On sharehouses

So long and thanks for all the sh*t

Photo: Amazing Amazone

In the last three years I have lived with an average of nine different people a year in sharehouses around Brisbane, and in that whole time I’ve never written all that much about them. I thought John Birmingham said it all pretty well in He Died With a Felafel in His Hand and that Richard Lowenstein’s film adaptation showed it all. Turns out there’s an endless amount of stories and angles you can deal with, so I’ve got my five cents’ worth to add.

It all revolves around house work.

Things might start with the dishes getting to a stage where they devour the benchspace in the kitchen, move on to the garbage and recycling spilling foul-smelling unidentifiable watery stuff on your clothes and escalates from there. Maybe you have to cut the hedges at the front of the house with little pink stationary scissors because no one else will organise to get it done. Maybe you have to throw out the rotting pile of fruit that’s claimed the floor adjacent to the dining table.

Sure, you get that all the time. It’s part of the Great Sharehouse Experience, and it makes up half the funny stories you can tell once those days are behind you.

What I didn’t know was that moving is just as much a part of this Great Sharehouse Experience. I’ve never heard much about it before – I suppose because in sharehouses you often get people coming and going in between lease renewals. So when my last sharehouse got sold I got the full moving fiasco without warning.

It starts small enough, like the dishes. Someone accidentally takes something that’s clearly yours and brings it back, no problems. Then you realise that they’ve also left behind furniture, plants, rubbish and, oh? Is that a bean bag filling up our garbage bin so we can’t put anything else in there? Wonderful.

It’s even more fun in a big house. Play clean-ups and find the giant box of skank clothes left by one girl, or the broken outdoor seat that someone brought home and no one wanted to claim after they realised how unfixable it was. Plus, if you have an owner overseas, enjoy finding stuff he’s hidden away like that giant, scary metal lamp behind the hot water system.

My favourite, by far, is the endless masses of cardboard boxes, bike parts, car parts and other rubbish – usually found in, or adjacent to, the garage. This is always more rubbish than you could fit into two giant garbage bins and more than enough recycling material for two of those wheelie bins. Imagine a pile of cardboard and rubbish so big it starts to take up a third of the reasonably-sized driveway, and comes up to your knees in height. Now imagine trying to squeeze that into a compact two-door car.

Now imagine realising you don’t have anything to do with 90 per cent of that crap. Bike? What bike? No one who ever lived here ordered a new bike – oh, wait, our housemate’s sibling got it delivered here. Our housemate who is conveniently out of town while we’re here slaving away in the sun, ripping up stupid boxes we aren’t responsible for so we can have a better chance of getting our bond back.

We stood there, hot, sweaty and tired. A day before the lease runs out and seriously pissed off that we have to deal with this stuff at our old house, even if it is only to let the $800 cleaners in and get rid of the crap. Fuming at our (friends) housemates for ditching us with so much crap and swearing as cardboard cuts our fingers and dust clogs up our airways.

I was pissed off, doing the work with my two current (and thankfully amazing) housemates but feeling like even a barking dog would set me off on a crazed, hissing rampage.

Enter the real estate agent, a day before the lease expires, with a bitchlook at us for being there and a glimmer in their eye promising us bond hassles.

Listen

Sometimes listening can save you the trouble...

Of all the things I take for granted, I’m constantly surprised by how valuable listening can be. There’s more to it than hearing the words someone says to you, or the sounds around you. I’ve found that really listening to the conversations around me is a way to learn.

One of my part-time jobs when I was younger was working for a small greeting card company. The owner/creator, myself and the marketing manager used to work together through the day, talking to each other when we had the time. The tasks I had to do were fun, but they left my mind free to wander. During those days I not only developed a greater appreciation of ABC Radio National (which we listened to every morning), but I also realised a lot could be learnt from listening to the conversations my colleagues had on the phone. Some may say this is eavesdropping, but it was more the communication skills that interested me, rather than specific conversation topics.

