Tuesday, September 11. 2007
Step back about two weeks. I was well on track to achieving the one goal I had set down for the year, a savings goal that really wouldn’t trouble anyone. I had already managed the other objectives, finally locking in the credit card, and things were looking peachy. Peachy fucking keen.
Maybe it’s Steve Jobs. Maybe it’s his fault entirely. I had been sitting on the idea of getting a new iPod for a while, secure in the knowledge that it had been long enough since the last new model to assume that a new one would be here well before Christmas. Anyone watching the news will know that this exact even transpired. The iPhone-esque touch model being the flagship model, re-vamped versions of the older concepts holding up the rear. I saw the announcement that morning and combined the two previously mentioned items to order one from Apple’s website. I didn’t think it through all too clearly, but a few facts hold up my conviction. One, no matter how long you wait, Apple don’t drop the price. Two, that price is the same no matter where you are in the world. Three, I was going to end up with one anyway. Four, it’s one hundred and sixty motherfucking GB on that sucker. So I ordered it, knowing that I had work, knowing my targets were looming to be met and that I would have no other large purchase for the rest of the year.
Then on Saturday night, I went out. First I caught up with someone I had not seen in about five years. We went to a bar-café and had a few beers and talked about the kind of things you talk about when you haven’t seen someone in a while. She wanted to get the last train home, so we walked to the station and she left. I remained in the city, for it was Saturday and I knew my little brother would be drunk somewhere. I was right, but in walking from Flinders Street to King Street I was waylaid by three islander girls, who gave me booze in exchange for talking to them. This is the kind of deal I can work with. There were exchanges. I was itching to get to where I was going but they instead took me to a hip-hop club nearby. It seemed to be islander night and I only just got in – the bouncer was clearly not kind to white boys in a non-white boy scene. I follow the calls of the night, but it seems my new friends were follow the call of the white powder in their handbags. They disappeared into the girl’s room, where they snorted speed off the toilet seat. Half an hour later they were vomiting on the footpath outside. I left them to it.
I found my brother and regular hijinks ensued. There was drinking and carousing of a regulatory nature, much fun and loving was had by all. I kept a close check on my things, as I am prone to doing, but as the night neared an end it become clear my camera was gone. My brand new camera, not a month old at that point. Gone. No-one had seen it, or handed it in. Gone. I was almost paralysed with rage. Somehow I was manhandled home, where I passed out on the floor. I think the anger and self-directed blame was more of a cause than any amount of drinking. I took a week to get over this, not even managing to speak to anyone for most of it. Words were beyond my powers. I lost another fucking camera. Brand new, this time. For all that camera had symbolised, the loss now was all the more painful. Just unbelievable.
The Sunday night right after that eventful Saturday I turned up to work to see that my hours had been pared back and I would only be needed three nights that week. Oh well, I thought, it’s still OK, even though I had lost what was basically a week’s wages the night before. And one of those nights was a Saturday, which was as good as working two nights. So it wasn’t good, but could have been worse.
And it was. I went into the store on Tuesday to speak with the guy in charge, to see why the change had happened, to find that I’d been pared back again – to a solitary Friday night. I was livid. This isn’t happening, I told myself. This sort of thing doesn’t happen. I talked to the guy and he put it down to budget cuts. Budget cuts. The company makes a profit so big every year the very idea of it staggers me. Budget cuts? The hell? What he really meant was department budget cuts, to make him look better when bonus time came. Bonus time, I found out later, was just around the corner. Casual workers are the first thing to go when the cuts come in, and go we did.
Just to rub it in, he wouldn’t ever say it like that, instead attempting to smear my performance as an excuse, so there would be a paper trail. Condescending motherfucker, I should have decked him and left. Actually, no, that would have been a bad idea. But in the spirit of things. So that was that. Essentially no job, no camera and a new iPod on the way I could no longer really afford.
Since that day, the situation has not improved at all. Still almost no hours to work, still no camera despite attempts to find it, and still no hope of a real job. I might have to speed up Plan C, which was in effect. What a mind-shattering run of events, I mean, you wouldn’t fucking read about it. Now the question is, how to pull of the early implementation of Plan C (which is now going to have to become Plan E) and not fuck it up? Be careless, I think.
In other news, the Bancho surfaced after a long stint AWOL. Good to hear from you, chum! This place needs some more colour. And if you can cut the lawn, that would be fantastic. Oh, and the gutters are full of leaves. And don’t forget to clean the pool, it is getting warmer, we’ll need it for a party soon.