The Wizard of Aus

It's beginning to become apparent what it means to be an Aussie, not withstanding the kangaroo on the passport, the funny accent and the propensity to riot against the Lebanese (See? I can do satirical social commentary). It might shock you to know this:

I'm becoming slowly addicted to coffe flavoured milk [Ingredients: Reduced fat milk, sugar, instant coffee (min 0.5%))]

There's a bone of contention that divides the country as to weather you're a Master's or a Browne's [ingredients: skim milk, whole milk, sugar, coffee powder, percolated coffee, flavour] person. Stating the wrong preference in the wrong neighbourhood can get you whacked quicker than a cricket ball at the WACA (I also do a good line in local idiomatic humor). I've definatly come down on the side of the former which is slightly sweater and has nicer packaging.

But I digress.

The fact is, I quite like the Aussies. They generally seem laid back and accepting of me and my weird Irish ways. They just can't seem to pick up my accent right. In order to describe a typical meeting with a new Aussie I'll need to harness the awesome might of [bad] Narrative. Prepare yourself:

It's hot today. It was hot yesterday. I think it's hotter today. The flies are buzzing around outside like... well like flies on shite. It's not helping that I'm standing by a pizza oven, but what the hell? This is what I signed up for. Maybe I'd like to see some more Kangaroos, and so far I haven't seen anyone throw a boomarang. Not even in jest. I just hate sweating like a fat chick in a sauna.

I'm still a little shaken from the cycle in to work. Aussies haven't seemed to have grasped the concept of indicators. Maybe they just want to see how soft and squishy cycalists are. Who knows? Indicators just don't seem popular in a country where the long empty roads stretch on for thousands of kilometres and the only way to test the roo-bars are to bump into 'roos.

"G'day mate, how ya goin'?" someone said, knocking me out of my thoughts of quickly popping into the cold room.
"Yeah not too bad mate. What can I get for you?" I replied to the big monster of a man who just pulled up outside in his battered Ute. His reddy-brown skin, pretty much the darkest that white guys can go, was shining like he'd just had a fresh, all over, spanking, and mirrored the fresh Australian dirt that sat under his fingernails and crusted the wheel arches on the dirt bike in the back of his ute. With his blonde mohawk and old vest he looked like an extra who just walked off the set of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. Tired and dusty after a day of chasing Mel Gibson through the desert.
"Ah yeah, I'm bloody starvin', gimme a large supreme, minus the anchovies and a garlic bread."
"Cool, that's $17.90 altogether and'll be about 20 minutes."
"Eh?"
"Seven... Teen... Ninty... Please," I repeated to the thousandth Aussie, as slow as I possibly could without causing offense.
"Ah, yeah, too easy mate!"
He could've just left it there but, instead, carried on.
"So, you're Canadian, hey?"
Wanker
"Nah I'm Irish." I said with a smile. The one that says I know what's coming next and I'm only humoring you because I'm in work. Not that I mind Canadians or anything but I sound nothing like one.
Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it.
Please don't say it.
"Ah really? How's it go? turty tree and a turd?" he says in his best Tom Cruise Far and Away accent and then laughs.
Fuck it, he said it. One day I'm just gonna freak-the-hell-out.
"Yeah, ha. Good one," I said like a pro, like I've never heard it before.
Of course I had.

-Fin-

In a brief comedy aside, me and Mike went to have a look 'round his old university, Curtin University where he studied computer science. All the computer science stuff goes on in the New Technologies building. Or to put it another way:

Curtin
University
New
Technologies

This entry was posted on 08 April, 2006 at 18:46. You can skip to the end and leave a response.