So what is New Zealand really like? What are my lasting impressions that I will look back and recall most vividly? Well, to address most people’s uneducated assumptions, yes there are a lot of sheep and old people. Traffic being stopped due to a flock of sheep crossing a road was a common occurrence. Same with old people for that matter, they’re always in the way.
“Hey old man! Make like a sheep and get the fuck outta my way!”
I never said this, but thought it sounded pretty funny.
Other than that though there are many beautiful places to visit and spend time staring at. I’ve figured out that travel, in a way, is kinda pointless. So you went somewhere and saw something. Big deal. Where is it now? Did the place come with you? No. Some people might say, “Well it goes with me wherever I go… in my mind.” Sweet, a room full of naked chicks goes with me everywhere in my mind. It’s really just so you can tell other people you went somewhere and maybe show them some pictures of yourself there to prove it. But in the end who cares? It’s really all relative. If the coolest place I had ever been was Cleveland, Ohio and I had a great time there, to me it would be just as good as New Zealand or better. The only thing that would make me think differently would be listening to other people, which is usually a big mistake. What do other people know? Nothing.
But yeah if you get the chance to go to New Zealand I would recommend it. I did pretty much have the trip of a lifetime. It wasn’t all peaches and cream, either, but in the end it was all worth it. The early lonely days of warding off boredom and bankruptcy while waiting for employment; the days of skiing and cleaning hotel rooms; the days of packing boxes and living in a tent; then it was off to Sydney, followed by aimless travel throughout most of the unexplored corners of this island nation that has been my home for the past 6 months.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Old, but Some how new.
I haven’t been keeping up on my blogs very well, but it ain’t easy when you’re constantly on the road. I think my last blog had me working in a Christchurch warehouse. That was like a month ago. Since then I have been to Sydney, Australia, traveled extensively through the South Island of New Zealand, and left it for good for the North Island. Since my girlfriend and I arrived here we have been doing nothing but driving, trying to see all we can before we depart for the U.S. We have decided to adopt an aggressive budgeting plan so that we can have some money left for us upon our return to the states. No more eating out, no more sleeping in beds, no more wasting money. It pretty much sucks. We have $80 NZD to spend a week on food for both of us. I have been subsisting on bread, peanut butter, eggs, carrots, and a flavorless NZ cereal called Wheat-Bix. Luckily we have some booze left from our stop through the duty-free shop, but even these supplies are beginning to run low.
Pretty much in a day we will wake up from a miserable night’s sleep in our tent, break camp, drive for a few hours, spend a few minutes at our destination, drive for another two hours looking for a free campground (a.k.a. a secluded rural dirt lot), set up camp and fall asleep.
There are a few fun things about life on the road though. I get to test the limits of neglecting personal hygiene. No more washing, shaving, or cleaning. Every time I think I am living as close to the hobo life as I will get, another chance happens to come along where I get to live even cheaper and dirtier. Maybe I keep setting myself up for it.
What sucks is that I am going back to the U.S. where I have no job, no money, and no real plan. But strangely enough I do have a place to live for free for 2 months; in Jackson Hole, no less. Having a girlfriend with connections comes in handy sometimes. I think this winter I will have to clean toilets or something since the economy is gone to shit. I hear there are no jobs, especially in tourism, which is my normal business. Whatever. I’ll do what it takes to keep the dream alive. What dream is that, you may ask? Uhhh...I’ll get back to you on that.
Pretty much in a day we will wake up from a miserable night’s sleep in our tent, break camp, drive for a few hours, spend a few minutes at our destination, drive for another two hours looking for a free campground (a.k.a. a secluded rural dirt lot), set up camp and fall asleep.
There are a few fun things about life on the road though. I get to test the limits of neglecting personal hygiene. No more washing, shaving, or cleaning. Every time I think I am living as close to the hobo life as I will get, another chance happens to come along where I get to live even cheaper and dirtier. Maybe I keep setting myself up for it.
