Check out the washboard on the young Kiwi male. Me likey! I may even be inspired to do a sit-up.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Working Girl, Part 3
Naturally, Drinkie Friday at work resulted in humiliation. You probably predicted this. Hey, don't ever accuse me of learning from my mistakes!
The office bathrooms are located in the stairwell and you need to swipe your ID to get back in to the main floor. Drinkie Friday lasts into the night, and I learn the hard way that my temporary ID card hasn't been enabled with 24-hour access. After unsuccessfully swiping my ID about 20 times, I accept that I am trapped in the stairwell. For some unknown reason, I decide to walk from the 12th floor up to the 13th floor. Can't get in there either. Then I walk down to the 11th floor because that is usually open to the public, but it is also locked after 5pm. I go back up to the 12th floor. The Kiwi women are downing the wine like water, and I figure one of them will come to the bathroom soon enough and I'll sneak back in. So I wait... and wait... and wait. Finally, I bang on the door until someone comes to my rescue. When I return to the party, everyone says they assumed I went home without saying goodbye. Americans are so rude!
For my next trip to the bathroom (the wine was flowing freely on Drinkie Friday), I borrow someone else's ID so I can get back in. I do this on the sly so as not to call attention to myself. Then my boss sees me heading down the hallway and yells, "No Maureen! Wait! Remember you'll get locked out!" Yes, thank you for reminding everyone.
I've had enough embarrassment for one night. In a rare display of good judgement, I limit myself to only one tequila shot with the co-workers. I have to face these people again on Monday morning.
The office bathrooms are located in the stairwell and you need to swipe your ID to get back in to the main floor. Drinkie Friday lasts into the night, and I learn the hard way that my temporary ID card hasn't been enabled with 24-hour access. After unsuccessfully swiping my ID about 20 times, I accept that I am trapped in the stairwell. For some unknown reason, I decide to walk from the 12th floor up to the 13th floor. Can't get in there either. Then I walk down to the 11th floor because that is usually open to the public, but it is also locked after 5pm. I go back up to the 12th floor. The Kiwi women are downing the wine like water, and I figure one of them will come to the bathroom soon enough and I'll sneak back in. So I wait... and wait... and wait. Finally, I bang on the door until someone comes to my rescue. When I return to the party, everyone says they assumed I went home without saying goodbye. Americans are so rude!
For my next trip to the bathroom (the wine was flowing freely on Drinkie Friday), I borrow someone else's ID so I can get back in. I do this on the sly so as not to call attention to myself. Then my boss sees me heading down the hallway and yells, "No Maureen! Wait! Remember you'll get locked out!" Yes, thank you for reminding everyone.
I've had enough embarrassment for one night. In a rare display of good judgement, I limit myself to only one tequila shot with the co-workers. I have to face these people again on Monday morning.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Working Girl, Part 2
This earthquake stuff is serious business. As part of my job training, I had to review the office's disaster preparedness plan. Among the items I am advised to keep in my desk:
- non-perishable food
- can opener
- 3-5 liters of bottled water
- warm shirt
- walking shoes
- waterproof jacket
- essential medications
- plastic bags
- dust mask
- torch (flashlight) with extra batteries
- sunscreen
- deck of cards and/or board games
One of these things is not like the others; One of these things just doesn't belong; Can you tell which thing is not like the others; By the time I finish my song? (Remember that little ditty from Sesame Street?)
The Kiwis acknowledge they might slowly starve to death while trapped in the office, but damnit, they're gonna have fun doing it! At least I'll die knowing how I stack up against my co-workers in a game of Yahtzee. I promise to represent America to the best of my ability, even if my rolling hand has been crushed by falling debris.
Working Girl, Part 1
Big news! I have successfully infiltrated the New Zealand government. I have taken on a new full-time job in addition to my part-time job. I'm a glutton for punishment. I regret this decision almost immediately, but it will only last a few weeks. Plus, this exposes me to a whole new side of the Kiwi culture. I should know better than to blog about work (you're fired!), but I feel compelled to tell you to start searching for jobs in New Zealand right now. Employment is one big party.
