No Holds BARred

Blacktress' Log, Star Date 12/2/2008.

It's about 2pm Tuesday afternoon--or 1400 hours for those on military time. I woke up about an hour ago, still fatigued from my first full shift as a bartendress.

Yes, the blacktress is earning her keep! Last week I applied for work at a bar near the city center that's popular with the foreign/backpacker crowd. It was a weird process, as the boss was very flaky and much of my hiring was due to me calling him and him making a last-minute decision. For example:

After an interview last Tuesday, he said he'd call me the next day to set up a trial shift. This means he wanted me to come in and work. He wanted to see me--this is fact. So, Wednesday comes and I get no phone call.
Thursday comes and goes, no phone call.
Finally, sick of the waiting game, I call him up on Friday at 2pm to see what the deal is.
Manager: "Hey, how are you going? Actually, someone canceled their trial, so can you come in at 6pm tonight?"

Cut to me, four hours later, standing behind the bar like I know what's up.

At the end of that shift, he says he'll slot me in for Monday, and let me know the exact time.
Yesterday, at 1pm, I'm calling him and getting NO ANSWER, as I wonder when my shift is. He then TEXTS me an hour later, telling me to come in at 10pm.

I thought working on a Monday would be a nice way to ease me in to the process, for where I come from, Mondays aren't usually poppin'.
Clearly (and as the night would go on to prove), I was an idiot. I keep forgetting that being on the other side of the world, things are opposite of what they'd be in the land Up Over. The thing is, backpackers are on vacation, so every night's a party night. They are in it to win it and will not stop until they can't feel their face and are making out with a dude from Croatia.

The place was packed and in full swing, and I pretty much got behind the bar and hit he ground running. I was instantly overwhelmed and confused, unable to understand many of the foreign accents and needing things repeated over and over. Luckily, I was told to shadow Laura, a really nice English girl who was super fast and knew the way backwards and forwards. Having been awake since 4am and in a state of stress and panic all day, I wasn't as sharp as I should have been, and also have a lot to learn.

This is what happens when you lie on your resume.

I realized that I don't like serving girls, or guys with groups of girls, because they always order complicated things and are quick to give a female bartender an attitude. This is especially frustrating when said female bartender is new and has no idea what the customer is talking about. For instance, when someone says:
"Hey, can I get two QF shots?"

What the fuck is a QF shot?!

I repeated her order with my confusion obvious, and she looked at me like I was a retarded, three-headed hydra. And I'm thinking, "Oh, what bitch, you're so fucking cool you have to abbreviate everything and expect me to read your mind?"

A "QF shot" is a Quick Fuck shot-- a combination of (wait, let me see if I can get this right) Midori, Kahlua, and Baileys. I'd never heard of it, it looks as disgusting as it sounds, and it's all the rage with the English.

Have you ever heard of Vodka Raspberry? It's vodka with raspberry cordial. Never heard of it before yesterday, and it looks pretty narsty. However, it's quite popular. I'm also supposed to know that when someone orders vodka-raspberry, I am to add lemon soda to it--even if they don't say it!

Oh, and what about "white wine with lemonade"? Well, by lemonade, these crazy foreigners mean "lemon soda" -- but do NOT think this means 7-Up or Sprite. No siree, those are sweeter, lime-flavored, and do not count.

Do see what I'm up against?

Guys, I just want to meet people and enable addictions-- am I asking for too much?
I had grand illusions of working in a nice, local pub where I'd get to chat with kindly people--preferably during the early hours, which would enable me to have a social life. Alas, I'm on the 10p-3a shift, getting yelled at by strangers who are lined up four-deep for jager bombs.

On the plus side, the other girls I work with are pretty nice, and helped me out. I tried to look to them for inspiration, especially my dear Laura. I asked her how long she'd worked here, and was pleased to hear her say she'd only been here two months. Maybe it'll take time, I thought. She's so good in two months, maybe I'll get there quickly, as well.
"Have you worked in a bar before?" I asked her, hoping she'd say no.
"My parents own a pub in England, so I've been in pubs my whole life."
Well, there goes my inspiration. Laura's been up in the pub since she was 11, which is of course why she makes serving 10 people at a time look so effortless.

My ego is further crushed when I learn that Laura is only eighteen years old. In fact, all the girls on duty last night were under 21. And they're just slinging and mixing like some fucking Coyote Ugly extras, while I'm standing around wondering what the hell is in a "Norwegian Sock Jug."

I got home at 3:30 am last night, my shoes soaked through with dirty soap-water, and my jeans wet up to my knees. I smelled of beer and insecurity, and couldn't wait to shower. It's now 3:15pm, and I've got less than 7 hours before I have to get out there and do it again.

