Tag: interesting happening

It’s a small world after all

Today was the second day of our negotiation workshop and the teacher introduced us to a class observer, Ann. Ann was visiting to see how the course could fit into a training program for school teachers.

During the morning break, Ann walked over to me. “Joan, I have to ask… Did you go to this Primary School?” She named a little suburban Roman Catholic primary school.

“Yes!” I was taken aback.

“I taught you!” she said excitedly.

“What?! What’s your surname?” She told me and my jaw dropped. “Mrs F? You taught me in Grade 1! Oh my god, that’s so amazing! You remember me?”

“I remembered your name.” Ann pointed to my name badge. Everyone in the workshop wore a name badge. “Oh, I remember how little and clever you were. You used to love writing poems. Do you still write?”

“I do! I have a website, a blog, which people seem to like reading.” I was delighted.

“And how about your brother, Jason? He was so cute,” she laughed, “and so shy. Is he still shy?”

I was so floored that she remembered both of us and our names from seventeen years ago. “Jason’s doing really well for himself. He’s not shy anymore, he’s very outgoing.”

“The stories I could tell!” Ann said. “I remember when we were at camp and at the concert, everyone had to go on stage and dance. Jason was huddled at the back, so scared. I thought he was going to have an asthma attack, he was that anxious!”

“And another time, we were learning about money. When I got the jar of coins back, just 5 and 10 cent coins, half the jar was empty! I looked at little Jason and his pockets were full and hanging so low. He had take all the coins!”

“I remember that!” I nodded. “Don’t know how I heard about it…”

“Well, it happened once and I thought, ‘Hmm, okay.’ But when it happened a second time, I had to talk to your father.” We both laughed.

“Oh my god, I can’t get over it. That’s so amazing. I was so little and you were huge, and now I’m an adult…”

“And I’m still an adult…” Ann added.

“I’m calling you Ann and not Mrs F…” I shook my head. “Unbelievable. And somehow, we’ve both ended up in the Negotiation class in the conflict resolution program. It’s such a small world.”

Stranded

I walked into the airport and looked for the check-in counter for British Airways flight 17. I quite enjoyed the BA flight from Melbourne to London three weeks ago. The flight attendants were nice.

I spent ten minutes puzzling over the information screen. Where was BA 17? It wasn’t listed where it should have been, between the 9:15 PM to Dubai and 9:40 PM to Singapore. I wheeled my luggage over to the BA check-in queue, about 100 m away.

“Excuse me, could you help me find my flight?” I asked the attendant politely. “I’m on BA17.”

“BA17?” She furrowed her eyebrows and pulled out a list. “BA17…”

“I can show you my ticket,” I offered. I pulled out the same e-ticket I used to fly to London. She took the ticket and considered it. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and walked to the counter, where she conferred with two other attendants. It took her a minute or two.

“There is no BA17,” she reported back. I blinked. “As of March 31st, BA no longer flies to Melbourne.” I gaped.

“Oh… What do I do?”

“You can go to Sales and see if they can get you a ticket on another flight. You should probably be on the 9:40 to Singapore.”

And then what?” I thought wildly. Wait at Singapore until there was a spot on a flight to Melbourne?

It wasn’t as bad as that. The lady at Sales transferred me to a QANTAS flight, which departed at 10:05 PM and followed the same route as the mythical BA17 flight. It was later than I expected to be in the air so I spent the next hour trying to find a place that would accept the only currency I had (Australian dollars) in exchange for dinner.

Putting up a fight

“We’ve still got an hour,” Peter said. “We can wait in the Qantas Club.”

Clair and I hesitated. When we tried to get into the Qantas Club in Melbourne this morning, the staff had allowed us in reluctantly. Each member was only allowed one guest per trip.

We walked into the foyer of the Canberra airport Qantas club.

“Excuse me!” the receptionist said. “Can I see your boarding passes?” Peter showed her his. I sort of waved mine at her too. Clair did the same.

“Only one guest,” she said. We looked at each other.

“Can you let us in this time?” Peter asked casually.

“No.” She shook her head firmly.

“Go ahead, Peter,” I said. “We can wait outside. I’ve waited in airports before. I don’t need the Qantas club.”

There was a long silence as we stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

“Well, no, you wait here,” Peter said. “I’ll see if there’s anyone I know.” He disappeared into the club. What? What’s he doing? What’s he mean, see if there’s anyone he knows?

Clair and I waited at the edges. I tried not to look at the receptionist.

