Not sure why I’m making this, since I’m not even that good at writing. Actually, I kind of hate it. But it’s here, and maybe I’ll get better, and one day I can look back and say…yeah, I made this. Ladies.
That, and having an actual blog under your name is better than going for a job interview, and all the interview guy can find is some Facebook pictures of you at wild raves. Pretty sure I missed that job at Burger King because the guy took one look at my Twitter feed. Yeah, I should clean up my language.
Soooo…stuff. My name’s Abe. I do actually have a job, working in aged care. I know- weird, right? It’s not really me, and there are parts I hate, but Mum got me the job so whatever. I’m 21. No girlfriend, yet. And I had a car before it got impounded. Drove it into a car park at 90 kmph and pretty much lost control of the wheel. Lots of damage. Pretty stupid, yeah, but I got this nasty cut above my eye afterwards, and it still kind of stings. So really, everybody was a victim.
So, my task for today was investigating the source of the weird heat. The whole place was boiling like we were in a lava pit, and the air con guys were late because there’s been this heat wave lately. It seems everyone in Brighton needs air conditioning servicing. Like…everybody. So since I did one term of a technical skills course at MTSC, I’m the one who has to crawl through all the ducts and find out what’s going on before all our patients start wilting or whatever. It wasn’t great for me either.
So I did my best. Crossed some wires, saw some sparks, maybe hit the main cooling thing with a metal pipe a few times. And it seemed to work, for about an hour or so. Air con was back on, everybody happy, old folks grabbing my hand and telling me what a helpful young man I was. They don’t know me very well.
The day was saved for another hour, after which the best air conditioning repair team Cheltenham has to offer arrived to do battle with the stupid system. Bet they hit that cooling box with a pipe a few times too. That’s life I guess. Fixing stuff. Taking public transport.
It can be tough sometimes being one of the few females in a male dominated industry. I’m a tradie, or a ‘lady-tradie’ as some like to call me. My trade specialisation is welding. I’ve always been someone who has taken an interest in learning how to make things with their hands. My skill and passion from welding had definitely come from my dad. In my early teens, he’d always try to involve me in all his little projects that he had going on. Growing up, I had two older brothers and a self-proclaimed handy-man dad. If I wanted to get any attention, or have any interaction with my family, I knew I had to join them with their handy-man hobbies.
Fast forward fifteen years on, and I am in a career I love. You should see all the funny looks I get every time I visit the hardware store. The store attendants always assume I’m there for my husband. What can’t be the one who has come to buy the best ute trays? Melbourne has many women who are quite progressive, I’m sure there will only be more to join the industry in the coming years.
I’d love to encourage more young women to think about becoming ‘lady-tradies’. As gender stereotyping continues to break down, it’ll be just a matter of time until driving utes with aluminium ute canopies becomes normal for more women. Until then, I’ll keep waving the flag.
I’d like to team up with a local school to start offering women-lead metalwork classes. I’d start the classes how my dad started them with me. The girls will start off by learning how to make jewellery. As they progressive, we can then start welding more challenging projects. From a lot of reading I’ve done about gender roles in society, it takes having a role model to help more women to want to take part in what is usually a male-dominant activity.
I aimlessly trudged through the garden path, bending only to pick up a stick so that my dog would have something to chase while I wallowed in the sunshine.
I tossed a hefty branch and she bolted after it, a flash of gold dashing across the grass, great red tongue hanging out of her mouth. I almost laughed at the sight, as she disappeared down the hill. I looked back at the house, shuttered up since everybody had left for the winter, and my gloomy disposition reasserted itself.
Not for the first time, I found myself wishing I’d never taken this caretaking job. It was fun during the summer months, when the great mansion’s family returned for their time in the sun, but it quickly turned sour whenever the clouds returned and the rain grew cold and ever-present.
I assessed my mental checklist, all of the things I’d been charged with fixing during the break, as the dog arrived back with an entirely different stick in her mouth. The owners had been talking about installing a new 500kW solar power system in the building, to cut back on their immense power bills, but a quick glance online had shown me that it was probably much, much more than they needed – designed more for large companies than large residences.
Picking up the imitation stick, I hurled it towards the horizon again, smiling gently at the subsequent rush of gold.
Where had they even gotten the idea of installing a commercial solar power system? Melbourne? It seemed likely – they came up with all sorts of strange ideas in the big city.