Um, how badly would you guys judge me if I quit?

Remember, Remember, the 1st of December

I'm really happy that today is December 1st. Primarily because it brings an end to the Australian month of MOvember. The Movember event raises awareness around men's health issues, with a focus on prostate cancer and depression in men. Basically, dudes all over the country grow intense facial hair and people sponsor them to do so, raising money for the organizations.

This is a wonderful thing for men to be doing, and it's cool to be able to look at a guy and see that he's about supporting the cause (separate the wheat from the chaff),* but the drawback is that for the last month 1 out of every 3 Australian men has looked like a pedophile--or Burt Reynolds. Imagine walking down the street or hitting up the club and seeing a bunch of this:

















Okay, well, not as bad as the guy on the right, but I'm trying to paint a picture here. You should see what google showed me when I image-searched 'pedophile'.

I'm also glad because my birthday is in 6 days. Although I'm going to be celerbating it when I'm back in NYC in 2009, turning the big 4-8 (or 25, or 211, depending on which of my alter egos we're going with) will be fun. And it'll be the first time my birthday isn't during freezing weather, which makes dressing sluttily so much less awkward.



* or, you know, tell which guys really likes to keep his upper lip warm. Sometimes it's just a dude rocking a mustache and they don't get why everyone else has been stealing their look.

Tell-tale Signs, II

Question:

Answer: Every man I've ever dated.

Be Thankful You're Not THIS GUY

Or a blacktress.

So, as you can imagine, being a foreign woman of color down under can sometimes be a doozy. It's amazing how many things people have said to me that could be deemed offensive. Luckily, having attended an elite private school where people never left the 20-block radius of the Upper East Side, I'm not easily offended. More often than not, such comments just reveal the speaker's ignorance in a manner so blatant that I'm shocked that they don't feel shame.

And not all of these comments have to do with race (though most do). When I mention I'm from New York City, people suddenly get excited, as though the little man inside the TV has stepped out of the little box and joined them on their couch for evening tea. I mean, we all know America and it's major cities--New York in particular--have appeared all over the world in the form of television and movies. But I guess I didn't realize how deeply these images were emblazoned in the minds of millions.

For instance, while sitting in a car with some random stylish Asian students on our way to a club downtown, we made small-talk. I told them I was from New York, and one girl got really excited. She didn't speak English very well, and first began pointing at me with her thumb up, jumping up and down in the car. I was sorta confused, but waited for her to find her words.
"Do you have a gun?" She asked, sincerely and excitedly.
"What?!" I burst out laughing--not at her, but just the thought that I'd have a gun. Did she mean, like on me at that moment? She seemed to happy for me to be a criminal, so that couldn't be it. I was dying to know more.
"In New York City, everyone have guns," she said matter-of-factly.
"No they don't!" I was cracking up now, trying not to make her feel bad and keep it light, but quite eager to clear up the situation. "New York's not really more dangerous than any other place. If you know how to behave, you're fine. I mean, it's not like I walk down back alleys, pull out my wallet, and start counting my earnings. You have to think a bit, and you're all right."
She nodded, her wide Hello Kitty eyes understanding.

The thing that's so interesting is that I can't get away with shit like that. If I said to her, "Do you know tae kwon do?" I'd be seen as a racist, ignorant American--so typical of a person from the land of the Big Mac and George Bush. I can't express a lack of knowledge because it would come off as insensitive and stupid, yet for some reason my blackness seems to warrant a display of foolishness--why do we think that is?

Take, for instance, this conversation I had online with an Aussie bloke earlier today. We met through an online dating site-- I know, I know, guys, I need to stop, but old habits die hard! Lord knows I can't even try to find a man til I handle my own scandal (get a job, get my head right), but I want to meet new people and I'm thoroughly bored, being jobless and all, and can't keep talking to the same 4 people I know here. Besides, I want to see who's out there and what my options are.