Since then I have been more aware of how listening can create a better environment to work in. The number of times I have heard people say they need help, and then been able to offer my assistance has definitely increased. Plus, when you have to deal with people every day in your job, it helps to know how to really listen to what they’re saying.

Humans tend to say more than the words that come out of their mouth. The tone, emphasis and pitch all help indicate what’s really going on. As if the English language isn’t hard enough to navigate already, we can also gauge someone’s mood from their physical stance and facial expressions. In a sense that’s going beyond listening and into the realm of observing, but it’s all important in the end.

I once had a conversation with two friends which became quite amusing and frustrating. We were excited by some ideas being thrown around, when suddenly one of my friends quietly said, “I don’t think I can cope right now.” My other friend continued to talk excitedly, but I looked at her to see if she was alright. In an instant I suggested we get together later on and wound the meeting up as fast as possible. Afterwards, my stressed friend thanked me for my concern and explained that she had too much on to think about our project. She said it was a relief just to have someone acknowledge her concerns.

Imagine how many times in a day we don’t really listen. Supermarkets are a great example. I’ve been on both sides of the counter at these places, so I know what it can be like going in there. The classic “not properly listening” conversation goes something like this:

A: Hi, how are you?

B: Good thanks, how are you?

A: Good, and how are you?

At some point after A has asked “how are you” for the second time, both people realise the mistake and generally smile awkwardly for a while before the customer pays and leaves. Part of it is the monotony of the job, but part of it is not listening. It’s not exclusive to supermarkets either. I’ve had people do the same thing to me at cafes, bars, work…and the list goes on. If we want to know how people are, why don’t we listen when they tell us?

Creative Community

The bello bridge...an icon of my hometown

Brisbane's Brunswick Street Mall

I was tired, stressed and running late for my Monday morning meeting, walking brusquely through Fortitude Valley’s Brunswick St Mall when the pedestrian light changed to red. Instead of scowling or huffing in frustration, a smile came to my face. I wasn’t running late to a job I didn’t want to be at, or to the impending university lecture where I was to be assessed on a presentation I’d barely planned, I was going to something more important to me.

One of the things I love about drama is being able to tell stories. The other thing I love is being able to give something back to the community in a creative way. It’s fun, and seeing others have fun is part of what keeps me going. The project I’m working on now, the one I was running late for yesterday, will involve me and two others improvising and facilitating drama games for a specific community in the city. I was smiling because I felt as though the meeting I was about to enter would be challenging and fun. It ended up being a lot of work (there’s the challenge), but talking to everyone involved was a lot of fun.

Yesterday afternoon I met with a 17 year old girl who is involved in several volunteer community organisations, studying at university full time, and president of an organisation she founded for like-minded young people who want to help the world. The organisation was created late last year and is already developing a project with the State Library of Queensland to get a mobile book library for the Indonesian city of Depok. I’d never met this girl before but we got along instantly, connected by our similar interest in communities.

One thing I’ve learnt from growing up in a small town, and doing drama work with community groups, is that engaging with people from difference communities is a positive thing to do, but one which can often be overlooked. I used to know the names and phone numbers of my neighbours. Now, living in the city, I only know my neighbours as The Woman Who Talks Really Loudly On the Phone Right Outside My Window and The Family Including Someone Who Plays the Flute Loudly at Night. While I don’t really mind not knowing my neighbours, it’s disappointing that the neighbourhood community seems so disconnected.

The community work I engage in, and the people I meet through it, are all really friendly, creative people and I think that’s what makes the organisation so enjoyable. It could be like any other job – doing assignments, reporting back to people, discussing fees and budgets and resources – but it’s also a social activity. The reason I enjoy my classes at uni so much is because everyone gets along and knows each other well. The reason I volunteer to work at open days, or be a student mentor or any thing else for uni, is because I get on with the people I end up working with. And the reason I do drama projects in my own time, and have a passion for it, is because everyone is so easy to get along with.

When I compare these groups and activities with my current neighbourhood, one question arises: all around us are communities, but how often do we realise it, and actually engage with them?