It would be a good idea at least; part of my responsibilities involved occasionally glancing at an electricity bill, and they could certainly do with the relief.
Well, normal people could have done with it. These people were rich enough to lasso the sun itself if they wanted to.
I sighed again – just in time for the dog to reappear with yet another totally different stick.
I pulled the esky forwards as my father struggled with the fishing line, feet planted at a practised distance to withstand the ocean’s swells.
‘Big one!’ he laughed, flashing me with a toothy grin. ‘It’s got to be a snapper!’
‘A tuna, maybe!’ I chuckled with him. He frowned and shook his head slightly.
‘Nah, I reckon it’s a snapper,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve been doing this a while now, son,’ he said, surprisingly solemn all of a sudden. ‘You get a feel for such things.’
‘That’s such a lie,’ I snorted, clinging to the railing as a big wave rolled beneath us. ‘You can’t feel what kind of fish it is!’
‘I can so!’
‘Well, then,’ I said. ‘I’ve got these lovely new stainless steel snapper racks here – show me a snapper on them when you pull that fish up and I’ll be impressed.’
‘That’s my reward, is it?’ my father guffawed. ‘For fifty years of fishing experience? The admiration of my son?’
‘What do you want then?’
‘Something more tangible would be nice,’ he said. ‘Tell you what – I need a new boat catch.’
‘You want me to buy you a new boat catch?’ I asked, mild outrage tinging my voice. ‘For a fish?!’
‘You’re the one that’s convinced I’m wrong!’
‘I just don’t think you’re definitely right!’
‘Then you’ll buy me a boat catch!’
I glared at him for a moment, as he began to slowly wind in the line, eyebrow raised in challenge.
‘And what do I get?’ I asked him. ‘If you’re wrong?’
‘You can have the fish,’ he shrugged.
‘That’s it?’
‘Proving your father wrong should never be profitable.’
‘But if you prove your son wrong…’
‘He should organise a new boat catch installation, near Melbourne,’ my father nodded. ‘Preferably next weekend, when I’m not planning on going out on the water.’
Suddenly, his line twitched in his hand, jerking violently and slapping out at the water – then promptly broke off his line.
‘Well,’ I said, after a moment of staring at the ocean. ‘That was anticlimactic.’
I swept through the rows of cubicles, head darting backwards and forwards as I hunted my prey. The bored-looking workers in their bland ties and drab shirts all ducked out of my colourful way, a bright spot of light clearing the air of dust motes as it moved amongst them.
‘Move, move,’ I tittered impatiently, waving a handbag at woman who seemed either too catatonic or too stupid to get out of the way herself. ‘I have a very important meeting with your boss’s boss’s boss.’
I did, too. The CEO of the firm was here today, booming edicts down from his usually-empty corner office. The whole atmosphere seemed to grumble with his discontent, rattling even our world-class office interior design (Melbourne was awash with envy when we finished it last quarter).
I rounded the corner and there he was, the great, hulking brute. He was signing a series of documents in the kitchenette while his secretary made him a coffee, pen squeezed so tightly it was likely to break after a few more pages.
‘Anderson, darling,’ I beamed, rushing forward in an effort to spare the poor writing implement. ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Angelica,’ he said gruffly, looking up at me with a knitted brow. Was it my imagination, or did it unknit slightly, at seeing me? ‘We need to talk.’
‘Is this about the commercial fitouts? Designed in Melbourne, I’m told,’ I said, looking back on the rows of cubicles with a smile. ‘You can just feel the quality craftsmanship, can’t you?’
‘You’re fired,’ he said.
‘What?!’
‘Those fitouts,’ he said, pointing a meaty finger at the office, ‘came in well over budget. You cost me my bonus this year!’
‘You’re not taking your bonus?’ I asked with a gasp.
‘Of course I’m still taking my bonus!’ he snapped. ‘But it’s a similar amount to what you wasted!’
‘Oh,’ I frowned. ‘But-but, isn’t it just… divine?’
‘Right,’ he grunted, with a smirk. ‘Worth every penny. You’re still fired.’
And with that, he went right back to his paperwork, palm wrapped mercilessly around his little black pen.
I knew exactly how it felt.