What sucks is that I am going back to the U.S. where I have no job, no money, and no real plan. But strangely enough I do have a place to live for free for 2 months; in Jackson Hole, no less. Having a girlfriend with connections comes in handy sometimes. I think this winter I will have to clean toilets or something since the economy is gone to shit. I hear there are no jobs, especially in tourism, which is my normal business. Whatever. I’ll do what it takes to keep the dream alive. What dream is that, you may ask? Uhhh...I’ll get back to you on that.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Working on Holiday
Uhhhh….yeah gidday. A working holiday is a vacation where you work at seasonal jobs to supplement your income while traveling. On my working holiday, I have had two jobs so far. One was cleaning hotel rooms, which I have described in earlier blogs. Now I work at a warehouse. A warehouse for a store named, The Warehouse. It’s like a Kiwi version of K-mart or Wal-Mart. I work at the South Island distribution center for The Warehouse. Basically my job consists of different forms of stacking boxes. Sometimes I stack boxes slowly and sometimes I stack them quickly. It depends on where they place me for that particular day. It is sort of a game; I think it has to be in order to keep your sanity. Here’s what goes through my mind during most of the day. “Stack the boxes, stack the boxes, stack the boxes…” The boxes come down a conveyor system and I stack them on a pallet based on the number on the box. It’s pretty complex stuff, definitely not as easy as it sounds. Oh wait…actually it is as easy as it sounds. It takes no thought. Just stack the boxes. I do this for 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. Luckily I am only working here for 2 and a ½ weeks. So far it has been 1 1/2 but it feels like a month. I can’t imagine working there everyday for a year. I would probably flip out.
An interesting side note: I get to work with some guys on work release from jail. You can pick them out from the institutional stamp on their clothing. Most of them are nice enough. I figure they must mostly be drunk drivers or something. Otherwise they wouldn’t be trusted to come back to jail at the end of the day. No fights so far, but there have been a few close calls. After talking to a few of the guys though, they seem to have a pretty good deal. They get a free place to stay, free food, and a job. They don’t have to pay for shit and they work 9 hours a day. I wish I were incarcerated. Wouldn’t be too hard I guess. Just get liquored up and go for an evening drive at 90 mph through downtown. Should do the trick.
Also in a noisy warehouse it is even harder to understand Kiwis when they speak to me. One weird guy with a few missing teeth is completely incomprehensible; he’s from jail. Sometimes it makes me feel like busting out my most ridiculous Kiwi accent just to join in the fray. The hardest to understand are the ethnic Kiwis, the Maoris and other Pacific Islanders. My supervisor is from Samoa and I can barely understand his guttural English. “Yuh gonna beh hehr on Sat’day, mate?”
“Uhhh…I think so.”
Another strange thing is everyone here thinks I’m Canadian. I never thought I had that bad of a northern accent. I think it is because they expect every American to sound like they are from the South. Sorry to disappoint.
An interesting side note: I get to work with some guys on work release from jail. You can pick them out from the institutional stamp on their clothing. Most of them are nice enough. I figure they must mostly be drunk drivers or something. Otherwise they wouldn’t be trusted to come back to jail at the end of the day. No fights so far, but there have been a few close calls. After talking to a few of the guys though, they seem to have a pretty good deal. They get a free place to stay, free food, and a job. They don’t have to pay for shit and they work 9 hours a day. I wish I were incarcerated. Wouldn’t be too hard I guess. Just get liquored up and go for an evening drive at 90 mph through downtown. Should do the trick.
Also in a noisy warehouse it is even harder to understand Kiwis when they speak to me. One weird guy with a few missing teeth is completely incomprehensible; he’s from jail. Sometimes it makes me feel like busting out my most ridiculous Kiwi accent just to join in the fray. The hardest to understand are the ethnic Kiwis, the Maoris and other Pacific Islanders. My supervisor is from Samoa and I can barely understand his guttural English. “Yuh gonna beh hehr on Sat’day, mate?”
“Uhhh…I think so.”
Another strange thing is everyone here thinks I’m Canadian. I never thought I had that bad of a northern accent. I think it is because they expect every American to sound like they are from the South. Sorry to disappoint.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Holiday Park Paranoia
One thing I’ve learned while living the transient lifestyle is that you never pass up an opportunity to live cheap. I recently left Wanaka, my New Zealand winter ski destination, and have relocated to Christchurch. A sprawling Kiwi metropolis of 360,000 people. This decision was based on money and how to save more of it. Living in Christchurch is a lot cheaper than living in the resort town of Wanaka. The best way to save money is to pay as little rent as possible. And what cheaper way to live than out of your car and sleep in a pup tent. We found a small city holiday park in which we set up residence for three weeks. A holiday park is like a campground where you can stay in RVs, campervans, or a tent. My first day here was similar to my first day in any new environment; cautious and paranoid. I noticed that most of the people I saw walking around the park were much older than me. Maybe not such a big deal, but then I noticed that most of them weren’t here on holiday, they seemed to be living here. After this my paranoid delusions sunk me further into suspicion as I caught a glimpse of the other residents. Check that guy over there out. Mid-fifties, overweight, pale skin, sad sunken face, lives alone in a camper: pedophile. Or this guy over here. Young, doesn’t talk much, avoids eye contact, tries to blend in. Probably a serial killer. And that old ass dude over there? He just seems like a raving derelict.