Thanks, but I don’t trust you

Money or trust - what's worth more to you?

I was walking through the parking lot on my way home, laden with badly packed plastic bags that could have broken any minute, when I saw someone’s wallet sitting in the middle of a parking space. There were a few people around, mainly shoppers and a group of school-aged boys hanging outside a fish and chip shop right near me and the wallet. I couldn’t leave it sitting there out in the open because eventually someone might come along and figure they’d scored big. So I picked it up and took it to the fish and chip place, letting them know I’d found it and wasn’t sure what else to do with it. The guy thanked me and I went on my way.

Walking home I started thinking about the time I lost my own wallet a couple of years ago. It had fallen out of my pocket and I never saw it again. Luckily there’d only been $20 in it, so I didn’t lose much cash, but losing all my cards made me realise how important the things you keep with your money can be. I would have preferred to lose more money and keep my cards in the end because it was such a hassle to organise new ones. But I learnt my lesson and I’m constantly aware of where my wallet is these days, and if I see anything that looks like it’s been lost I make sure I do something about it.

The one I picked up was a lot thicker than mine has ever been. I don’t know what the person kept in there, I didn’t look because it felt invasive. Perhaps I should have looked anyway.

While I was in my reverie of wallet losses and life lessons that lead to good actions, a car pulled up in front of me. The driver wound down the passenger window and called out.

“Excuse me,” the man driving said looking directly at me, “did you pick up my wallet in the car park?”

“Yes, I did. I gave it to the fish and chip place because I didn’t want it to be outside. They should have it.”

He nodded impatiently, giving me the impression that he’d already gone and got it. “There was a lot of money in it before.”

“And it’s not in there now?” I asked, trying to figure out what he was really saying. I hoped he wasn’t accusing me. He just stared back at me, confirming my concern.

“Look, you can ask the boys down there if you want, but all I did was pick it up and take it to the nearest shop,” I told him, upset that he would think as much.

He muttered something under his breath, begrudgingly thanked me and drove off.

Normally I would be happy with a thanks for doing something nice, but this time the thanks was secondary to the lack of trust this guy had. Did I seriously look like someone who would steal money from a stray wallet? Why would I bother when there’d been so many people around who would have seen me doing it? And if I had decided I wanted the money, wouldn’t it have been easier to just take the whole package and leave?

I don’t know where his money went, but I was offended by the way he approached me. The car slowing down as I walked, then stopping a bit ahead of me was intimidating enough, but then his manner reeked of distrust too. The thanks wasn’t what it sounded like, it was a way of letting me know I was off the hook, that he didn’t think I’d taken the money after all, but still wasn’t happy with my actions.

If I did it over, I would still take the wallet into the shop. He could have lost his credit card, license and everything else if I hadn’t taken it somewhere more secure. But that didn’t seem to matter to this guy, it was the money he was concerned about and he was willing to accuse anyone of taking it. What really matters in life? A nice gesture, or money? Genuine concern for a stranger, or money? Helping a stranger, or money? Apparently this guy favoured the latter of all three. There wasn’t anything else I could have done, I have my own responsibilities to deal with and I wasn’t going to play guard dog for someone who might have taken hours to realise they’d lost their precious money.

In this instance, the thanks was like a slap in the face, telling me trust and good intentions can be overruled by the valued placed on money.

Cold, Hard Truth of the Workplace?

“Amy, you’re going to have to realise soon that your looks will get you further than your smarts.”

I tried not to look as shocked as I felt. We were sitting in the lunch room of the workplace where we were interns – both of us from the same university, but working in different departments. I think we both felt out of our league – we knew the theory behind the work, but it can be overwhelming to go straight from university into the workplace. I’d been lucky enough to have someone in the department I was working in decide to help me out. He’d worked there for years and before that had been an intern himself, so he said he knew what it was like. All I had to do to get other peoples help was ask.

