Huh? What's this all about?

November 10, 2013

Peta Panned was originally set up as part travel blog / part existential crisis. I began writing it whilst living in Toronto, Canada on a 'working holiday'. I fell into an existential crisis of sorts partly thanks to the poor wage I earnt working as a cashier in a restaurant (I am an experienced primary school teacher in Australia). I suddenly realised I was suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome, the avoidance of growing up. Or was I? Was I just making the most of my 'youth' before youth travel visas are beyond reach.

As I found full-time work in admin and juggled finishing my Creative Writing courses (via correspondence), I struggled to find the time to update the blog-- at least to the level you deserved. This was very frustrating as I had so many things to say. When I left Toronto with my travelling sidekick, the time to share the ensuing travel (mis)adventures was even more scarce (as was power and internet often).

We returned home to Australia in September, jobless, homeless and with $50 left on my credit card. Back to our parents' houses we went. And with it, any motivation to write. From living out of each other's pocket in tiny apartments, tents and rental cars, we were suddenly an hour's drive apart without a car or even a mobile phone. But, we'd been there before after living in the UK so we knew what we were getting ourselves into.

Fast forward 2 months and it has dawned on me that I have indeed 'grown up'. Faster than expected, we have our own place to live in a beautiful spot in Newcastle, cars and full-time jobs. My plans to go back to substitute teaching (with all that glorious time off to write) were abandoned when I stumbled onto a job as writer for an educational resource company. Although I wasn't looking to give away teaching, the opportunity to combine my two loves was too good to miss. Plus, it's a whole lot better than the summer jobs I was looking for (usually over the Christmas period stores hire casual workers for the increase in customers).

While choosing which photos to print, I realised that so many brought back funny or interesting memories. A good story is a good story, no matter how old it is. Right? Hence the Retrospective Travel Blog.

I hope you enjoy my rambling reminiscences as I attempt to regale you with stories of my travels- the good, the bad and the mundane (as is often the case). By sharing them, I'll remind myself of why I've had to start all over again (again).

E.A.

If you're new to Peta Panned, please enjoy reading my old 'existential crisis' posts. The first post is here.

This monkey got published

June 5, 2013

I'm fairly excited to share my piece just published in The Hilt Magazine.

Click here to view A Monkey Could Do It.

And for my lovely followers who have signed up for email notifications, I'd really appreciate you clicking on the link to read it on the blog. It's formatted better and I miss out on your 'pageview'. They say it's quality not quantity but I say stuff 'em.

E.A.

From the Supermarket Aisles to the 25th Floor

View from the Boardroom (as I tidy the chairs)

June 1, 2013

The impeccable-timing fairy has finally worked in my favour, landing me a well-paid reception job. It's a three week assignment taking me right up to the day before our Bonnaroo festival road trip (yipee!)

There's a lot to like about working on the 25th floor. It could be the whole hour to have lunch (as opposed to a quick 10 minute bite en route to playground duty). Or maybe I just enjoy being part of something very ordinary- the 9-5 work day (well, 8:30-5 but let's not split hairs). In not-so-impeccable timing, the full time work coincides with my major assignments for the two courses I've been studying via correspondence from Sydney.

But hey, I'm a pretty good multi-tasker. Is sorting the dirty laundry whilst on the toilet taking things too far? What about moving a load from the washer to the dryer? It really is a conveniently placed toilet.

The 25th floor is a long way from the supermarket shelves I was supposed to be stocking. As it turned out, quitting that job was as cumbersome as starting. I'll admit that I dogged it and rang outside of business hours so I didn't have to talk directly to my manager. But being heard on the phone quitting your shelf-packing job doesn't really fit the image of commercial real estate.

As soon as I met my manager, I knew I was going to break her heart.I'm not sure how to describe someone as taking their job too seriously without sounding condescending or devaluing the job. But when you take a very strict training scheme to even more explicit heights, then it's probably a fair call. On an extensive store tour that included the door that I had quite obviously already been through and introductions to colleagues who sized me up as not being able to do the job as well as them, my manager and I had the following conversation:

'Do you smoke?'
'No.'
'I'll show you where to smoke anyway.'
'I may decide to take it up.'

I learnt early that jokes not only demean the training process, but my manager personally.

With six training shifts, I was essentially thrown in the shallow end. It was fortunate I suppose

Come where we treat you with respect

May 23, 2013

It’s a bit like when somebody explains, “I’m a nice person.” 

Having to tell you something that ought to be a given should set off alarm bells. Unless you’re me and stupidly optimistic about the wrong things (and doubtful of the right things).

The job title was “Servers, come where we treat you with respect”. To make my optimism even less credible, it was advertised on Craigslist (creepier version of Gumtree). But hey, the admin work wasn’t as fruitful as I’d hoped (more here) and what great flexibility to fit around my studies. All you had to do was email your availability for the week and get offered waitressing jobs at catering events. And I was going to make a whopping $15/hr to boot (for the lack of tips at weddings?).

I smashed the job interview; singing my praises in a banquet room with the other suckers watching on. I didn’t get invited to the owner’s house as I later read about on a red flag website but I did get invited back for training an hour later. What’s a girl to do for an hour on Dufferin Street? What else is there to do? My only option was Dairy Queen where I tried not to laugh as the cashier unenthusiastically turned my ice-cream upside-down. Supposedly you get it for free if it fails. I’d pay double.

A new party trick

I was a little suspicious on the ‘training’ that I rightly figured to be unpaid. But it was only for an hour and I’d gone all that way on the bus. Two hours later I was on my way home with a throbbing wrist and very late for dinner. In reality, waitressing is probably not the best career move for someone with a dodgy wrist (a self-diagnosed ganglion was recently upgraded to carpal tunnel– thanks Dr Internet). 



I mulled over my uniform requirements: a buttoned long sleeve white shirt, buttoned long sleeve black shirt, black pants with black belt, black tie and a black button up vest, and wondered how many hours I’d have to work to make back the money, especially now the ‘contract’ we signed before we were let out specified $10.25/hr. My old friend, minimum wage! Obviously

Minimum wage… ouch!

May 4, 2013

Currently I have three jobs and almost no money coming in. 

Not enough to cover rent. How did this happen?

It began back in Newcastle (Australia) when we took the short lease option because we planned to go to Canada for a working holiday. Working holiday? Surely that is a misnomer. We had hoped we could stay in the house for an extra month or so but the owner decided to sell. Very quickly our January departure became November and we rushed to get our work permits processed in time.

Not allowed to work with children nor as a stripper.

To work as a teacher in Canada not only requires sorting it all out with the school board of the province you wish to work in before you arrive but also a different type of work permit, requiring a very expensive medical and an extra six or so weeks, time we just didn’t have. “It’ll be nice to have a break from teaching,” I said breezily.

Oh, the naivety of a well-paying job!

My brother warned me– “You’ll get paid shit in Canada.” 

But he was forgetting the tips. Over a hundred dollars a night they said. Maybe it's true,