Many of you may be thinking, “You’re just twisting things from reality into a skewed paranoid view.”
Probably, yes. But if you had seen these people, you’d have thought the same thing. It’s pretty much like a trailer park, except I camp there sort of. More like I live out of my car there. So, I guess it’s nicer than a lot of other trailer parks I have wandered into in America. Instead of young poor people, this one is old poor people. There are a lot of old people in Christchurch. In my neighborhood so far I have counted 5 or 6 retirement villages. So there are old people all over the place. Some people try to tell me that Christchurch can be a dangerous city. That there are muggings and not to go out alone at night. So far most of the people I see out at night are hobbling home with the aid of a cane. If you are a mugger who preys on the elderly, you should be in Christchurch, ‘cause there’s a shit load of old people walking around the city at all hours of the day. I find it strange. My grandparents live in Detroit and I’m pretty sure they never leave the house once the sun goes down.
Anyways, since there is really nothing to do at our campsite, I have spent my time spying on my neighbors, trying to convince myself that they are probably not as crazy as they look. But I’m pretty sure they couldn’t be sadder to talk to. Most of them are so starved for conversation that they will talk to you about anything. So usually during breakfast I have to listen to some old guy ramble on in his barely comprehensible Kiwi English about how he feeds a stray cat every night. On another sad note, I barely see anyone else cook in the communal kitchen and when I do, I get a window into each resident’s depressing lifestyle. One old guy regularly dines on boiled eggs and burnt toast. Another guy makes himself some sort of a hot drink and says with a faint half smile, “That’s all for my dinner.” A sad statement for which there is no correct response. “Yeah, whatever gets you through the day, pal.”
It really isn’t that bad though, it’s quiet, green, and there is plenty of space. It may be a little depressing, but hey, life in general is pretty depressing…if you think about it.
Many of you may be thinking, “You’re just twisting things from reality into a skewed paranoid view.”
Probably, yes. But if you had seen these people, you’d have thought the same thing. It’s pretty much like a trailer park, except I camp there sort of. More like I live out of my car there. So, I guess it’s nicer than a lot of other trailer parks I have wandered into in America. Instead of young poor people, this one is old poor people. There are a lot of old people in Christchurch. In my neighborhood so far I have counted 5 or 6 retirement villages. So there are old people all over the place. Some people try to tell me that Christchurch can be a dangerous city. That there are muggings and not to go out alone at night. So far most of the people I see out at night are hobbling home with the aid of a cane. If you are a mugger who preys on the elderly, you should be in Christchurch, ‘cause there’s a shit load of old people walking around the city at all hours of the day. I find it strange. My grandparents live in Detroit and I’m pretty sure they never leave the house once the sun goes down.
Anyways, since there is really nothing to do at our campsite, I have spent my time spying on my neighbors, trying to convince myself that they are probably not as crazy as they look. But I’m pretty sure they couldn’t be sadder to talk to. Most of them are so starved for conversation that they will talk to you about anything. So usually during breakfast I have to listen to some old guy ramble on in his barely comprehensible Kiwi English about how he feeds a stray cat every night. On another sad note, I barely see anyone else cook in the communal kitchen and when I do, I get a window into each resident’s depressing lifestyle. One old guy regularly dines on boiled eggs and burnt toast. Another guy makes himself some sort of a hot drink and says with a faint half smile, “That’s all for my dinner.” A sad statement for which there is no correct response. “Yeah, whatever gets you through the day, pal.”
It really isn’t that bad though, it’s quiet, green, and there is plenty of space. It may be a little depressing, but hey, life in general is pretty depressing…if you think about it.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Hostel Blog
So, now I not only clean hotel rooms for money, I also clean them for free. Sort of. I clean rooms at a hostel for 3 hours a day and I get to stay there for free. Now I usually spend a good 9 hours a day cleaning. It’s pretty sweet. The good thing about cleaning for accommodation though is that you really don’t have to give a shit at all, because when you think about it, I work for 3 hours every day, and in return I get a shitty bunk in room full of strangers. Most shifts I’m not even supervised so I as long as everything looks clean, then as far as I’m concerned, it is. After everything is clean in appearance, I get to go back to doing nothing.