Jerry (the other intern) didn’t seem to have it as easy. I’m not sure if he was ignored by the people in his department, or if he didn’t want to ask for work. He could see I was getting stuff to do, and perhaps that annoyed or frustrated him. At any rate, a few days before his opinions came out in the lunch room, he started making snide comments about the help I was getting.

I was aware of Jerry watching me when the guy helping me out came to check on me, and I was aware that he thought I had it easy compared to him, but I didn’t know if he thought there was a reason for that.

Grateful that I was being helped, I tried to help Jerry out when I could. I suggested he ask someone to introduce him to people working on something that interested him.

“You can talk about the technicalities and show that you have some knowledge of what they’re doing,” I suggested. He kind of smiled and I persevered.

I told him I believed it was all about the language that you used to try and get things. When I’ve wanted something from someone I’ve tried to adapt my language to suit the person I’m talking to, like working within a different discourse. He laughed, and I asked him why he thought it was funny. That’s when things got ugly.

I know the theories that girls can sleep their way to the top, that we “have it easy”, especially if we’re pretty. But any compliment I could take out of Jerry’s statement about my looks versus my intelligence was soured by the notion that I’m only getting help because I’m a girl. But to add insult to injury, there was more Jerry had to say.

“It’s so much easier for girls,” he lamented, unaware of how offended I was. The truth is that easiness is relative. Within both my fields of interest – drama and journalism – it’s probably easier for men because there is more demand for men. Girls have to look “right”, sound “right”, seem dependable (there’s some kind of idiotic idea that once we’re secure in a job we’ll go into nesting and start having babies straight away). As well as have the right personality (that goes for both men and women though).

I don’t think it’s easy for anyone. I think it depends on the person, and perhaps I have to believe that to think I’ll get a job when I graduate at the end of the year. I think interpersonal skills, communication skills, intelligence, initiative and determination are the values that will get people jobs, regardless of their sex or attractiveness. Otherwise why do people get on with me when they’ve only ever dealt with me over the phone? Oh, don’t tell me, I have a “pretty” voice, right?

Do people really still think that girls only get help if they’re pretty? That they couldn’t just be nice people who are getting help from other nice people? That empathy from professionals is impossible for interns unless they have long hair, nice eyes and curves in the right places? I still can’t figure out what offends me more – the assumption that I’m getting help because of my gender, or the fact that all Jerry seems to find validating is my looks.

Friday Update

I was having a busy but good day today. I got treated to a coffee this morning at the cafe, had a nice chat there and headed home to cook for mum. I was in the kitchen from 11am til 3pm non-stop with different cooking things – the cake, chocolate coated stawberries and cherries, salsa, hummous. It kept me busy but I enjoyed it.

Just when I was resting (drinking coffee and reading a Stephen King short story), someone stole my thunder.

It so happens that I got an excellent mark for an assignment which was more than an assignment to me. And I have plans for it outside of uni too. Plans I would prefer to keep slightly to myself until they lead to something like the clearing at the end of the path for this assignment. But obviously Fate (or someone there when I got my assignment in the mail), had other plans. I don’t like people spreading good news for me. Let alone the part which hasn’t been achieved yet. So now my thunders been stolen, but the storms here in a coffee cup (I’m drinking coffee, tired from all the cooking today).

Hopefully things will look up later though.

Beautiful Bellingen

It’s been a while. I actually think I should write one of my inevitably long emails soon, but some recent correspondance from my Future (soon) Director in Hungary made me decide I should do more blog entries.

I have returned to the beautiful town of Bellingen, population somewhere between 2 and 3 thousand people. The river’s full, the birdies are singing, crickets chirping and even the yellowish grass is green (much greener than any Brisbane grass, anyway). I am very happy to be away from the city for a while.

Of course, there are things I miss, like access to the movies (particularly for less than $11), shops, and other entertainmenty stuff. But I have actually had a rest since being here. I’d almost forgotten than word existed out of the few hours of sleep I’d get a night during semestertime.

At the end of last week (Friday Saturday) both my performances went well. I was buggered by Sunday, but my first Shakespeare workshop also seemed to be fun for all. And there should be a few more people coming along this Sunday, so that’s promising.

