#thatrangabirdlife

[thatrangabird]

When youre 41 weeks pregnant and people say the baby will come when its ready

[thatrangabird]

When your boyfriend says he's going to come home straight after the game

[thatrangabirdlife]

Part 42: The Incident in Adelaide

I was 16 and my Uncle’s 50th birthday was coming up. They were having a big shindig at the local RSL for him and my mum was planning to fly up there for a few days with a childhood friend of theirs. The date got closer and the childhood friend was no longer going. My mum didn’t want to fly alone, so she planned to drive. She didn’t want to drive alone, so she asked me if I would come with her.

“It’ll be a good opportunity to get your hours up on your learners.” She said.

A very good point and it wasn’t as if I had other things going on in my life at the time. I wasn’t even going to school! More importantly, I wanted her to be there for her brother's birthday, so I said I’d go with her.

One day, the phone rings. It’s my Aunty in South Australia. Let’s call her Ursula (mainly because she looks like Ursula the Sea Witch from the Little Mermaid & yes I told her that when I was 6 years old and no she hasn’t like me since.)

“Guess what! I’m coming up with mum!” I said eagerly.

“WHAT?! YOU ARE NOT!” she said.

“Oh um….” I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and yelled out “MUUUUUUM.”

Mum took the phone and I ran off into my room feeling like unwanted and rejected. Eventually mum came into my room and said “If you’re not able to come then I’m not going.” but I said “I don’t wanna go - she obviously doesn’t want me there.”

The next day, I got a call from my uncle apologising on her behalf saying that it was wrong, that she shouldn’t have reacted that way and finished with “It’s my birthday, I get to choose who comes and I want you to be here with your mum celebrating with me.”

“I don’t want to cause any problems Uncle G.”  I said

“You won’t be. Everything’ll be alright when your here.”

“Alright, I’ll come.”

“Rippadoozy!” he said.

A few days later I get a call from their daughter, Rhiannon, whom I haven’t spoken to since she stayed at our place with her creepy and handsy boyfriend back when I was 14. This guy was gross. He was your typical ‘feeder’ type boyfriend of a morbidly obese woman. Not skinny but not fat. No muscle tone. Pale. Balding with untreated psoriasis. Swollen gums. He would always manage to put himself in a position where he would have to rub on me when he would walk past. For example, if I’m standing on the phone in the doorway, instead of making himself visible so I could move out of the way, he would appear out of nowhere. I would feel his hands on my hips and the crotch of his jeans scrape my butt as he walked past.

“Hey Em, so I hear you’re coming up to SA for dad’s birthday. Listen, so I’ve spoken to your mum and she’s agreed with it; how do you feel about staying with us in Adelaide for a few days while your mum goes up to Roxby to see dad? Your mum said it was a good idea and my folks are happy with it too. It’ll be cool, we’ll go into Adelaide and we’ll show you around - whattya reckon?”

I was keen in the slightest to stay with them, but she said she’d spoken to my mum and she was onboard with it, so I said yes.

“Great. I’ll call my parents and let them know.” She said.

That was the last time I ever spoke to her.

Later that night, I was in bed and I heard mum coming in the front door at around 11pm. She came into my room and sat on the edge of my bed.

“I don’t want you to stay at Rhiannon’s” she said.

“I don’t want to either but I’m only staying because I thought you wanted me to stay there?”  I said

“No, Rhiannon said that you wanted to stay there & that it was your idea?” she said

“Not a chance. No way would I want to actually stay there.”

“I knew something wasn’t right!” Mum said. “I’ll call Gary tomorrow.”

Well, that started a massive debacle. I got called a ‘lying bitch’ amongst other things but my mum and I knew the truth, I think Gary too but sadly he’s married to the sea witch so he has to take her side.

“Ma, I don’t even want to go anymore.” I said

“I know, but we have to now. Plus I don’t want to drive alone.”