Two minutes passed and Peter emerged with another gentleman. His companion looked at us with a small smile.

“Right, let’s go” was Peter’s brisk introduction. Surprised, Clair and I scurried after him.

“Hold on!” the receptionist called. “Do you have a guest already?”

Peter’s companion shook his head. “No.”

The receptionist glowered as the four of us walked into the club, where complimentary wine, food, magazines, TV and internet access awaited us.

As soon as we reached the lounge, we waved goodbye to the accommodating fellow.

“Peter, was he some stranger you just picked up?” Clair laughed.

“Oh, I know him from the university,” Peter said vaguely. “I just thought there might be someone I knew.

Feeling sorry for Donut King

An email was making the rounds. The rumour was that 10 000 Krispy Kreme donuts were being given away at QV square. As Thursday approached, my workmates were increasingly excited.

When I arrived back in the city after visiting a client in Newport, I decided to walk by QV square and see if I could score a donut. Behold! Thousands of people filled the square; the queues were five people wide. There were people walking away from little green, red and white stall with donut in serviettes and looks of rapture on their faces.

Forget my idea of trying one of these! There was no way I could justify the charegeable time to queue up for a donut.

During the day, other things besides the donut queues alerted to me to the status of these donuts. In the office, I heard:

“Krispy Kreme donuts are so great! Every time I’m in Sydney, I buy boxes of them and bring them back to Melbourne. Have you ever had one?”

“Yeah, I had one in Sydney.”

“Only one?”

More than one person in the office confessed to bringing donuts back from interstate. I have been told that Krispy Kreme donut boxes are common sights in the departure lounges at Sydney airport. I know my cousins have done it before.

I had a meeting at Southbank in the afternoon and on the walk back, I saw people with Krispy Kreme boxes.

When I read the paper today, the weekly ‘What’s Hot’ column declared that, “Krispy Kreme coming to Melbourne” was hot.

Isn’t that crazy? How can a donut inspire such fervour and adulation?

“But they’re so good!” Erin told me. “Just wait until you try one!”

Well, I guess I will.

Flooded!

Those of you in Melbourne would know that today poured with rain. It was the fattest rain I’ve ever seen or been pelted with.

Well, our rumpus room flooded. We don’t know how it happened. It was such a shock to see the wooden floor of the (big) room shiny with water. Dad, mum, Jason and I worked together to mop it all up.

World versus Telstra

I went along with Miriam to the nearest Telstra Shop. We waited for someone to help us. It was very busy this lunch time.

Finally, Graeme beckoned us to the counter. Miriam brought out her new phone car charger. She had bought it at another Telstra shop in Wodonga, around 4.5 hours north-east of Melbourne. It turned out that the charger didn’t fit her phone, even though she had shown the store assistants the phone she needed the charger for.

Miriam politely asked for a refund; the other store had assured her she could get a refund from any other Telstra shop. Graeme looked surprised.

“I’m sorry, we don’t sell this phone charger. It’s not even in our inventory… so I can’t give you a refund for it.”

“What do you mean? I bought it at a Telstra Shop.”

“Well, yes, it was probably a licenced Telstra Shop, you know, a franchise shop. Most of the Telstra Shops in the city are owned by Telstra but Telstra also franchises the shop, especially in rural areas. The franchises can sell whatever they like. The Telstra-owned shops have a strict inventory. Now, if this charger was part of our inventory, I could refund the money for you but…” He shrugged helplessly.

Miriam gave him a hard look. “Well. What should I do, then? Do I need to courier this to Wodonga?”

Graeme looked uncomfortable. “Well, you could…” All three of us were thinking about the high cost of couriers. “Try calling the Wodonga shop first,” he suggested.

Awkward silence. Miriam looked polite but she must have been frustrated.

Suddenly, a large brown bird flew in and dived over Graeme’s head.

“It’s an Optus bird!” I cried. “He’s come to get you!”

Graeme and the other store owners paused in confusion, then laughed. I could tell it was nervous laughter.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just say the word, just say the word…

Working on the prairie

I was typing at a furious pace, hurtling towards a deadline when suddenly, there was a *tick* and everything went black. A unified gasp of horror reverberated around the office. I leapt up from my seat. At the same time, everyone else had stood up, craning their heads over the pod partitions. We looked like dozens of prarie dogs peering out of our holes.

People’s confused expressions were soon replaced with looks of distress and anger. Wails of despair could be heard as engineers, scientists, planners and architects realized that their last hour of work had been snatched away by the blackout.

