1st May 2017

I’m so poor it hurts. I was having so much fun in Melbourne that I became foolish and began paying the price of not having any fun because I could no longer afford the price of fun.

I was given a trial at a pretentious cafe a while back, back when I didn’t really need a job that much but it was whipped away from me when the employer noticed my stretched ears. That was fine, I later found out from other sources that the woman was an offender of refusing to pay backpackers for their work so I’d dodged a bullet anyway but she didn’t have to scribble poncy calligraphy all over my 40ยข-per-print CV before observing my appearance. That lady will be going to hell, along with her 1921 Chateau d’Yquem vintage featuring forbidden notes of apple.

I continued with my half-arsed attempt at getting a job up until a few weeks ago when I was forced into making a substantial effort. I received a phone call from a sales company who sell meal kits with recipes and they offered me an interview. I specifically asked if the interview was for a door-to-door sales job and was advised that the job was for placing orders with suppliers. I got to the interview and it turned out it was for a door-to-door sales job. Another hell-bound employer. This was most displeasing as I’d just had my hair done for the purpose of making myself look more employable. It wasn’t cheap but I saw it as an investment. Had I have known my fate, I wouldn’t have bothered.

Look at me. I am quizzical.


I was offered a training day for the sales job but I turned it down on moral grounds and also because upon further investigation, I found that the company are renowned for not paying their employees. After that, I began dedicating entire days and nights to job hunting. On one of the days, I’d gone to St Kilda, an inner suburb of Melbourne and walked up and down for hours searching for job vacancies but they were limited (I now realise that I’d been searching on a desolate street no where near to the centre). I’d even made four different versions of my CV tailored to different types of jobs and individually sealed them in envelopes but it was all in vain. I left St Kilda having achieved nothing but the installation of this image in my brain for evermore:

I was living in Southbank at the time, another inner suburb of Melbourne and although I was planning to relocate, I decided to try my luck around there another day and I had a truly wonderful time. I first went into a cafe and asked “Do you have any job vacancies at all?” to which the man responded “Are you looking for a toilet?”… They didn’t have any job vacancies or a toilet so my time there was done. The next place was a deli where the staff liked my moon phase bracelet and took a CV. I’m sure they discarded it instantly but at least I received a compliment. I handed out many more CVs over the course of the day but what was most exciting was South Melbourne Market. I was overwhelmed by the trove of treasures. It was amazing. I went to an olive shop within the market to enquire about a job but ended up taking advantage of all 15 of their free samples instead. Then I found a cheese, meat and pastry deli. I sampled five cheeses before deciding I would buy an aubergine and spinach fritter and enquire about a job as they passed me my purchase. It worked. I had a nice chat with the manager, told him I liked his cheese and he took a CV with a great big smile on his face as if he was saying cheese. I continued on my mission and saw a small child run around a plastic lamb and order her mother to come and have a look. “Oh! That’s a bottom if I ever saw one!” exclaimed the mother, so I went and had a look.

Next I went to a pie deli and bought a sausage roll. As the lady passed me the sausage roll, I enquired about a job and was then escorted to the other section of their deli to speak to the manager. It was the deli I’d just taken a photo of a lamb’s anus in front of and I was now having a formal conversation with the manager regarding a job.

When I ran out of CVs, I went to the library in the CBD (basically the city centre) to print more. On the way, I came across a shoe shop called Universal Services & Shoe Repair and it got me thinking; why didn’t they call it Shoeniverse? Maybe I will open up my own shoe shop and name it that (if anyone reads this and is thinking of stealing that idea, that is a dick move. Do not do that). I handed a few more CV’s out in the CBD and then went into a cafe that had a full-time Kitchen Hand job vacancy displayed and was told that the manager was away until the morning so on a Saturday morning, I got up early and made myself look presentable to personally hand my CV to a rude, dismissive woman who disliked being referred to as “Jo” by myself, myself who had just been advised by her staff that that was her name. She would like to be referred to as “Joanne” by the likes of peasants.

Life was sucking harder than a mosquito with hyperthyroidism. Something had to be done so I went to one of those sushi restaurants with the conveyor belts and booked a flight to Perth to work on a farm.

I intended to go to Western Australia at some point anyway and I also wanted to work on a farm for the experience and to get my 2nd year Visa so it seemed like the perfect time. I now live in a cupboard under the stairs at a hostel in St Kilda until Friday when I start my new life with my unnecessary new hair on a farm near Perth and actually, despite my lack of funds, I am most certainly having fun in my temporary accommodation. In fact, I’m going to write a blog about it.