“But Mum, first they don’t want me to come - now this!? It’s going to be a disaster if I’m there!”

“We’re going!” She said. “It’s a matter of principle now”

We went. It’s a 14 hour drive mind you. So we did it in 2 days. The first day we drove Melbourne to Adelaide and the second we drove Adelaide to Roxby. During the journey from Adelaide to Roxby we even drove past Rhiannon and her boyfriend on Stuart Hwy. Even speeding past at 100km an hour Mum and I both saw Rhiannon aggressively flipping us the bird!

“OMG, can you believe that?! How juvenile! And that’s coming from a 16 year old!” I said. I looked over at mum and she was silently sobbing.

“That’s my own niece” she sobbed.

It was heartbreaking to see. It just made me even more pissed off and even more eager to get this week over and done with and get back home.

Thankfully the week was cut short. After the party, which was really just a dinner at the RSL, there were arrangements for all of us to visit their son, who was as equally delightful as his sister, at the Port Augusta Prison where he was serving yet another sentence for armed robbery. One of his previous sentences was for robbing a local sports club. He stole all the Four’N’Twenty Pies and Sausage Rolls out of the freezer and took the trophies ‘to try to sell the gold.’ Gold. He thought trophies were made from actual gold. I’m telling you, these kids (actually they are in their late 20’s) they aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.

We visit the one in prison, then we drive to Adelaide where we are staying at someone's house, I can’t remember who. We carried our bags inside and into our rooms.

“Rhiannon is coming over dinner” Ursula says to my mum

“I’m not comfortable with that Ursula” Said mum.

“You need to get over it!” said Ursula

“How would you react if one of my kids stuck their finger up at you! You would be ropeable!” Said mum as she was reenacting the scene but actually just giving the finger to Ursula.

She cackled. “Oh, get oh-ver-it Margaret” (You can see where their kids get their charm) “And you.” She said to pointing to me. “What you don’t realise Emily is that phone call you had with Rhiannon was a 3 way call!” she said

“Okay?” I said confused

“So actually, we heard everything.”

“Great, then you would have heard what actually happened!”

“YOU SAID YES!”

“I never said that I didn’t say yes! I did say yes - but only because Rhiannon told me that she’d already decided with my mum about it!”

“Oh please!” She said.

Fighting that lump in my throat, I ran off into the room.  I wasn’t capable of handling any kind of confrontation at 16 and I couldn’t hide the fact either. I get a heat rash on around my neck and chest and I get all ‘beetroot faced’. It’s highly embarrassing. My mum is also one of the least confrontational people I know, so she wasn’t far behind me.

“Grab your bags. We’re going home” She said

“Finally!” Let’s get the fuck outta here!” I said

Ursula was still harping on while we were taking our bags outside. Mums brother helped us load our things and said he would meet us down the road. So we drove a little ways and pulled into bustop.

“See ya round like a rissole!” said Uncle G, talking as if nothing had happened.

“See ya Uncle G. Sorry about all this, I shouldn’t have come hey?.”

“Hey, this has nothing to do with you, ok? This isn’t your fault.” He said assuringly.

“But Aunty Ursula said…”

“Don’t you worry about what she said.” He said.

I got in the car, and watched mum say goodbye to her brother.

[thatrangabirdlife]

Part 36: Rude Bird Guy

The best advice I ever received about how to handle the egotism & narcissism of these people, was from a sweet, lovely woman named Susan. She was the convenor for medical conference we ran on Women's Health. She had been head of the conference committee for years, involved in almost every sister event related to her field - and she was in the most difficult field of all. Medical.