Today I was cleaning the kitchen after lunch and some lady and her kid were there talking to this other guy who works at the hostel. For some reason this kid wasn’t wearing shoes even though it has been raining all day, and he managed to step in some broken glass. After inspecting the floor the lady looked at me, as if I was responsible, and said, “There’s glass all over the floor.”
My dry, uncaring response: “Yeah, I’m gonna vacuum in a minute.” What I really wanted to say was, “Where the hell are your kid’s shoes?” This is a hostel and its cleaner than most, but I never walk around barefoot here. I decided not to mention that the glass was from a coffee carafe I had broken that morning and had only done a half-assed job of cleaning it up. I didn’t figure any rednecks and their barefoot children would be wandering through the kitchen.
Today I was cleaning the kitchen after lunch and some lady and her kid were there talking to this other guy who works at the hostel. For some reason this kid wasn’t wearing shoes even though it has been raining all day, and he managed to step in some broken glass. After inspecting the floor the lady looked at me, as if I was responsible, and said, “There’s glass all over the floor.”
My dry, uncaring response: “Yeah, I’m gonna vacuum in a minute.” What I really wanted to say was, “Where the hell are your kid’s shoes?” This is a hostel and its cleaner than most, but I never walk around barefoot here. I decided not to mention that the glass was from a coffee carafe I had broken that morning and had only done a half-assed job of cleaning it up. I didn’t figure any rednecks and their barefoot children would be wandering through the kitchen.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
It's a Damn Dirty Job
Think back and try to remember the last time you stayed in a pretty nice hotel. You were probably on vacation somewhere, just kicking back and relaxing, not worrying about anything. Drinking some cocktails by the pool or eating out at a nice restaurant. Sounds like it was pretty nice, eh? Did you ever stop to think about who cleaned your room? Or maybe you didn’t notice that your bed was made for you everyday, or that the dishes were clean, and fresh towels were replenished. And how about that huge shit you took after devouring that bucket of greasy fried chicken. Some one had to clean that toilet after you punished it so unjustly. Or if you’re like me, maybe you didn’t care to think about it.
Now I am on the other side of the equation. I would have never thought of cleaning hotel rooms in the U.S., however, I have found myself with few other options for employment here in New Zealand. So I had to swallow my pride, hitch up my pants, grab the toilet brush and start scrubbin’. I actually find that I don’t mind cleaning that much, but there are a few things about the job that can really gross you out if you actually stop to think about them. I have decided to share them with you here.
When you are entering a room to clean it, the first thing you always notice is the smell. I never would have thought this about hotel rooms, but after people stay in them, no matter if it is only a night and no matter how clean they are, the room still smells. And everyone smells different, yet always unpleasant. Everyday I enter at least one room that makes me nauseous. People fuckin’ stink.
Next you get to paw through the food that the guests have left behind like starving dogs. I am able to feed myself pretty well by just eating other people’s left over food. I find lots of cereal, pasta, and on occasion some alcoholic beverages.
Some times you have to clean the room while the people’s stuff is still there. Pretty much just to clean up after their sloppy asses. I hate this part the most. People love to trash hotel rooms. It is pretty gross to see how some people live. Usually all of their dishes are dirty and scattered around the room. In the units with kitchens, the pans are all dirty with some unrecognizable shit burned to the bottom. I am supposed to clean this kind of stuff, but usually I say screw that. My mentality is that if people make a big mess they should either be willing to live with it or clean it up themselves. Apparently the guests don’t agree since the bitch to the management all the time about how their rooms aren’t clean. Someone should tell them that the place wouldn’t be a shit hole, if they hadn’t made it that way.
There are some perks though. I get to work unsupervised and it is pretty easy to just chill and watch TV if you are really hung over. Though the other day I had the hangover from hell. I don’t know what I did, but I was so fucked up I could barely work. I usually agree with the school of thought which teaches that being hung over is no excuse to not come to work, but I don’t know if I’ve ever been this hung over and had to work before. I was able to grind out a couple hours of slow work until I started puking ever 30 minutes. I tried to eat lunch and couldn’t keep it down. I puked in about 4 different toilets that day, luckily no guests were in their rooms when I was, because they would have been in for a surprise when the grungy looking room cleaner (me) made a mad dash for the toilet and could then be heard heaving his guts out. Though that would have been pretty funny.
