I'm back in Broome. My house is full of
strangers. The weather is a hot liquid overcoat. I am no longer a underwater
porcelain technician. All of these facts painted a rather scary picture on my
return home. Particularly with the financial freedom of a penniless ascetic.
Fortunately my job was actually upgraded to a cook's position, possibly the
first person to ever be promoted while holidaying, and a pay rise accompanied
the change.
The new head chef liked the cut of my jib,
as I had dressed it up for the occasion, and decided anyone as old as me
shouldn't be doing menial cleaning jobs. So instead he got me doing menial
slicing and dicing jobs. I had a brief crack at the pass, a job that required
sending the wait staff to the right tables with the food. That was easy enough
when everyone stopped competing amongst themselves to see who could make the
stupidest mistake.
Salad plates were a secondary
responsibility and had I not sent about four caesar salads out with the wrong
dressing, no anchovies and no croutons, I would have said I excelled in the
role. My vegetarian skills were also called upon to inject a few more animal
friendly options into the menu. My first two attempts were all different kinds
of wrong and got catalogued in the 'would taste okay to people nearing
starvation' file. I am yet to be asked for further ideas.
So the change hasn't been a smooth
transition, and the days pass dreaming of my next move. For now I am only
entertaining thoughts of further changes to my vocation, and a job offer as a
pizza chef was a timely reminder that there are always other doors open if you
want to throw caution to the wind. I've got plenty of wind and no caution when
it comes to throwing doors open, so fertile soils are being prepared for new
possibilities.
The wet season has come to the residents of
Broome specifically, even if the clouds have not yet delivered on that promise.
I sweat trying to turn the air conditioner up more. I sweat just thinking about
it. I sweat more because I am sweating. The pool is a few degrees above
toddler-piss warm all day and night. Until I can figure out a way to chop
vegies while partially submerged, I am not going to be able to spend as much
time in there as I consider necessary though.
Thankfully passing the time getting to know
new flatmates is always an interesting way of finding out there is no such
thing as 'normal'. A constant change of personal since has not left anyone here
long enough to get to attached to. They all chose to move on due to reasons too
numerous to mention without trying to justify my frequent outbursts of nudity.
One who has endured is Alex, JJ's younger brother and a fellow lover of
inhalable happiness. While my intake remains an infrequent garnish on the day
to day paradise that is Broome, Alex needs it like hippies need tye-dye. With
half of Broome's female population already in his black book, this weapon of
mass conception must use weed like a cologne made of rhinoceros semen, or some
similar aphrodisiac.
I should have got to see its effectiveness
first hand when Alex joined me at Matsos for Oktoberfest. I probably did see it
but my vision had been severely compromised by certain aspects of the day. As
everyone jumps to the conclusion that I had my beer-goggles on, I will state
that it was actually the uniforms of the staff. As saucy and curvaceous as the
women looked in their long socks, suspenders and cleavage promoting tops, all
the guys looked like they were auditioning for 'Brokeback Mountain 2'. Perving
was fraught with peril should a wandering eye miss its busty bullseye and land
instead on some creepy sort of hairy anatomy. Eventually beer did get the
better of me, and in keeping with Oktoberfest in Australia, I played up like a drunk
idiot where plenty of behavioural similarities could be made with a typical
Germans celebratory style. What they were exactly I am yet to find out as
people tend to blush whenever I seek an explanation for what actually happened
that night. Probably a good sign that I should be apologising to more than just
my liver.