I confided in her one evening post Welcome Function at the Pullman Albert Park, we were sitting outside in the smokers area when we were finishing off a bottle of the house white (the house white & red; that drinks that discussed over 2 conference calls and 6 emails debating ‘which beverage package will be used for the welcome function’ - one of the arduous undertakings when organising conference catering). I asked her “How have you been doing this for so many years? The annoying questions, the lack of common sense, the rudeness, the entitlement, the pretension, the ass-kissing. I don’t just don’t think I have it in me to keep doing this sort of work.” I admitted. “Emily, all you have to remember is…” She said and paused while she took a drag of her cigarette “... these guys were nerds in high school. They don’t have people skills.” She finished and blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “And…” she said with pause as she took another drag, “Don’t take anything personally.”

She was right, they were nerds and they don’t have people skills. But the not taking anything personal part, I’ve got difficulties with. I mean, I understood what she was saying of course, I mean “don’t take it personally” is as clear as it gets. They say ‘do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life’ They also say ‘don’t get emotionally invested in your job.’

In order to enjoy your job or chosen career, don’t you have to love it just a little bit? Doesn’t that then entail some form of emotional investment?

For example, say you’ve been worked tirelessly on the most tedious conference program of your career because despite your professional advice the convenors decided (and ofcourse later regretted) to allow the delegates who submitted an abstract and that were accepted into the conference program, that they could choose the day AND time that they would like to present. (This wasn’t nearly as bad as the other time that my advice was ignored, when the convenors decided to make all the people who submitted an abstract - all 786 of them - to review someone else’s paper; in other words, a shit show).

So you’re standing at your desk with 2 other colleagues, handing out individual name tags for the 200+ delegates who are lined up out the door & up comes a disgruntled, 40 something, ginger but balding man cutting in front of everyone, standing to the side of the desk and asks to speak to ‘someone in charge here.’ “In charge of the venue, or in charge of this conference?” I asked, fully knowing that he meant the conference, but when I’m approach liked that, I try and take the person down a peg or two first. (Not healthy, I know - but I seriously can’t stand rude people.) “This conference.” He said, realising that he wasn’t quite clear and may have been directing his rudeness to someone completely unrelated to his problem. Just for those seconds that you reply, their tone can completely change.” “Oh, to the conference” he clarified, with a smile.

“Oh, well in that case, I can help you.” I replied politely, trying to keep a more positive tone. “Oh. Well, I’ve got several abstracts in this conference…” he bragged (and I did an internal eye roll and sarcastic slow hand clap) “but not all of them are showing up in the app and I’d like it fixed immediately.” he said, rudely. His abrasive tone was like an ice pick, chipping away at the glacier that absorbed and frozen my heart and soul when I said yes to this job on the evening of the 7th of April 2012 sitting at a table at the The Boat Builders Yard, South Wharf where I was celebrating my 24th birthday.

Don’t take it personally, Emily. He’s just a nerd, Emily. He’s got no people skills, Emily. Don’t take it personally. “Oh, that’s no good” I said back to him, with a forced concerned look. The kind you give a child when they’ve misplaced something. “No, its not” he scoffed, with this side smirk that I really just wanted to dig a fisherman's hook into and pull it all the way to his ear. “I’ll be able to have a look at that for you. We are all a little tied up with registering all these people at the moment” I said with my customer service smile and gestured to the growing line of people out the doors. “If you wouldn’t mind coming back in 20 minutes just so I can give everyone their name badges they don’t miss out on….” “Now!” he demanded. (His demanding tone now a chainsaw hacking through the glacier surrounding my heart and soul; the fibre of my very being.) I knew exactly what I needed to check in the online system but I also knew how long that it would take to fix his problem & right now, my job was to give these people their name tags so they could have get access to the welcome function.

“Sir, I understand that…” “No, you don’t understand” cutting me off mid sentence with a his voice so loud that the people in the front of the line stopped talking, and even got my boss's attention from in the back office. “If you understood then you’d be doing it. If people search for my papers, they aren’t going to see all of them. Do you understand that?”