A peek inside the office kitchen cupboard gives me the first clue. One shelf of coffee mugs, one shelf of drinking glasses, and one shelf of wine glasses. While searching for office supplies, I come across a filing cabinet full of cases (plural!) of beer. Later, my supervisor tells me to make sure no one breaks into the booze supply. I'm on it, boss! He asks if I have an adequate supply of rubbers. Who has he been talking to?! I know he's referring to rubber bands, but this still makes me laugh. He also tells me they usually have "some wines" on Fridays if I'm interested. Yes, very much so. Just to make sure we're totally clear on this, he reminds me again on Thursday, "Remember we're having drinkies tomorrow" (accompanied by the international gesture for drinking - tilting an imaginary glass to his mouth). Oh believe me, I most certainly will not forget about the drinkies.
This isn't unique to my department. Dawn's office does the same thing. It's not as if they leave early to go to happy hour or congregate in the conference room at 4:30 for a quick drink before going home. They simply pour themselves a glass of wine at their desk and continue "working." Who isn't at her best when she's under the influence? Not the Kiwis! Not me!
I know other countries have relaxed attitudes toward drinking, but this still surprises me. I don't think it would be allowed in the American workplace, right?? At least not in a government office. Cheers to you, taxpayers of New Zealand! Thank you for the beer.
A peek inside the office kitchen cupboard gives me the first clue. One shelf of coffee mugs, one shelf of drinking glasses, and one shelf of wine glasses. While searching for office supplies, I come across a filing cabinet full of cases (plural!) of beer. Later, my supervisor tells me to make sure no one breaks into the booze supply. I'm on it, boss! He asks if I have an adequate supply of rubbers. Who has he been talking to?! I know he's referring to rubber bands, but this still makes me laugh. He also tells me they usually have "some wines" on Fridays if I'm interested. Yes, very much so. Just to make sure we're totally clear on this, he reminds me again on Thursday, "Remember we're having drinkies tomorrow" (accompanied by the international gesture for drinking - tilting an imaginary glass to his mouth). Oh believe me, I most certainly will not forget about the drinkies.
This isn't unique to my department. Dawn's office does the same thing. It's not as if they leave early to go to happy hour or congregate in the conference room at 4:30 for a quick drink before going home. They simply pour themselves a glass of wine at their desk and continue "working." Who isn't at her best when she's under the influence? Not the Kiwis! Not me!
I know other countries have relaxed attitudes toward drinking, but this still surprises me. I don't think it would be allowed in the American workplace, right?? At least not in a government office. Cheers to you, taxpayers of New Zealand! Thank you for the beer.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Tsunami Warning (psych!)
Sorry to give you back-to-back weather posts, but I told you things are crazy here! You too would be alarmed if you saw a rescue helicopter flying over your house blaring its siren (which sounds like a loud flock of geese) and broadcasting a message that sounds something like "please evacuate." They really need to improve that broadcast system because it is very difficult to make out the words over the wind. I didn't hear anything about this being "only a test." It would have been nice if I had seen this notice about the tsunami warning test run earlier in the day. Don't worry - I live so far up on this mountain that I don't think a tsunami could possibly reach me.
I continued Tsunami Night by watching "Aftershock," a TV docudrama about what will happen to Wellington when "the big one" hits. Scary! A poor man trapped in the rubble in his office needed a co-worker to alert him that he had pooped his pants. Please! Let the man die with his dignity!
I hope I never experience an 8.2. I'm now satisfied with the baby earthquake we had last month.
I continued Tsunami Night by watching "Aftershock," a TV docudrama about what will happen to Wellington when "the big one" hits. Scary! A poor man trapped in the rubble in his office needed a co-worker to alert him that he had pooped his pants. Please! Let the man die with his dignity!
