noticed, as I was yelling something to Bradley in the other room, that halfway up you are privy to a gateway into another realm. A universe where everything is made of metal and jelly beans are good for you. A place where geekiness is celebrated and Landcruisers driven by city folk are not. But alas, we are only given a glimpse into this magical world, a taste of the wonder that lies many light years beyond Pluto, the poor star that lost it's planetary status. All we get on that 7th stair is an opportunity to hear what we would sound like if our body's were made of titanium. Each shiny word slivering out and clanging against our ears in an alien fashion. At first my new glossy metallic voice freaked me out, but now, each time I hear those burnished syllables I smile and think of jelly beans.

www.flickr.com/photos/kacy4/sets/72157622051635053/

Dr Trapped in Plastic

As my birthday surprises continue, I found myself with a carton of Dr Pepper, my all time favourite soft drink, straining against it's plastic prison, just screaming to be released.

Alas, as they contain more caffeine than my dreadfully caffeine sensitive body can handle at night time, they shall have to wait patiently to fulfill their destiny until the sun rises again.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kacy4/3855183727/