I stood there, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks as everyone started staring at me and egotistical verbal aggressor. I looked over to my right and saw my boss making his way over. “All right, what’s going on here” he said in a jovial tone to calm things down, he was truly great at doing that. “Not all of this gentleman’s papers are showing on the conference app.” I explained “And all the other papers are there, but they aren’t showing up on my profile.” He added, shedding some light on what the problem might be. “Hmm, well that’s not what you want, is it?” My boss said, jokingly. “See, he gets it.” Said the guy. I was fuming. He gets it? What the fuck don’t I get exactly, you condescending dickhead. I thought. My thoughts seriously get out of control when I’m raging internally and by out of control I mean, I pictured interlocking my fingers and wrapping my hands around the back of his head then pulling him down and smashing his face onto the desk so hard that his nose gets pushed into his face. While he’s still dazed and suffering,  I walk back a couple of meters to pick up our portable printer, the cord ripping out of the wall and flailing like a snake in the air behind me as he watches me walk back towards him. I swing the printer back behind me and clock him over the head with it, repeatedly. Think, the scene from Inglorious Bastards when you’re first introduced to The Bear Jew. I’m sick. I know.

“Hmm, we’d have to have a look in our online system what has happened exactly...hmm..” Said my boss, tapping his top lip as if giving the impression that he was pondering what the problem could be, while looking at me with the knowing glance that we both know that he doesn’t know how to use that part of the online system and that I would have to do it. “Hmm.. I’m just in the middle of something at the moment, sir” he said “why don’t you go into the welcome function and grab a drink, I’ll have a chat with Emily about what we need to do.” “Oh, I guess I can go and drink.” He said in a happy, joking tone, as if it were a chore. Like a ‘If I must..’ meaning and that pissed me off even more.

Oh everything’s now fucking hunky dory is it? You fucking pricckkk! I thought.

“I guess I’ll grab my name badge while I’m here then.” I thought, Oh now you want you’re fucking name badge? Cutting infront of all these people. Being a fucking asshole and now you want to get your namebadge before all these people that were waiting in line!? You’re a real piece of work, you know that! *I stand up on the desk, grabbing the P.A microphone, tapping on it, *tap tap tap*  HEY EVERYONE CAN I GET YOUR ATTENTION REAL QUICK, THERE’S AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT - THIS GUY RIGHT HERE WANTS TO LET YOU ALL KNOW THAT HIS TIME IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOURS AND THAT HE IS BETTER THAN ALL OF YOU. LET’S ALL PUT OUR HANDS TOGETHER, FOR THIS REAL PIECE OF WORK HERE!! LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR MR. BIG SHOT WOOOOO! *Applause*

“I said to him that I would fix it, but asked him to come back after registration just like you did!” I asked my boss. “Sometimes Red, people just need to feel like they are talking to the person that is running the show… but in this misogynistic jerk’s case, he needed to hear it from another man.” he said. “What an absolute tosser” he said, as he walked back into the office to continue whatever he was doing.

The guy didn’t come back until the next day. I was alone, working at the registration desk. “So have you fixed it yet?” I heard his voice, and closed my eyes and breathed through my mantra ‘Don’t take it personally, Emily, he’s just a nerd, Emily, he doesn’t have people skills, Emily.

“Not quite, but I’m glad you’re here. I’ve found the problem. You said you have several papers, correct?” I asked. “Yes, 7 to be exact.” I said. “Ok, well I can only see 3 here under your name…” I said and turned the screen of my laptop around so he could view what I had found” “JESUS CHRIST” he scoffed “Didn’t you hear me? I just said I have 7 papers!”

I’m raging again. Picturing a scene, like a 300 fighting scene style, where it’s normal speed reaching for my fresh black coffee, then it’ slow motion as the scolding hot liquid burns his eyeballs. Back to normal speed while he is screaming and clawing at his burning eyes, as I reach my hand to the back of my head and grab the freshly sharpened staedtler HB pencil that’s holding my hair bun in place & pull it out. I swing my arm out, then its back to slow motion, my hair unravelling past my shoulders, down my back. Blood is squirting out onto my face from the multiple stab wounds from the pencil to his jugular.