It’s amazing how your childhood can shape you. I was a kid that grew up in foster care, getting bounced around from home to home and community centre to community centre. It was an interesting time in my life that made it difficult to properly be able to establish relationships, routines, and habits. I was never able to have a consistent group of friends as I was constantly moving around to different suburbs. This constant moving also impacted my ability to join a team and play a sport. I remember once trying to join a basketball team, but only being able to play one season as I then had to move away. I tried joining another team but I felt a huge weight of awkwardness encountering my old team at games. It was these types of experiences that made me realise I needed to find a hobby that wasn’t reliant on teams.
One day, one of the community centres purchased a pool table for us kids. I thought it was a good chance for me to take up a new hobby. I even started wondering how to build a billiard table out of wood myself. My mindset behind making a pool table myself was that if I was ever fostered out to a place too far from the community centre, I’d know how to create a makeshift pool table for myself. Pool was important to me as it was the only consistent hobby I was able to have in my life. It did not rely on teams or other people. No matter where I went, or which community centre I was in, I was able to stay competitive and continue developing my skills.
I did try a few other sports and games. For example, when I was older I got really into table tennis. I decided to buy the best brand table tennis table in Australia, set it up in my local community centre, and have a game daily. Before I knew it I became a really strong table tennis player too and was able to compete in tournaments.
I rapped lightly on my grandmother’s door, stepping back slightly in preparation for it swinging open. Why was I so nervous? I wondered, feeling the slickness of my palms and anxiously rubbing them against my jeans. It had been years since I’d seen her, but we’d never had a bad relationship. Her and my mother, though…
The door began to rattle as a series of locks were systematically unlatched and slid aside by a very slow pair of hands. After a few more moments, the handle turned and the door swung open.
‘Gran!’ I said, with a forced smile. ‘It’s me – it’s Alyssa!’
‘I know who you are,’ she grunted. ‘I’m old, not blind.’
‘Oh,’ I said, the smile slipping slightly from my face. ‘I just thought, since it’s been a while…’
‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ she said gruffly. ‘Come on in and I’ll make you something to drink.’
Suddenly hoping that she meant something stiffer than tea, I followed her inside. The air was thick with the cloying scent of age, and I wrinkled my nose involuntarily, glad that she was walking ahead of me and couldn’t see.
‘Sorry about the smell,’ she cackled without turning around. ‘Hard to avoid at my age. My disability support worker says you stop noticing it after a few minutes.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You have a support worker?’
‘Of course I do,’ she snapped. ‘You think I’m changing my own sheets at this age?’
‘You seem plenty capable, actually,’ I laughed. ‘You’re not even using a cane.’
‘Oh, I’m plenty capable,’ she snickered, turning around and fixing me with a devilish grin. ‘But one of the advantages of old age is you get to be incredibly lazy, and the state pays for somebody to do your chores for you.’
‘Fair enough, too,’ I nodded. ‘So uh… what’s the best company for community nursing in Adelaide, then?’
‘Did you actually have something you wanted to talk about,’ my grandma rolled her eyes, gesturing for me to sit at her dining table.
‘Um…’ I gritted my teeth, unable to say it. She sighed again.
‘How much do you need?’
I recently had a great experience in my office – not something I say very often, it’s true. I got to work nice and early (so only five minutes late) and somehow managed to walk past the coffee pot right as a new one was made. It was actually hot!
I chit-chatted with my desk-mate for a little while, then immediately abandoned him to talk to Rochelle in sales. She actually spoke to me too! I’ve been trying to strike up a conversation with her for months now, and she’s never been interested before.
(That being said, Rochelle may be the most boring person in the office. She spent the entire ten minutes telling me about the company she hired to install residential plastering at her Dad’s beach house – absolute snooze-fest.)
Around noon, I figured I should probably try and get some work done – after my lunch hour, of course. Dave from accounting ambushed me in the elevators and tried to convince me that we should go out for Japanese, then took me to a Chinese restaurant without even realising they were different.
The food was only okay, but it was worth it to see the waiter’s face when Dave tried to order the sushi.
And then it was back to the office – spreadsheet, spreadsheet, data evaluation, formulas, another spreadsheet… boring, to say the least. Once I’d spent my mandatory fifteen minutes providing value for the company, I trudged back into the kitchen, yawning and trying to crack my back. I had to quickly sidestep into a hallway to avoid Rochelle, afraid she was going to tell me about the best company around Melbourne for plastering and actively make me fall asleep.