“What can we do? We can’t write reports, we can’t make calls!” they cried. Some consoled each other, while others went to the tea point to drown their sorrows in coffee and biscuits.

After a pause of worry, I brightened. Finally! Here was the perfect opportunity for me to tidy my desk! Over the past two weeks, I have been so busy doing charegeable work for clients that I couldn’t file the mounds of paper building up on my desk. The untidiness and disorganisation gnawed at me.

Hooray!

Free to a good home

I was walking past the library at work when something caught my eye. Above a small wire basket of novels was a sign: ‘FREE BOOKS’.

Free books?! (confusion, excitement) And it wasn’t the usual technofare that plagues the company library. Instead of construction codes, risk management guidelines, legislation and maps, I found novels by Dan Brown and Maeve Binchy.

“Margeret, what are these books? Are they really free?” I asked the librarian.

“Yes, Joan. You’re welcome to take as many as you like,” she said. “They’re from my personal library.”

“Wow! Why are you giving them away?”

“Well, I’ve read them all so I thought I might as well pass them on to someone else who will appreciate them. The idea is that once they’re finished with the book, they can pass the books on again.”

“What a great idea!” I marvelled.

We spent about five minutes browsing through the books (that just cost one of my clients $8.25). She gave me some recommendations and advice. (“There are a few old lady’s books, I’m afraid. I bought them for my mother.”) We also talked about her book club. Now, I wouldn’t mind being part of a book club! Everyone reads the same book and comes back to discuss it. Margaret’s book club once read ‘Morgan’s Run‘ by Colleen McCullough, then followed up with a meeting on Fraser Island, where the book is set.

I selected three books, including one old lady’s book. I am looking forward to reading them.

Tracking Cody

I plonked the thick yellow envelope onto the counter.

“Hello. I need to get this to England as quickly as possible.”

Charles the counterhand looked at me doubtfully. “It’s going to be very expensive.”

“How much and how long?” I asked, steely-eyed. He could see that I was serious.

“Express Courier International,” he replied briskly. “It’s the very best. You can insure it, register it, track it. It’ll be there by the end of the week, guaranteed.” He named his exorbitant price. I paid in cash.

As soon as the barcode was swiped, someone darted out from the back mailroom and snatched my envelope from the scales. I just managed to glimpse his nametag before he sprinted past.

Cody the Courier ran onto the street, his hand reaching high. He expertly dodged the pedestrains to reach a taxi 60 m up the road.

“The airport, please,” he said. The driver nodded, rubbed his e-TAG to warm it up, then took off from the curb.

As the taxi careened through the suburbs, Cody pulled out his BlackBerry to book his flight. The only seat available was in Busines class on the Emirates.

Half an hour later, Cody was checking in (“No checked-in luggage. One hand luggage, 7 kg. One envelope. Aisle seat, please.”) and boarding the Boeing 777-300.

In the flight attendants’ first sweep, Cody politely refused a scotch on the rocks (“Sorry, I’m working.”) but did accept the offer of a Playstation 2. He played for a couple of hours (Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas) then watched a nature documentary about beavers before flicking a switch to convert his business class recliner into a bed.

He didn’t bother shopping during the stopover in Dubai (he’d been there just last week).

As the aeroplane approached London, Cody quickly filled in his arrival documents, barely glancing at the familiar options (“Not carrying animals, drugs, plants, radio transmitters, sealskins, vegetables or weapons.”).

He waited quietly as the plane came to a standstill and the boarding passage was extended and docked. He disembarked with the other passengers but as soon as there was space, Cody exploded into action. He sprinted past the crowd transfixed at the baggage carousel, flew through Customs then burst into the wet London weather.

His hair whiplashed into his eyes as he whirled around and shouted, “Taxi!”

And that’s where he is now. How do I know this? Because I’m tracking him, of course. I guess you do get what you pay for.

Cody’s adventures

Old school shake

Forty minutes at Chadstone Shopping Centre on Boxing Day and I was already worn down. Needing to refuel, I walked to the counter at a café-like store in the food court and asked for a banana milkshake.

I took my first sip, then pulled the straw out of my mouth in horror. For some crazy reason, I expected there to be a banana in my banana milkshake. This, however, was a banana-flavoured milkshake. It tasted exactly like one of those soft banana lollies.

I’ve been spoiled these past few years, drinking juices and smoothies from juice bars. I had forgotten what the old school dairy fruit drinks were like. Having paid big bucks, you take it for granted that you’ll get real fruit.

I’ll never buy a milkshake or thickshake again.