By
Jo
Walker
Here’s the biggest thing I learnt
at my first job: there’s a difference
between PEOPLE and THE
PUBLIC. PEOPLE, individually,
are capable of rational thought,
generosity, patience and
humour. When they turn into
THE PUBLIC, they become, on
the whole, a bunch of tools.
I was a cashier at a foreign
currency exchange at Brisbane
International Airport, changing
out cash for travellers on the
way into and out of Australia.
I rarely had a problem with
overseas tourists (though I did
get to call the Federal Police on
an American one day). But my
fellow Australians – THE PUBLIC
of my homeland – wow, friends,
you have some problems.
TRAVELLER: Gimme
some Bali dollars.
ME: You’re after Indonesian
rupiah, sir?
TRAVELLER: Nah, love,
Baaaaahhhlli dollars.
[Currency exchange, during
which 100 Australian bucks
become a million rupiah]
TRAVELLER: Hurh hurh, look at
me – I’m rich! I’m gonna get pissed
on Bintangs in the first two hours!
ME: Good one, sir! Haven’t heard
that 30 times already today! Isn’t
it funny that patchily developed
countries populated with brown
people have weaker economies
than ours! Enjoy your Western
privilege – I hope a sacred
monkey rips your face off!
Look, I didn’t start off so cynical.
I was ground down by stupidity.
I understand that unlike, say,
shopping malls, airports are
not places people go every day.
Maybe they’re a bit confusing. But
more than one traveller strode
up to my booth (small, enclosed
on all sides) and asked if this
was where the planes took off.
They did this in full view of an
enormous building-sized window
looking out onto – yes! – many
planes taking off and landing!
Jumbo jets! That are generally
famous for being somewhat
larger than a one-woman booth!Sometimes a question is so dumb,
it’s difficult to know how to
respond. Properly ponder the
ramifications of a query like this
(Where do you think the planes
are? Am I meant to be hiding them
in my knickers?) and you yourself
seem like an idiot. Answer honestly- pointing to the window with the
large flying machines outside –
and you make them seem like an
idiot. There are no good options.
Because this is THE PUBLIC.
THE PUBLIC contained people who
didn’t know which country they
were flying to (Yes, Bangkok is in
Thailand, madam); ones who didn’t
know how much money they’d
need for their trip (I don’t know
your life! What are you planning
to do? Isn’t this something you
should have thought of earlier?);
and others who thought I was
personally responsible for poor
international exchange rates and
“ruining their holidays”. Yep- that was me. An all-powerful
money goddess, dressed like a bank
teller in a hideous nylon uniform,
intent on destruction. I was 18
and drove a car with basically
no clutch. I had all the power.
Look, it wasn’t all bad. It was
air-conditioned. Relatively
safe. My panic button literally
summoned the AFP. And I got to
meet the Canadian Chippendales
in the departure lounge one
time. But I also collected a
surprising amount of exotic
skin conditions – paper money is
filthy, people – and gave myself
pink eye once, after counting too
much Papua New Guinean kina.Which is why my first job also
taught me the importance of hand
sanitiser. And how to apologise for
accidentally summoning heavily
armed men. And that travellers’cheques are for suckers (sorry).
But mostly – after years in this job,
and subsequent retail and customer
service gigs – that THE PUBLIC
can be real jerks. Now, as a member
of THE PUBLIC, I try to keep my
tool-like behaviour to a minimum.
I say “please” and “thank you”.
I refrain from making terrible
jokes to people making minimum
wage. And, dear god, I strive to
understand the basics of Asian
geography. It is, literally, the
least I can do.By
Daniel
Moore
- My first foray into professional life
was working as a lifeguard. I was
about 17 and clearly inspired by
the past seven seasons of Baywatch.
Impressed by the constant praise
awarded to the brave, bulked-
up boofheads on the show, I set
my sights on a life of heroism.
Fully aware that I had some ways
to go before earning my stripes as a
muscle-pumping power swimmer
on Venice Beach, I settled for a
junior job at a local swimming
pool in Western Sydney. Not to
be discouraged by the somewhat
substandard venue, I took my first-
aid course and completed a number
of other certificates that I was sure
would make me king of the deep
end. I was ready to go, and looked
forward to strutting my stuff on a
sun-drenched concourse in St Mary’s.Your first job is a milestone. It’s
terrifying, but exciting. Nerve-
wracking but liberating. In some
ways, it’s like your first kiss (if
your first kiss involved filling out
confusing tax forms and setting up a
superannuation account). The night
before my first day on the clock, I
did my best to thoroughly prepare.
I ironed my shirt and shorts (I even
ironed my trunks), then Mum went
and ironed them again properly,
because I was a 17-year-old kid who
knew bugger-all about ironing.writers’ piece