Because the gods are cruel, I ran right into my boss’s considerable stomach, making him spill his coffee all over both of us and swearing at me to get off his toes.
So, long story short; guess who got to go home early, with full pay!
At least, I assume that’s what “pack your things and get the hell out of my building!” meant.
‘All aboard!’ the conductor roared over the din of the train, remaining bored even as the great steel beast began to buck and roar behind him.
‘Do you have everything?’ my mother asked me nervously, for the hundredth time, glancing furtively around at all of the other children to see if they’d remembered something she’d forgotten.
‘I’m fine, Ma,’ I rolled my eyes. ‘I’m only going for a week, anyway, what does it matter if I forget something?’
‘Because I’m the one who’ll be getting the angry phone calls from your grandparents if you haven’t got all the right socks,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘We don’t have too much time, sweet child, so I’ll have to say goodbye to you much quicker than I’d like.’
‘You’ve been saying goodbye to me for three weeks now,’ I laughed, and she mussed up my hair.
‘Aye, I have,’ she nodded sadly. ‘Oh, I’m going to miss you! So, so much!’
‘I’ll miss you too,’ I said, as she wrapped me in a big hug.
‘Right,’ she said, straightening back up, quickly wiping away a tear and grasping me by the shoulders. ‘Remember that your father and I love you very much and—’
‘Where is he?’ I frowned, catching her off guard. ‘I thought he was going to be here.’
‘He was, sweetness,’ she said, sadly. ‘But you know how it is at the moment, with the difficulty they’re having finding high quality steel supplies near Melbourne.’
‘He couldn’t take an hour off?’ I frowned.
‘No,’ she shook her head – although I caught a flash of annoyance cross her face.
‘Oh,’ I slumped slightly. ‘Okay.’
‘He loves you, you know,’ she told me, picking up my chin with a well-placed finger. ‘He loves us both.’
‘Not as much as he loves all of the steel fabricators in the Melbourne area,’ I mumbled. She didn’t say anything, just looked at me sadly and wrapped me up in another hug.
A shrill whistle from behind told us that we didn’t have much time left.
‘Margie,’ I called out into the house, stepping past a small crew of workers carrying what looked like… a wall?
That couldn’t be right.
‘Margie!’
‘Yeah, Steve?’ Margie appeared from behind a corner, out of breath and with a small trace of plaster dusting her cheek.
‘What’s going on?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The renovation,’ I said, mouth hanging wide as I glanced around at the carnage of our home. ‘It wasn’t like this when I went to work!’
‘Oh, you mean the walls?’ she asked, quizzically. ‘Yeah, we need new ones.’
‘New ones? What was wrong with our old ones?’
‘The vibes,’ she said, nodding her head like it was enough of an answer. ‘Bad vibes.’
‘Bad…’ I trailed off, gaping slightly. ‘Sweetheart – what the hell are you talking about?’
‘Shoshanna came around for tea,’ Margie started, and I let out a monumental groan. Margie frowned. ‘What?’
‘I might have known,’ I chuckled. ‘One visit from your cuckoo whack-a-doodle friend and suddenly all of my walls are in the garden!’
‘Not all of them,’ she pouted. ‘There were some structural ones that the contractor told me he couldn’t get rid of.’
‘For crying out—’
‘But,’ she interrupted me with a smile, ‘I think you’re going to like the changes!’
‘Like what?’ I grumbled, incredibly unconvinced.
‘Like the new kitchens – haven’t you always wanted a custom kitchen! Installation is coming along nicely, if I do say so myself,’ she beamed.
‘Kitchens?’ I frowned. ‘Plural?’
‘Yep,’ she nodded. ‘Haven’t you always felt stifled by only having one kitchen?’
‘Literally never,’ I shook my head. ‘Not once.’
‘Well, now you definitely never will.’ She dismissed me, wandering deeper into the house.
‘Where’s the new one going?’ I called after her. ‘Did you get rid of my theatre room?!’
‘The new house doesn’t like labels,’ she said without turning around. ‘Besides, the home kitchen designers from Melbourne won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t think we should make that decision without them. Do you?’
I glanced around at the construction site that had once been my house and felt the fight just… leave my body.
‘I guess two kitchens could be handy.’ I sighed.
‘Yay!’