I can picture myself emerging from the bathroom, drenched in sweat, wiping vomit from my lips with the back of my hand, looking like complete shit and saying, “Oh…sorry ‘bout that. I’m not exactly feeling tip-top today. Heh-heh. Don’t worry though, I’ll clean it up. I always do.”
Now I am on the other side of the equation. I would have never thought of cleaning hotel rooms in the U.S., however, I have found myself with few other options for employment here in New Zealand. So I had to swallow my pride, hitch up my pants, grab the toilet brush and start scrubbin’. I actually find that I don’t mind cleaning that much, but there are a few things about the job that can really gross you out if you actually stop to think about them. I have decided to share them with you here.
When you are entering a room to clean it, the first thing you always notice is the smell. I never would have thought this about hotel rooms, but after people stay in them, no matter if it is only a night and no matter how clean they are, the room still smells. And everyone smells different, yet always unpleasant. Everyday I enter at least one room that makes me nauseous. People fuckin’ stink.
Next you get to paw through the food that the guests have left behind like starving dogs. I am able to feed myself pretty well by just eating other people’s left over food. I find lots of cereal, pasta, and on occasion some alcoholic beverages.
Some times you have to clean the room while the people’s stuff is still there. Pretty much just to clean up after their sloppy asses. I hate this part the most. People love to trash hotel rooms. It is pretty gross to see how some people live. Usually all of their dishes are dirty and scattered around the room. In the units with kitchens, the pans are all dirty with some unrecognizable shit burned to the bottom. I am supposed to clean this kind of stuff, but usually I say screw that. My mentality is that if people make a big mess they should either be willing to live with it or clean it up themselves. Apparently the guests don’t agree since the bitch to the management all the time about how their rooms aren’t clean. Someone should tell them that the place wouldn’t be a shit hole, if they hadn’t made it that way.
There are some perks though. I get to work unsupervised and it is pretty easy to just chill and watch TV if you are really hung over. Though the other day I had the hangover from hell. I don’t know what I did, but I was so fucked up I could barely work. I usually agree with the school of thought which teaches that being hung over is no excuse to not come to work, but I don’t know if I’ve ever been this hung over and had to work before. I was able to grind out a couple hours of slow work until I started puking ever 30 minutes. I tried to eat lunch and couldn’t keep it down. I puked in about 4 different toilets that day, luckily no guests were in their rooms when I was, because they would have been in for a surprise when the grungy looking room cleaner (me) made a mad dash for the toilet and could then be heard heaving his guts out. Though that would have been pretty funny.
I can picture myself emerging from the bathroom, drenched in sweat, wiping vomit from my lips with the back of my hand, looking like complete shit and saying, “Oh…sorry ‘bout that. I’m not exactly feeling tip-top today. Heh-heh. Don’t worry though, I’ll clean it up. I always do.”
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Outdated Blog from like 3 weeks ago.
“Hey Uncle Bernie, do you know where New Zealand is?”
“New Zealand? Doesn’t it lie off the southeastern coast of Australia in the South Pacific Ocean?”
Uncle Bernie may know where New Zealand is, but more Americans than I would have expected have no idea where the island nation is located. Let me give you a quick geography lesson. First imagine that your Uncle Bernie’s fat beer gut is the globe as we know it. That patch of fuzz to the left can be North and South America. Then there’s Europe directly under his right nipple. That big scar from last Thanksgiving’s “Turkey Fiasco,” can be Africa. Asia is the vast carpet of man fur that spreads under his arm and to his back. Now, as unpleasant as it might be, lift up on Uncle B’s girth and search through the shaded nether-regions of his gut. This would be the Southern Hemisphere. That tattoo of the naked fat lady, that’s Australia. And if you look directly to the southeast of the tattoo you’ll see a small red blotchy birthmark. That’s New Zealand. The unsightly birthmark of the world.
As many of you know I have been in New Zealand for the past, oh let’s see now…month and a half. A fairly sufficient amount of time to have at least seen some of the country. The question may have crossed some of your minds as to what I have been doing down here. Even if the thought never entered your head, I’m going to let you know anyways, because I’m just that nice of a guy. So before I came here, I acquired a work visa. This enables me to be employed for seasonal work while I am here to supplement my income and make the trip affordable. My initial plan: get to New Zealand, buy a car, find a place to live in the mountains, get a job, and ski during North America’s summer. Well everything in my plan has fallen into place except for probably the most important factor. I haven’t been able to get a job. I have applied at nearly every hotel, motel, restaurant, bar, and hobo shack in town and still haven’t been able to secure employment. I am still trying to figure out why this is. I figure it’s got to be one or all of a few reasons. One: I’m American. Two: I’m ugly as fuck. Three: Kiwis are dicks.