I’ve devoted a lot of the resting to reading, and some to watching shows like Battlestar Galactica, which Sister Dear suggested I’d like (and rightly so). Mainly reading, and drinking coffee. And I think I’ll leave it at that for now. I’d enjoy any comments you’d like to leave too.

Reading, Writing, Watching

Time is speeding away from me like cars on the highway at holiday time. I don’t mind, but at the same time I do. I feel like things are slipping by me without getting my full attention, and I don’t like that idea.

I’ve started reading Stephen King’s Lisey’s Story, upon Sister Dear’s suggestion to do so. I’m not very far into it, but I like it so far. A lot of the King books I’ve read are not done from a female perspective (the only one which I can think of that uses an exclusively female voice is The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon). While things like male or female perspective rarely bother me, it’s interesting to see how they might differ for writers. A few writers I’m familiar with go very cliché when they write from a certain gender perspective. Stephen King does not (at least not from my reading so far).

Today has been spent reading, writing up my last assignment and watching Boston Legal with Sister Dear. We’re watching Season 3 at the moment, and I have to say it has been my favourite so far. The characters are good (some of the new ones great), the stories are excellent and the morality behind them highly entertaining. And, I must admit I do enjoy figuring out what angles they might take for their court cases (as I say to some friends “I like it ’cause I know a bit about the law”, and never mind that I’ve only studied Australian law in depth, and only in relation to the media at that!).

Otherwise, things are as they should be.

Rehearsal Whining

Yes, I took a week off. Well, a bit more than a week, but close enough for government business as some might say. I needed a break from things to try and take it easy. Evidently “taking it easy” is not simple task for me, I’ve still been busy. But I’m slightly more relaxed.

I spent the first few days of last week writing my last essay for the year, and the rest milling through other forms of work and arranging my holidays and other nonesuch. Rehearsals have played a bigger role the past week or so. And my back has been sore. At first I had no idea why, but I think it’s from lifting a girl in the play up and carrying her as if in a funeral procession. Because I’m the shortest cast member the weight isn’t distributed fairly, so it’s not been good in that sense.

I am looking forward to performing in it. It’s just getting to that stage which is difficult. The directors are making some great decisions, but they are not good with time management or considering cast members. For example, they waffle along for half an hour or so before getting started at a rehearsal, don’t do very well chosen warm-ups, and ask cast members to come in even when they know that certain cast members won’t be needed until hours later.

And they don’t understand stage etiquette. One cast member felt they were facing upstage for too long in a scene, but couldn’t do much about it because of the blocking, and I heard one of the directors say to the other “does it matter if she’s facing upstage?”, to which the other director replied “not really, as long as she projects”. Ok, rule number one is NEVER have your back to the audience. Obviously once you know this rule you can manipulate it and play with it, but to not know it at all? O, grim looked night!

The weekend just passed was very nice for me. My mum and brother came up to visit and we all went to see the play that Sister Dear assistant directed for. I thought it was good, but at times a bit overacted in a bad way. But it was the first night, and Sister Dear said they were very nervous, so I think it would have improved a great deal since then, and I enjoyed it all the same.

Super Saturday

What a day. Never has that short, but to-the-point sentence been so apt for me. I’m very tired right now, but I wanted to quickly write something up before I turn in for the day.

Rehearsals were a bit of a waste of time for me. I could only go for two hours, and because one of the cast members I work quite closely with wasn’t there until 10 minutes before I had to leave, the rest of the time was just chatting and watching other scenes. It’s not that I mind doing that, but I did let them know over a week in advance that I would have to leave early. Oh well.

The plays were good. I’ll talk more about them tomorrow when I’m not falling asleep at my computer. And the company was excellent, we had a lot of fun.

I have study, food shopping and other stuff to do tomorrow, so I’ll have to sacrifice catching up on all my lost sleep until tomorrow night/Monday morning when I might get to bed earlier/sleep in. But I’m feeling pretty good anyway.