I hope I never experience an 8.2. I'm now satisfied with the baby earthquake we had last month.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Please Don't Let This Be Spring
I used to think it was boring to talk about the weather, but this place is crazy!! Yesterday was gorgeous, and today I'm afraid to go outside. I might be blown away or get lost in the white-out fog. Read about the closed roads, closed airport, horizontal rain, and 130 km/hr winds. I couldn't sleep last night because of the howling wind and rattling windows. Large rocks were breaking loose from the mountain and crashing onto the deck outside my bedroom. I wouldn't have been surprised if a strong gust lifted the entire house off its foundation. Potted plants and the contents of our recycling bin were strewn about this morning.I'm still inclined to say the wind in Boston (America's true windy city; sorry Chicago) is worse because it is also bitterly cold and makes you feel like your face will crack off. However, I might change my mind if Wellington's wind speed keeps up. Check out these kids!
This blog was produced from the safety of my bathtub, where I have hunkered down to avoid the flying glass.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Brooklyn, NZ
Forever envious of New York, Wellington has its own suburb named Brooklyn with a Central Park. (I even saw a girl wearing an "I heart NY" t-shirt.) Brooklyn is known for having New Zealand's first wind turbine. The idea is to convert the wind, a natural and abundant resource, into energy. Read more about wind power in NZ here. On a rare sunny day, I decided it was high time to do something outdoorsy and visit the turbine. What did you say? I'm the least outdoorsy person you know? New Zealand; New Maureen! (I only have 6 TV channels.) I left the house and a bird promptly crapped on my pinkie finger. Maybe Old Maureen was right.
Located on top of a mountain, the wind turbine is visible from many parts of the city, so I thought we could simply walk towards it. Many hours and miles later, a sweaty young Kiwi male jogger pointed us in the right direction. I was dismayed to learn this involved an actual hiking trail. I was neither properly dressed nor hydrated. It was steep. It was rocky. It was hard work. My only sustenance was a Willy Wonka Fabulicious Sherbert Fizz (soft raspberry licorice tube with a chewy pixy stix-like middle) found at the bottom of my purse. It was all very Don Quixote... deliriously fighting against phantom windmills.
The view from the top was beautiful... but equivalent to that seen from our couch. The wind turbine is big (32 meters tall) and noisy. When you look straight up at it, you get dizzy and feel like you'll fall off the mountain. Interesting to see once, but not worth a repeat visit.
The first sign of trouble
On the trail
Turbine in sight
I almost died.
Views from the top
Tile in Brooklyn sidewalks
Newsflash, Part X
New Zealand is sounding the alarm about "pary pills." My rave days are behind me, but I thought a semi-hysterical reaction was the desired result of the pills, not an unwanted side effect? These pills are sold in many shops in the seedy part of town. This trusty wikipedia article provides further information about how the NZ party pill industry has changed since BZP, the pills' main ingredient, was banned in April.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Fighting Frizz
My windfall of personal care items continues. I remain grateful, but I'm starting to wonder if everyone is trying to tell me something. Would you stop loving me if I came home frumpy?
The latest gift is a bottle of Sunsilk Captivating Curls Gel & Cream Twist. It promises to deliver "sassy well-defined twisted tendrils... the strong hold you need and the soft feel you want." You know me - so sassy! This product arrives in the nick of the time. It has to be better than the $8 can of mousse I bought last week. You heard me - CAN OF MOUSSE. It was my only option. If this New Zealand thing doesn't work out, I could become a Twisted Sister groupie or a 1986 prom queen. The picture below is from the era during which mousse was last regularly used. It makes your hair very crunchy - not amenable to having the young Kiwi male run his fingers through it.
The latest gift is a bottle of Sunsilk Captivating Curls Gel & Cream Twist. It promises to deliver "sassy well-defined twisted tendrils... the strong hold you need and the soft feel you want." You know me - so sassy! This product arrives in the nick of the time. It has to be better than the $8 can of mousse I bought last week. You heard me - CAN OF MOUSSE. It was my only option. If this New Zealand thing doesn't work out, I could become a Twisted Sister groupie or a 1986 prom queen. The picture below is from the era during which mousse was last regularly used. It makes your hair very crunchy - not amenable to having the young Kiwi male run his fingers through it.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Fly Away With Me
Call me a girl, but I love these Air New Zealand commercials.- Ad #1 - Boy meets girl.
