Friday, January 22, 2010

Friday, January 22, 2010- And The Award For Job Of The Year Goes To….

It has been quite some time since I last posted a blog entry, and this can be attributed to a few things. First and foremost, I am just really lazy and am starved for motivation sometimes when it comes to writing. I mean as therapeutic as it is and all, I really would just prefer most of the time to veg out and read a book or stare at people I don’t really care about on Facebook while reading the latest UFC news. Also, life has been pretty tame since Leeanna and I moved into our own apartment. We have kept drunken orgies to a bare minimum (neighbourly thing to do), and the highlight of most days consists of watching “David Letterman” and “Malcolm in the Middle”. No one really wants to read about my episode-by-episode recaps of Aussie soap operas, do they? Enter the life of Brent Moreau, loser extraordinaire.

Pretty much as soon as we moved into our apartment at the beginning of December, Leeanna and I decided that we better get some jobs as money was evaporating at a rapid rate due to my cocaine addiction and her penchant for eating over-priced cheese spreads with gourmet crackers. Despite this, I was rather slow to jump the gun and it took well over a week before I even looked at my resume or helped Leeanna put hers together. Eventually I got around to typing up some bullshit and forging my girlfriend’s resume a bit for her and we started our job hunt online. Both of us applied for jobs exclusively online, as we are both afraid of going into places and talking to people. Yes, I’m a big pussy and I’m well aware of it!

As mentioned, we tweaked Leeanna’s resume a bit to include some work in the restaurant business, as she had never actually done this type of work before. Other than that I kept it pretty honest, minus the fact that I changed the dates on all her other jobs and noted that her list of extended family members included Abraham Lincoln and Heather Locklear. She applied for a bunch of different jobs in a wide range of fields including restaurants, office work, dental assisting (which she went to school for) and even working as one of those ladies who gives “happy ending” massages. Unfortunately they said she wasn’t “Asian” enough for the last job. Long story short, the boss as I like to call her ended up getting hired on as a part-time dental assistant (19 hours a week), which was great for her. She was starting to get really worried because initially she had gotten no call backs, but in the end it all worked out. Shortly after getting hired, she got a call for another to job to ironically work at the ice hockey rink (token Canadian, no doubt) where the professional Melbourne team plays, but ended up taking a pass when they wouldn’t budge on the availability. She makes $23 an hour, which is an almost 250% increase to what she was making back home and seems to enjoy all the folks she works with. The only downside is that whenever she comes home from work she bitches about how she thinks they’re going to fire her because she isn’t knowledgeable enough and blah, blah, blah. Anyone who knows Leeanna though knows that this is par for the course and I eventually usually change the topic or just pretend that I now only speak Swahili.

As mentioned, my girlfriend has a job that she likes, gets paid relatively well to do and doesn’t have to work too hard; I on the other hand have none of these problems. I get paid really shitty, hate most aspects of my job, and am always looking over my shoulder and being forced to do work even when there is no work to do. But first the back story, of how we arrived at such a dire situation.

After thinking about it for a few days, I decided that I did not want to work construction in Australia (which I do back home) and sent out a handful of resumes to some local restaurants instead. I realized that this would ultimately mean a big pay cut, as serving jobs in Australia are not as good as back home due to the whole issue of tipping not being common here. At the same time though, I would not have to wake up early most days and would be able to work in a relatively laid-back environment, or so I thought. Of the five or so resumes I sent out, I ended up hearing back from two restaurants, who both agreed to give me a one-night trial run. The first one was an ultra-classy steakhouse/seafood place in the Crown Casino complex called Rockpool. It was run by some world-famous chef and I had to wear a tuxedo jacket and everything! The way everything was run was totally alien to me, and to put it bluntly, I shit the bag. I just did not fit into this ultra high-class dining experience and it showed. I knew I wasn’t going to get the job long before the stuck-up bitch manager called me back two days later and interrupted my card game at the casino to tell me that she didn’t want to train someone who is not making a career of it/foreigner and that they had also given someone else a test run who was better than me. Normally this type of news would bother me, but I really didn’t give a fuck as I hated the place anyways. In between those two days, I had agreed to a trial at the other restaurant which was a middle of the road type Italian joint called Medici. I seemed to fit in okay there, and it was much more similar to what I was used to back home. The restaurant was very fast-paced and seemed to have a staff that I could get along with. Needless to say, I got the job at Medici and started immediately. The place is run by a Lebanese family who rule it with a sometimes iron-fist. They tell me that I work too slow and aren’t impressed with me. I generally reply by not shaving for work, not tucking in my shirt or wearing my proper uniform. After 6 weeks I can honestly say I hate the fucking place. I only make $16 an hour (not good in a country where minimum wage is $13.50) and I am expected to bust ass the entire time I’m at work. If we’re not busy I have to clean like a Molly Maid on speed. It’s horse shit I tell ya! And to top it all off, we (the serving staff) are expected to pool all of our tips into the tip jar, but meanwhile I have never gotten a dime extra from the cheap fucks. From what I can see the owners basically pocket all of the tip money. I try to pocket whatever tips I can, but it is very hard, as the owner is always lurking around the place like some kind of Lebanese godfather. Generally I get less than $20 most nights in tips and some nights not a dime. Meanwhile, the tip jar is overflowing (hundreds a day), and that doesn’t even include all the tips people leave on credit and debit cards. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Guess that’s why the restaurant hires a lot of foreigners so that they can take advantage of us. The one positive is that after every shift I am allowed one free beer and can take home either a pizza or serving of pasta. This has definitely helped out with the grocery bill, although I am still one bitter little man when it comes to my arch-enemy, Medici. In conclusion, I will probably get fired, as sooner or later I’m sure I will get caught stealing MY tips. If I don’t, I may just stick it out until the middle of March when the lease comes up on my apartment. God only knows.

Anyways, enough work talk (on my way there right now) as my next blog will focus more on touristy stuff and life adventures in and around Melbourne. Until next time, stay classy and drink ‘til you can’t think! And despite the negative tone of this post at times, we are actually having a jolly good time! Jolly good indeed!

~Brentski~