Just ‘cause I’m bored lets explore each of these reasons one-by-one. One: I’m American. It is a fact, I was born in the U.S. of A. And it seems like this would be a good thing. The cultures are very similar, in fact, a lot of the TV here is imported from America. So I don’t have to miss all my old favorites from the States such as Dr. Phil and the Fresh Prince of Bellaire. However, I am starting to figure that this is how Kiwis form there opinions of Americans, through our exported TV shows. They see that I’m American and immediately assume that I own a lot of guns and have a vast amount of personal wealth. Neither of these is true, even though sometimes I wish they were.
I am starting to believe that Kiwis are just plain jealous of our boisterous American lifestyle that they get to watch on TV, but can’t have. In America we drive huge SUVs fully loaded with TVs, video games, and leather seats. In New Zealand they drive shitty old cars imported from Japan. In America, we have millions of immigrant workers to do all the work deemed undesirable by our pompous pop-culture. In New Zealand, there are no Mexicans to do the shitty jobs; white people do all types of work here. Cleaning, hard labor, cooking. You’d think I’d be able to secure a job doing a task that an unskilled Mexican worker could do, but so far, I have failed even at this. I have to admit, it has been somewhat humbling.
Okay, on to the second reason. I’m an ugly bastard. While this may not be completely true, I have been known to be somewhat “bum-like” in appearance. I don’t always shave, or wash, or wear clean clothes, but I think letting personal hygiene slide a little now and then is liberating. If you don’t have a job, why not look like a bum. That way you can look back on yourself years from now with your kids and say, “Yeah, those were some tough times back then. Sure, I got to go to New Zealand, but the trade off was that I lived in destitution. Eating out of trash cans, shining rich men’s shoes for couple dimes, fighting off the rats for a place to sleep. You kids are lucky these days, what with your fancy beds and clean clothes.” And they’ll believe me because they’re kids and kids are easy to fool. So to complete my reasoning, I don’t look nice, because I don’t want to.
Reason three; Kiwis are dicks. Why are they dicks? Because they won’t give me a fucking job! I guess I don’t really have any other facts to back this one up. It’s still a valid reason though.
So if you’re an ugly American and are planning to move to New Zealand to work, don’t do it. They’ll deny a job to a rich American just to spite them. ‘Cause they’re dicks.
“New Zealand? Doesn’t it lie off the southeastern coast of Australia in the South Pacific Ocean?”
Uncle Bernie may know where New Zealand is, but more Americans than I would have expected have no idea where the island nation is located. Let me give you a quick geography lesson. First imagine that your Uncle Bernie’s fat beer gut is the globe as we know it. That patch of fuzz to the left can be North and South America. Then there’s Europe directly under his right nipple. That big scar from last Thanksgiving’s “Turkey Fiasco,” can be Africa. Asia is the vast carpet of man fur that spreads under his arm and to his back. Now, as unpleasant as it might be, lift up on Uncle B’s girth and search through the shaded nether-regions of his gut. This would be the Southern Hemisphere. That tattoo of the naked fat lady, that’s Australia. And if you look directly to the southeast of the tattoo you’ll see a small red blotchy birthmark. That’s New Zealand. The unsightly birthmark of the world.
As many of you know I have been in New Zealand for the past, oh let’s see now…month and a half. A fairly sufficient amount of time to have at least seen some of the country. The question may have crossed some of your minds as to what I have been doing down here. Even if the thought never entered your head, I’m going to let you know anyways, because I’m just that nice of a guy. So before I came here, I acquired a work visa. This enables me to be employed for seasonal work while I am here to supplement my income and make the trip affordable. My initial plan: get to New Zealand, buy a car, find a place to live in the mountains, get a job, and ski during North America’s summer. Well everything in my plan has fallen into place except for probably the most important factor. I haven’t been able to get a job. I have applied at nearly every hotel, motel, restaurant, bar, and hobo shack in town and still haven’t been able to secure employment. I am still trying to figure out why this is. I figure it’s got to be one or all of a few reasons. One: I’m American. Two: I’m ugly as fuck. Three: Kiwis are dicks.