- Ad #2 - Son meets mother.
- Ad #3 - Girl gets dumped, then meets father (grandfather?).
Aww, gets me every time! Doesn't it make you want to jump on a plane and visit me? You'll get all teary and touch my face. I'll look into your eyes and speak volumes without saying a word. We'll gently embrace. It will be a beautiful moment. Then we'll party hard.
The Wellington airport is visible from my window, so it is fun to watch the planes fly in and out. On particularly windy days, the waves from Lyall Bay break over the runway. I'm sure this is perfectly safe -- book your ticket now!
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Killing Me with Kindness
Before arriving in this little country, I'd been warned about how nice the people are. Sounds great! I'll make friends left and right! But it doesn't happen that way. It's not as if people fawn over you in the streets. It's the little things that add up to form the Kiwi Kindness. The sign at the gas pump says to "give a friendly wave" if you require assistance. People who exit at the rear of the bus yell "thank you, driver!" to the front. A waiter called me "sister" (and I ain't no nun).
That's all pleasant enough, but frankly, the Kiwi Kindness gets on my nerves. Consumer transactions commonly turn into full conversations. Sometimes this is fine, but sometimes I just want to pay for my candy and get on with life. This is no USA: "How are you?... Good, you?.... Fine, thanks." This is NZ: "How's your day been so far?" Or even worse: "What have you been up to today?" None of your damn business.
The phrasing of these questions eliminates the possibility of a one-word answer. But even a one-word answer reveals your American (or Canadian?) accent and things escalate from there. For instance, I know that my young Kiwi male grocery store cashier thinks Auckland is soulless and is saving money to fly to Los Angeles and buy a car. I'd warn him that LA is soulless too, but my groceries are bagged, and it's time to move on.
In other retail news, the Kiwis are very conscientious about protecting the consumer. Again, this is annoying. Cashiers closely compare your credit card signature to your receipt signature. I always forget and put the credit card back in my wallet. They make me take it out again! I have to be careful to give every receipt the fully legible "Maureen C...." it deserves. This takes two whole seconds off my day. Over time, my American signature has devolved into something like "M-eeC-y." I was once praised as having the best capital cursive J in the 3rd grade class, but alas, I have not stuck with the Palmer Method of Penmanship drilled into me by the sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Like I said, I ain't no nun.
That's all pleasant enough, but frankly, the Kiwi Kindness gets on my nerves. Consumer transactions commonly turn into full conversations. Sometimes this is fine, but sometimes I just want to pay for my candy and get on with life. This is no USA: "How are you?... Good, you?.... Fine, thanks." This is NZ: "How's your day been so far?" Or even worse: "What have you been up to today?" None of your damn business.
The phrasing of these questions eliminates the possibility of a one-word answer. But even a one-word answer reveals your American (or Canadian?) accent and things escalate from there. For instance, I know that my young Kiwi male grocery store cashier thinks Auckland is soulless and is saving money to fly to Los Angeles and buy a car. I'd warn him that LA is soulless too, but my groceries are bagged, and it's time to move on.
In other retail news, the Kiwis are very conscientious about protecting the consumer. Again, this is annoying. Cashiers closely compare your credit card signature to your receipt signature. I always forget and put the credit card back in my wallet. They make me take it out again! I have to be careful to give every receipt the fully legible "Maureen C...." it deserves. This takes two whole seconds off my day. Over time, my American signature has devolved into something like "M-eeC-y." I was once praised as having the best capital cursive J in the 3rd grade class, but alas, I have not stuck with the Palmer Method of Penmanship drilled into me by the sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Like I said, I ain't no nun.
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