“Sir, I’m here to help you.” I said back bluntly. “Then help me.” He replied with a cocky tone. *Just breathe Emily. Don’t take it personally, Emily. He’s just a nerd, Emily. He doesn’t have people skills, Emily. Just breathe*

“It shows here, that you have uploaded 3 papers.” “But there is suppo….” He said with an upward inflection. “Let me finish” I said, cutting him off this time.

“You are the leading author on these papers. I’ve searched the other paper titles you gave, and you are listed as the CO-Author.” I said, strongly emphasising the ‘co’ part. “Is that correct? That you are not the lead author on these other 4 papers?”

“Well, that shouldn’t matter. They should be all be showing on my profile.” he admitted.

“You’re absolutely right, they should all be showing on your profile. I just need you to confirm that you aren’t the lead author on these others papers. Is that correct? “They are my students” he replied. “Well, that makes sense.” I said. “When your students uploaded their papers, each one of them listed your name differently.” I explained, pointing to the screen. “This one entered your name as your Initials & Surname, this one here entered your Full name, this one here misspelled your surname and finally, this one entered your surname where your first name should be and your first name where your surname should be.” He let out a loud sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “Did you tell them that they needed to use the email address that you used for your registration and abstract submissions?” I asked in my customer service tone. Before he could answer, I said “because that’s how they system is able to link them all together - by all the basic information being correct.” “I told them to do that.” He said, still shaking his head.

“No reason for blame, it was a simple mistake and it's a simple fix. Moving forward, you can ask your students to adjust this in their profiles, or I can fix this for you right now. Would you like me to fix this for you?” I said in my customer service tone.   “Yes. Please.” He mumbled in shame.

I turned the computer screen back to face me and fixed the submission error within a couple of clicks. “Here we go.” I said, turning the screen back so he could see his online profile. “There are your t-h-r-e-e papers, and here are your other four CO authored papers. Okay?” I said, with him seeing right through my customer service tone, hearing my ‘eat shit, you prick’ tone. “Great.” He said and knocked on the bench with his knuckles as if they were a gavel and he was saying ‘case closed.’

One last thing on this guy to wrap this story up. A couple of days later, my boss ran into him waiting in line for the men's room at the conference dinner that was held at the Cairns Cruiseliner Terminal.

I saw my boss walking out of the mens room with him, they were a both a couple of drinks down. They were both laughing as they parted, but my boss expression turned sour as soon as the guy had walked out of site. “Ran into your mate in the toilet” He said.

“Ha, oh yeah - what’dee have to say?” I asked. “He goes, ‘Gee, that red head at the front desk sure has a problem with apologising doesn’t she?”

“You’re kidding me” I laughed “Seriously.” He laughed back

We were both looking the guy when he looked over to us. We raised our glasses to him, as if to say cheers, then we disguise our mouths with our glasses as we took a sip. “Absolute dickhead” said my boss “Total wanker” I said.

The next day at the rego desk I fired up my laptop and sussed out this bloke and what he actually did. He studies bird mating behaviour. This guy, this big shot ordering me around and talking to me like I’m a piece of shit has literally spent his career watching, learning, writing and talking about birds fucking. I mean, imagine telling your parents that you’re writing a thesis on birds fucking. Perhaps they didn’t take it so well. Perhaps his mum laughed at him? Maybe his dad didn’t take him seriously -  perhaps that’s why he’s so angry.

Either way, Mr. Big shot spent his career studying birds fucking. I found solace in that.

[thatrangabird]

When the people who bullied me in school for being a red head end up having kids with red hair

[thatrangabird]

When I clip all the buttons on the romper together but there’s still one left

[thatrangabird]

I wont be one of those parents that takes millions of photos

Also me...

[thatrangabird]

When your baby is hysterical & someone tries talking to you