Just ‘cause I’m bored lets explore each of these reasons one-by-one. One: I’m American. It is a fact, I was born in the U.S. of A. And it seems like this would be a good thing. The cultures are very similar, in fact, a lot of the TV here is imported from America. So I don’t have to miss all my old favorites from the States such as Dr. Phil and the Fresh Prince of Bellaire. However, I am starting to figure that this is how Kiwis form there opinions of Americans, through our exported TV shows. They see that I’m American and immediately assume that I own a lot of guns and have a vast amount of personal wealth. Neither of these is true, even though sometimes I wish they were.
I am starting to believe that Kiwis are just plain jealous of our boisterous American lifestyle that they get to watch on TV, but can’t have. In America we drive huge SUVs fully loaded with TVs, video games, and leather seats. In New Zealand they drive shitty old cars imported from Japan. In America, we have millions of immigrant workers to do all the work deemed undesirable by our pompous pop-culture. In New Zealand, there are no Mexicans to do the shitty jobs; white people do all types of work here. Cleaning, hard labor, cooking. You’d think I’d be able to secure a job doing a task that an unskilled Mexican worker could do, but so far, I have failed even at this. I have to admit, it has been somewhat humbling.
Okay, on to the second reason. I’m an ugly bastard. While this may not be completely true, I have been known to be somewhat “bum-like” in appearance. I don’t always shave, or wash, or wear clean clothes, but I think letting personal hygiene slide a little now and then is liberating. If you don’t have a job, why not look like a bum. That way you can look back on yourself years from now with your kids and say, “Yeah, those were some tough times back then. Sure, I got to go to New Zealand, but the trade off was that I lived in destitution. Eating out of trash cans, shining rich men’s shoes for couple dimes, fighting off the rats for a place to sleep. You kids are lucky these days, what with your fancy beds and clean clothes.” And they’ll believe me because they’re kids and kids are easy to fool. So to complete my reasoning, I don’t look nice, because I don’t want to.
Reason three; Kiwis are dicks. Why are they dicks? Because they won’t give me a fucking job! I guess I don’t really have any other facts to back this one up. It’s still a valid reason though.
So if you’re an ugly American and are planning to move to New Zealand to work, don’t do it. They’ll deny a job to a rich American just to spite them. ‘Cause they’re dicks.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Gang War: New Zealand Style
What’s the top story in New Zealand lately? It happens to be a gang war in the country’s most southern city, Invercargill. A city I had imagined as virtually desolate, but what do I know. Not shit. Anyways, its not the kind of gang warfare we as Americans are used to. The usual Bloods versus Crips is not present here in the land of kiwis, instead it’s the war between two motorcycle gangs. It is the Road Knights against the Mongrel Mob. It seems that the Road Knights’ headquarters was burned to the ground along with a lot of their motorcycles. The Knights blame the Mongrel Mob for this blatant attack and want revenge. The Road Knights, who are openly gay and racist, insist that the streets of Invercargill will run red with Mongrel Mob blood. Apparently the Road Knights were involved in gang warfare during the ‘80s and claim Invercargill as their home turf. It looks like the Mongrel Mob had better watch their backs. I would if there were a gang of motorcycle riding, racist gays after me. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you informed of any New Zealand gang war updates! Maybe I’ll even take a short weekend trip down to Invercargill for a frontline update. My new impression of this city I have never been to? Pretty much the same uninformed guess that I outlined above. Only now the city is run by white supremacist homosexuals on motorcycles, dressed in tight constricting leather. So far all my preconceived notions of Kiwis have been 100% correct so I’m expecting this won’t be too far from the truth.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Sittin' Phat Down South
So I’m in New Zealand. For the geographically challenged, it is south-east of Australia. It’s winter here. For those who don’t know, the Southern Hemisphere has opposite seasons from you Northies. I’m here to escape the summer doldrums. “Summer doldrums?” you may ask. Yeah. I’m not too fond of summer. For some reason when its like 90 degrees out, I don’t wanna do anything but crank up the AC, sit in my basement drinking beer, and watch pro wrestling. I find it surprising that more people don’t find the heat as oppressive as I do. On the other hand, the winter is awesome. You get to wear cool snow gear like hats and boots. It gets cold and snows all the time. You get to ski, its sweet! I’ve always liked the idea of hunkering down in some isolated cabin in the woods for the winter. Like in the Shining and being a caretaker for some summer resort. I bet most people would go crazy doing that. I wanna see what happens to me. They always say you shouldn’t drink if you do that, but screw that. If I had nothing better to do, I’d be drinking all the time. It would be the ultimate test of mental endurance, going idle for like 4 months. Yeah…maybe someday I’ll try that. But for now, like I said, I’m in New Zealand.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
At Work
Only a few more days of shitty work left. This job is one of the most irritating I have ever had. I thought I was pretty good at putting up with people's bullshit, but this job is by far the worst. Everyone who comes into this office thinks they should be getting some kind of a deal or some free tickets. They get nothing. Or they think because I am young and look like bum, I will give them some sort of "hook up". They don't get shit from me.