Well, turns out, not many. Much like late-80s crooner Lisa Stansfield, I, too, have been around the world and I-I-I, I can't find my baby. All I'm finding are completely inappropriate cray-crays who think it's acceptable to say whatever, whenever (uh-oh, now I'm getting all Shakira on it). Check this out:

me: so, tell me a bit about yourself

kanchan says: you look good and sexy for a black lady

me: "for a black lady"? are we normally unattractive?

kanchan says: it's how African's are generally referred as, isn't it?

me: no, i wasn't asking about the word black

kanchan says: nothing intimidating I guess

kanchan says: oh, people genrally dont get attracted, that's true

kanchan says: go on please

me: go on with what? i asked you to tell me a bit about yourself. you just told me i was attractive, despite being black. it's still your turn to take this conversation to a good place.

kanchan says: but i've seen some beautiful girls going to black dudes and some handsome white men going for black women

me: what is your point?

me: i'm not sure what you're getting at with this whole subject line

kanchan says: I mean some peple get attracted or for them physical beauty is not important

me: ok

me: i don't think we'd get along very well. bye!

kanchan says: I just wanted to chat with you

Okay, am I on glue, people? He "just wanted to chat," yet his conversation topic involved a discussion of me as some sort of exception to my normally hideous, monkey-like race. He also insinuates that those who date black people could perhaps be doing so because physical attractiveness is a non-issue--because perhaps you're only with the negress for her witty banter.

This dude completely had no clue how idiotic and offensive he was being. And, alas, he's not the only Aussie to go there. I'm finding those that are attracted to me are in it for the thrill of....well, I'm not sure what exactly. Transgressing? Going to the dark side? If I'm out with a guy or having a flirtatious conversation, I have to keep in mind that his interest in me may simply be physical.

"Well, duh, Sojourner, you weren't born yesterday!"
No, of course not, I was born in 1797 on the Hardenburgh estate. But, it's not simply the possibility of a man going after a hook up. It's that he may not even be attracted to me so much as intrigued by me. Excited by the opportunity to go there. That he may very well just want to be able to tell his mates he slept with a black woman.

Now, don't get me wrong--this could totally be the case in the land UP OVER, and in the city that never sleeps. But I guess, lacking a sense of PC-ness, it's a bit more blatant down here, and it touches a nerve in a way that gets me a bit riled up (as you can tell by the length of this post).

Let me hand it over to Lisa and Barry.

(I chose this youtube clip of this song because I think it fits in with the interracial issues)

Blacktress' Horoscope, According to CLEO Magazine

SAGITTARIUS
November 23 - December 22

You are entering a critical position in which trying conditions of anxiety and worry may be experienced. Changes are par for the course, resulting in a break-up of existing conditions or separation from close ties. Social activities may be at a standstill or prove to be a disappointment.

I think Australian magazines may be on to something here. But, to be fair, they're about 6 months late.

Addictions Uncovered

Here's an email I just got from my mother today:

can i drink the rest of the jim beam that was in your room? it's straight jim with nothing else in there, right?

I don't know what makes me more uncomfortable: my mother cleaning my room; her finding Jim Beam in there; or her asking to drink it.

And, to be honest, I can't even remember if there's anything else in it. I do tend to pre-mix.

My response:

"hahahhahah1 wqhat? jim beam in my room? um, yeah."

You can tell by the typos that I am so embarrassed, I could just die.

Do you think this email is some sort of reverse psycholoogoogoly* she's trying to work on me across the international date line? How can she make me feel ashamed when I'm on the other side of the world?

Damn her, it's working!




*not a word.

Career Moves

The premiere of Australia is taking place mere metres away in downtown Sydney. This means that Hugh Jackman--or, as I like to call him-- HUGE JACKED MAN-- is as close to me as he will ever be.
I must find a way to get inside him. I mean, inside the PREMIERE--yes, that's what I meant.

Anyway, I digress.

As you know, I've been down under over a month, which means being funemployed is no longer as fun as it was upon arrival. The boredom, coupled with my dwindling funds means I'm going to have to find work, stat.
The thing is, though, I don't really like working. Or waking up early, or not getting alot of money. So I'm starting to think outside of the box when it comes to means of employment. I chatted about it with my Elite Gay Visionary, and I think I may have found the job for me.

me: oh, and i may be going in to interview with a GENTLEMAN'S CLUB!
EGV: really??? i thought you nixed that idea?
me: i don't know should i just go in for the meeting?
EGV: you are naomi campbell
me: she may tell me i'm fat and kick me out immediately
EGV: you obviously have to go
me: think she'll make me strip? and then make me put ice cubes on my nipples?
EGV: maybe she'll give you ice cubes and ask you to impress her
at which point you take out a nail file and turn it into a miniature dolphin
me: HAHAHAHHA
you're just too amazing, elite gay visionary.
or maybe she'll give me a flute, tell me to spread my legs and play the australian national anthem
EGV: hahahaha
me: there are so many possibilities
EGV: i love how we've combined circus act and gentlemen's club.
we've obviously never been in one.
you should tell her you have great director skills and will stand on stage and tell girls what to do
me: i would love that
be in the wings just yelling at them "step, ball change!! now lick it....LICK IT.....LICK IT!"
EGV: haha step ball change
dance magic dance!