owlrigh

Myself and a colleague were working in an aisle in the morning, capping, when I heard someone call out --

"Do you live here?"

I looked over at the customer, chip bag in hand; he was apparently talking to me.

"Me? Ha, yes, I think so sometimes."

"Whenever I come shopping you're here! Morning, afternoon, night -- you're here at midnight!" He waved the chips about in emphasis. I would have sworn myself blue in the face that I'd never seen him before in my life.

"Yes, that's about right," and he was, was so dreadfully right.

He shook his head, laughing, and walked away with his goodies. I, however, then spent another seven hours, right through to noticed afternoon.

It's funny when customers don't expect you to recognise them later when they're being wankers -- or perhaps don't remember you, despite trying to help them? And on the other hand, the quiet customers you don't notice, who laugh when you nearly run into them and say things like -- "Nearly got me this time!" and you never remembered the first time, and you feel guilty, bad.

I saw Ben's dad, Dan, in the companionway of his boat one afternoon, as Ben and I were coming home.

"Put a shirt on!" I shouted out the window of the car as we went past, down to where my boat is in the yard and parked. We got out and played with one of the local yard dogs, and then --

"Did you say something?" came Dan's voice from behind us.

We turned around. He was standing on his deck, stark bollocks naked, and we swung around quickly again and made faces at each other. Urgh.

"Geeze, what's wrong with him?" I asked Ben.

"I dunno." He looked thoroughly disgusted.

Both of us avoided looking towards Dan's boat, and eventually I made my way up into the boat and tinkered.

There was a knock at the back of the boat.

"Hey, yeah, sorry about that," said Dan, poking his head over the transom.

"Oh, hey! No worries," said I, "I've seen my fair share wrinkly old men naked. No harm done."

"Oh, okay." He talked about what he was going to do with his boat before he left.

"You should put in a canopy over your cockpit, what with your newfound penchant for nudism," I put in. "You wouldn't want to get burned."

Later on in the day I was talking to one of the owners of the boat yard, and he came up in conversation. I told her what he'd done and she grimaced at the image.

"Where's he going to go now? Which of his women?" she asked. He has a couple of them on strings. "I don't know what they see in him! Although you'd know!"

"Not much to see, no, I wouldn't be standing around on deck if I were him," said I, and then we laughed ourselves silly until her husband turned up to see what the fuss was.

Just before work Ben and I went to have coffee together. We eventually got around to discussing the incident.

"Ha, he would have come over to see your reaction. Did you tell him why you'd seen naked old men?"

"Well, no, I thought you didn't want me to say."

"Thanks," said Ben. "You should bring it up all the time now, to embarrass him. When we go out to dinner, 'oh, hey, can you read this on the menu for me? My eyes haven't been quite the same since you flashed me,' that sort of thing."

We laughed uproariously, getting strange looks from other customers.

Since then, thankfully, he's kept his kit on; maybe he realises it's inappropriate to flash your son's partner, even if she is giving you the shits...

"You don't look Australian."

That's what people say when I ask them why they want to know where I'm from.

What the FUCK does an Australian look like, then? What if I were Aboriginal? Because I've met Aboriginal people with my colouring, and how would they feel to be said that to? Other people cop it too; in a way it's reassurring that I'm not the only one getting the insensitive wankers, but on the other hand it's depressing how pervasive to Australians it is.

The other day I was describing the high school I used to go to, with the wide range of cultural and ethnic backgrounds of the students there; Samoan, Fijian, Indian, Cambodian, Thai, Laotian, Papuan:

"Oh, so there weren't any Australians?"

( angry. )

Last week we were made to watch another of the demeaning training movies the supermarket produces. This one was on safety and compliance, along with skits of supposed employees performing in "So You Wanna Dance?" style, and other things so horrible I have since blanked them from my mind.

In fact, I watched so little of it the night captain kept barking my name because of my unsuccessful attempts to slide around the doorway and leave.

Around the time they started in on compliance and workplace safety a terrible poem appeared next to the finger scanner. It goes along the lines of:

I could have saved a life today
I saw someone doing something dangerous
I could have told them not to do it
but I didn't
and now they're dead
I could have saved a life today, rinse and repeat.

( And so I couldn't resist... )

When I was working during the day I would ride an extra twenty minutes out to the breakwater wall and see what the water was doing. When on these rides I would often see the same people over and over again: the guy who "walked" his dog by having the dog pull him along on a skateboard; the two grey-haired ladies who colour-coordinated with their pink bicycles, but whom I never saw riding; the older Aboriginal man who would call out and wave as I rode past.

This morning I rode out to get a loaf of bread from one of the local bakeries. I discovered this loaf, their Pana di Casa, a dense, light-tasting sourdough which reminds me of the breads my mother used to make, an excellent example of home-made bread. It's best eaten the day manufacture, and as I sped along to get some, I came up behind a couple of people along the bike path. I wormed my way around them slowly and was about to speed up again when the man called out --

"Wait!"

