Hey, folks, did you know that I am broke? Yes, it’s true. Backpackers are traditionally poor employees, so people are typically not terribly keen to hire them. I also note that Americans are typically not the most well thought-of people in the world, and the arrogance that we are generally known for is not looked upon kindly.
So fighting both of these stereotypes, armed only with a frightening head of dreadlocks, I find that there are not many work options open to me. This means I rarely get work. More importantly, this means I’m poor as hell. Traveling was my dream, and I still love it.
So you don’t get anywhere without asking for help. If you want to help the Cattiwampus Foundation, also known as the ‘James is hungry and has eaten almost nothing but peanut butter for the past two months’ fund, check the link below. You can also find this link on my facebook page. Don’t have much? Then only give a little. Ten bucks, five bucks, a dollar, is a huge help. I live cheap. Thanks, folks.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Couch Surfing Wellington
So I’ve returned to Wellington, lured by the promise of guaranteed work and the presence of honest-to-god coffee shops (open later than 4PM, a rarity in kiwiland). I applied for a job working in Home Healthcare, a steady gig that could have lent itself to some interesting stories. I interviewed well, despite the fact that when I arrived I could remember neither the name of the person I was supposed to see or even the name of the company I applied to.
I was told that I was hired, and just had to wait for the paperwork to process. I am constantly struck by Universal truths, common human things that seem to transcend culture to be a fact the world over. The particular truth I think of now is that all Human Resources departments are full of sniveling weasels. Everywhere I’ve ever worked this has been true, and this company was the same. They refuse to call a contract anything but ‘permanent’ and my visa has a line that says I am not allowed to take “permanent work.” So this opportunity, like so many others, fell through.
My friend Sean got me residence as a sort of long-term couch surfer at his flat. It is a strange house, populated by four hipsters, a Canadian stoner, an angsty goth (is there any other kind, really?), and a unicyclist. The goth is fairly resentful at my presence, and brings the strong kiwi tradition of passive-aggressiveness (a culture this polite can’t help but breed such), but thankfully no one else in the house seems to mind. One of the housemates is a girl that in the span of a month I have never actually heard speak aloud, although she seems nice. Sean is an extremely good guy; an incorrigible hipster, but nice about it.. As Wellington is the hipster capital of New Zealand, most everyone you meet has some degree of that about them. Personally, I don’t mind so much; I lived in Austin for five years before coming out here.
There is something about me that seems to invite strangers to approach me with their weirdness (‘tis my personal blessing, I think), so while most people may look askance, there is a core of odd and/or interesting people that seek me out. I was going to a coffee house for a cup of tea, when the barista began to chat with me about religious philosophy and his recent experiments with LSD. He even showed me his writings, a small batch of papers folded up in an envelope with subjects like “Natural” and “Nothingness.” I enjoy this sort of behavior, so I wrote him a couple of pages in response. Two days later he came to me asking for advice on doing Ecstasy. I recommended Vick’s Vapor Rub, and Valium for the comedown.
I have a knack for meeting street people, although I have met fewer in Wellington than in Auckland. Last night I did have an interesting conversation with a man that was beat boxing on the street. He continually complained that people acted frightened of him due to the fact that he was Maori. I personally think that it is because he is six and a half feet tall, and about four feet wide, but he was friendly enough to me. He kept referencing Shrek, stating “the ogre is the good guy, Prince Charming is bad” as the well dressed bar hoppers passed by. I also had a brief chat with the transsexual prostitutes that seem to abound in every major New Zealand town. They are strangely entertaining to chat with if you can get past the creepiness of the sexual propositioning. Personally, I like to ask them about politics.
So now I’m back to looking for work in every possible corner. I’m not sure anyone has ever been turned down from more cafes than me; for some reason no one seems to like the idea of me washing their dishes. At one point I a possible employer hung up on me after I admitted that I was from the States. I’ve started to think that I need to work on my Canadian accent.
I was told that I was hired, and just had to wait for the paperwork to process. I am constantly struck by Universal truths, common human things that seem to transcend culture to be a fact the world over. The particular truth I think of now is that all Human Resources departments are full of sniveling weasels. Everywhere I’ve ever worked this has been true, and this company was the same. They refuse to call a contract anything but ‘permanent’ and my visa has a line that says I am not allowed to take “permanent work.” So this opportunity, like so many others, fell through.
My friend Sean got me residence as a sort of long-term couch surfer at his flat. It is a strange house, populated by four hipsters, a Canadian stoner, an angsty goth (is there any other kind, really?), and a unicyclist. The goth is fairly resentful at my presence, and brings the strong kiwi tradition of passive-aggressiveness (a culture this polite can’t help but breed such), but thankfully no one else in the house seems to mind. One of the housemates is a girl that in the span of a month I have never actually heard speak aloud, although she seems nice. Sean is an extremely good guy; an incorrigible hipster, but nice about it.. As Wellington is the hipster capital of New Zealand, most everyone you meet has some degree of that about them. Personally, I don’t mind so much; I lived in Austin for five years before coming out here.
There is something about me that seems to invite strangers to approach me with their weirdness (‘tis my personal blessing, I think), so while most people may look askance, there is a core of odd and/or interesting people that seek me out. I was going to a coffee house for a cup of tea, when the barista began to chat with me about religious philosophy and his recent experiments with LSD. He even showed me his writings, a small batch of papers folded up in an envelope with subjects like “Natural” and “Nothingness.” I enjoy this sort of behavior, so I wrote him a couple of pages in response. Two days later he came to me asking for advice on doing Ecstasy. I recommended Vick’s Vapor Rub, and Valium for the comedown.
I have a knack for meeting street people, although I have met fewer in Wellington than in Auckland. Last night I did have an interesting conversation with a man that was beat boxing on the street. He continually complained that people acted frightened of him due to the fact that he was Maori. I personally think that it is because he is six and a half feet tall, and about four feet wide, but he was friendly enough to me. He kept referencing Shrek, stating “the ogre is the good guy, Prince Charming is bad” as the well dressed bar hoppers passed by. I also had a brief chat with the transsexual prostitutes that seem to abound in every major New Zealand town. They are strangely entertaining to chat with if you can get past the creepiness of the sexual propositioning. Personally, I like to ask them about politics.
So now I’m back to looking for work in every possible corner. I’m not sure anyone has ever been turned down from more cafes than me; for some reason no one seems to like the idea of me washing their dishes. At one point I a possible employer hung up on me after I admitted that I was from the States. I’ve started to think that I need to work on my Canadian accent.
A disclaimer, of sorts
Let me begin by apologizing. I have not been updating frequently, and I have posted what I have with care. I had originally intended to simply share my happenings with others. I succumbed, however, to my desire to be overly nice, to not speak ill of others. I also knew that my parents would read this, and did not want them to worry too much about me. However, after looking through my old posts, I realize that these precautions make for some dull reading. So I commit myself to making this a bit more interesting. So here to come are some slightly more true to life tales of my adventures abroad. To Dad, Mom, Aunt Anne, Amy, and Faith; I’m sorry about anything inappropriate. It’s for the sake of art and entertainment.
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