When I tell people I’m moving from sunny, isolated Perth, Western Australia (a common nickname is ‘Dullsville’), to Melbourne, Victoria, the first question they ask is, "Do you have a job there?”
Well, no, not yet. But the professional writing industry is much bigger there, and I’m sure I’ll find something.
“Oh…right.”
In Mission Impossible II: Revenge of the Cruise Hairstyle, the bad guy says to the one-dimensional love-interest, “Women are like monkeys. Won’t let go of one branch until they get hold of the next one.”
The average Perth person is like a monkey, sitting in the same tree they started in, afraid to move on to the next tree because they can’t safely reach the fruit from their current perch. They tell themselves they don’t want that exotic fruit, that this dry, scratchy bark is quite fine, thankyouverymuch, and it’s a good place to raise children.
Many people I speak to can't comprehend why I would want to move across the country to a city I’ve only visited a few times. It’s so alien to the ‘get a good steady job, pay your mortgage, buy that bigscreen and Foxtel’ mentality that pervades Perth. My most recent job was in a government agency, filled with middle-aged women working part-time (and not doing that much) for the security. When the agency advertised my role, there were many patently overqualified applicants just looking to get into that stable, 8:30am-4:30pm slow, steady, hard-to-be-fired from job. You could set off a bomb in that place at 4:32pm and not kill anyone.
I could not wait to be out of there. If I’d had to endure one more conversation about the front page story from The West Australian in the lunchroom I may have punctured my own eardrums with a teaspoon.
It’s really not the end of the world to not have a job lined up the moment you step into a new city. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. I’ve done the desperation-I’ll-take-anything job situation before. I’ve been a hopeless grad, been fired from selling mobile phones, been made redundant – all of which led me to taking job I knew I would hate, to be ‘safe’. To sit in that bloody tree eating scratchy bark and hating it.
So, without getting too, “50 ways to fulfil your destiny” on it, this move is my time to be unsafe. What I need is a pair of sapphire shoes, to click those heels together three times and be somewhere else.
Well, no, not yet. But the professional writing industry is much bigger there, and I’m sure I’ll find something.
“Oh…right.”
In Mission Impossible II: Revenge of the Cruise Hairstyle, the bad guy says to the one-dimensional love-interest, “Women are like monkeys. Won’t let go of one branch until they get hold of the next one.”
The average Perth person is like a monkey, sitting in the same tree they started in, afraid to move on to the next tree because they can’t safely reach the fruit from their current perch. They tell themselves they don’t want that exotic fruit, that this dry, scratchy bark is quite fine, thankyouverymuch, and it’s a good place to raise children.
Many people I speak to can't comprehend why I would want to move across the country to a city I’ve only visited a few times. It’s so alien to the ‘get a good steady job, pay your mortgage, buy that bigscreen and Foxtel’ mentality that pervades Perth. My most recent job was in a government agency, filled with middle-aged women working part-time (and not doing that much) for the security. When the agency advertised my role, there were many patently overqualified applicants just looking to get into that stable, 8:30am-4:30pm slow, steady, hard-to-be-fired from job. You could set off a bomb in that place at 4:32pm and not kill anyone.
I could not wait to be out of there. If I’d had to endure one more conversation about the front page story from The West Australian in the lunchroom I may have punctured my own eardrums with a teaspoon.
It’s really not the end of the world to not have a job lined up the moment you step into a new city. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. I’ve done the desperation-I’ll-take-anything job situation before. I’ve been a hopeless grad, been fired from selling mobile phones, been made redundant – all of which led me to taking job I knew I would hate, to be ‘safe’. To sit in that bloody tree eating scratchy bark and hating it.
So, without getting too, “50 ways to fulfil your destiny” on it, this move is my time to be unsafe. What I need is a pair of sapphire shoes, to click those heels together three times and be somewhere else.
Click, click, click… Oh shit, I’m in Adelaide.
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