I stopped and hopped off the bike, then turned to face them. It was the Aboriginal guy of the many waves. They were middle-aged with friendly faces, and when they got closer I noticed the guy had wonderful, beautiful dark eyes.

"Hi. I've seen you around a lot, and I wanted to know your name. I'm Antonio, and this is Rhonda," he continued after I introduced myself. "I've seen you for the past twelve months."

( And so their curiosity is satisfied. )

There is great musical talent to be had hereabouts; a couple of months ago a musical regatta of sailing vessels was had in Double Bay, a seldom-visited anchorage just north of Airlie. I have gone to music parties a couple of times, where most had guitars and sang -- or at least plonked away on a bush bass.

On board Trekker -- the captain used to play professionally and gets out his guitar every so often. The deckhand who joined us this week was once lead in a grunge rock band for fifteen years before he found a love of tallships.

These are all people having fun; there is one man I know of, however, who plays for a living, busking on the main street of Airlie.

My first acquaintance of Ron wasn't on the streetside; I met him at a public BBQ one afternoon, when my brother contributed food to his evening meal.

"I went to Lifeline," said Rob, "and they gave me all this meat." 'All' was right -- certainly the charity knows what kind of food to give to the homeless to store unrefrigerated in this clime.

Homeless he was -- or, if homelessnesss is a state of mind as well as being, he was not homeless at all. And in his state of mind, the whole world is his home.

( His various homes. )

Jews are taking over the world! Or so goes that hoary old conspiracy theory I heard all over again recently. The first time I ever heard it I told the person to shush and was left uncomfortable because of its anti-Semitic flavour.

"Semites are a race!" I was told. "They include Arabs of the region. And there are more white Jews, anyway."

Anti-Jewish flavour, then.

This time around I listened to the unfolding saga of "twenty-one Jewish families who rule the world."

"They are in power all over the United States." And he listed some of the more prominent political positions held by Jewish people.

I didin't notice anyone carrying on about a Christian conspiracy -- see all the Christians in power, oh my god! Surely up to no good.

( It went on further ... )

My brother is a representative example of those on water. He is somewhat of an extremist in one of his views, and most vociferous in it, in a contemptuous sort of way. It goes along these lines: "People on land are so lazy! They just don't want to break with the status quo! How can they bear to live in one place so long? Don't they want to go sailing? They think it's dangerous, but it's more dangerous on land, where you can get hit by a car! More people die in car accidents than on water!" All said with a sneer. Ignoring the fact, also, that a hell of a lot more people go on land than there are on sea, and if there were equally representative numbers then you could say something like that, but not beforehand. Plus ... people who go on water tend to be a bit more careful than they are in cars, because they're just so used to the latter.

True, it has always been an annoyance of mine when people say that they wish they could do something, when they could -- only it would mean a change in lifestyle, an easy acceptance of not seeing the same people all of the time, all that sort of thing, the type of event which most people are unwilling to do because that which is familiar is more engaging than that which is not. Commenting upon landlubbers is a common theme in yachties, and the more I hear it the less I am liking it; both because I can see why people would like to stay on land and because you hear something enough times and it grows boring.

( What they all say! )

I soon knew I was back in Bundaberg, and it wasn't stepping off the train. It was being told to shut up for laughing so loudly which did it. Only one person tells me this on a regular basis: my mother.

Sometimes I wonder if there is an air about me which encourages people I've not really even looked at to talk to me. My brother doesn't quite believe that people just suddenly begin talking. It's like something out of an odd movie, or a book.

The trip over from Perth wasn't a good one. I don't really like planes, and for the simple reason that they suck every bit of moisture out of the air and so it sucks it all out of me. I just can't drink enough water, and since my throat was irritated anyway I kept retching the whole way. Retch, drink of water, and so on. By the time dawn arose and we clambered off the plane I was so full of liquid I sloshed.

It was morning in Brisbane! I hadn't seen that in ages, and nor did I take off all the clothes I put on just prior to leaving Perth. It was freezing and raining there, freezing and raining in Brisbane, and when I got back to Bundaberg ... freezing and raining there also. I deny that I was responsible for the weather. It was just all coincidental, and also it meant that I was wearing almost all the clothes I'd taken to Perth with me. I looked kind of ... stranger than normal.

Hardly had I collapsed on the citybound train than a woman began talking to me and commenting that I looked very tired. I lifted my head from the seat, nodded away, and tried to cram in a snooze. It did not work. People tend to be awfully chatty upon arrival in a new city, I find, even if I always arrive trying to snooze. And Brisbane? Pah!

( Cheap food and all the strangers. )