"Dude, I forgot my season pass, can I get a ticket for the day for free?"
Answer: "Fuck no! Now get the fuck out of this office!"
Or some rich old lady who doesn't want to ski because her feet hurt and wants her money back. Is she serious? No Refunds! I don't care how many thousands of dollars you've spent at this mountain. You don't like it? Don't come back!
That really is the consentual feeling among employees at this resort. Oh, you had a bad experience? You're going to tell all your friends? Good! Fuck'em. We don't need your business. Less shitty skiiers on the hill to get in our way.
Only 2 more days. Will I make it???
"Dude, I forgot my season pass, can I get a ticket for the day for free?"
Answer: "Fuck no! Now get the fuck out of this office!"
Or some rich old lady who doesn't want to ski because her feet hurt and wants her money back. Is she serious? No Refunds! I don't care how many thousands of dollars you've spent at this mountain. You don't like it? Don't come back!
That really is the consentual feeling among employees at this resort. Oh, you had a bad experience? You're going to tell all your friends? Good! Fuck'em. We don't need your business. Less shitty skiiers on the hill to get in our way.
Only 2 more days. Will I make it???
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
I'm Broke!
So, for me, this ski season has been a financial grind. By the last day of the season I plan to be flat broke. And somehow I plan on leaving the country for six months. Hopefully I can get that loan, or else I'm trapped! Also it will be a miracle of planning for me to pull it off. I hate planning things. Especially big things like this. I guess I don't have anything particularly funny to say today. Maybe you should read someone elses blog.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
T.O.
So, I'm back working for the ski resort, this season in the Ticket Office. My day pretty much consists of me telling people no. The complete opposite of what I got to do all summer, where I had to kiss people's asses all day. The mountain has some very non-customer friendly return policies when it comes to lift tickets. Pretty much once you give them your money, you ain't gettin' it back. Here are a few examples:
"Hi, we have to leave town early for a family emergency and were wondering if we could get some money back for days we didn't ski that we paid for."
Answer: "No Refunds."
"The weather was really unpleasant during our stay so we only skied 2 days out of the 5 we purchased. Can we get our money back?"
Answer: "Unpleasant weather? It snowed for 4 days straight! No Refunds!"
Reply: "Vail would have given us our money back!"
"Good for them. Go ski there and never come back!"
Rich people can be surprisingly cheap too. Mostly the old rich people. My favorite is when they ask me what the cheapest way to ski 5 days would be. I, of course know the answer, but I usually tell them, "Uhhh...a 5 day ticket is like 300 bucks or something. I'm not doing the math for you." Can't they see I'm in the middle of a really important game of solitaire? Its not like you can't afford the more expensive option anyway, you cheapskate old bastard.
What's really funny is how many people still ski with equipment and clothes from the '80s. Even in Jackson you see some of the most ridiculous outfits. Old guys in pink snowsuits wearing cowboy hats. Weird shit.
"Hi, we have to leave town early for a family emergency and were wondering if we could get some money back for days we didn't ski that we paid for."
Answer: "No Refunds."
"The weather was really unpleasant during our stay so we only skied 2 days out of the 5 we purchased. Can we get our money back?"
Answer: "Unpleasant weather? It snowed for 4 days straight! No Refunds!"
Reply: "Vail would have given us our money back!"
"Good for them. Go ski there and never come back!"
Rich people can be surprisingly cheap too. Mostly the old rich people. My favorite is when they ask me what the cheapest way to ski 5 days would be. I, of course know the answer, but I usually tell them, "Uhhh...a 5 day ticket is like 300 bucks or something. I'm not doing the math for you." Can't they see I'm in the middle of a really important game of solitaire? Its not like you can't afford the more expensive option anyway, you cheapskate old bastard.
What's really funny is how many people still ski with equipment and clothes from the '80s. Even in Jackson you see some of the most ridiculous outfits. Old guys in pink snowsuits wearing cowboy hats. Weird shit.
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