Snapshot 68 – And then HE says…

G holds me tight and says: I am in love with you too.  But I have to end it with my ex-girlfriend properly because even though our relationship is broken, we have been friends for a long time and she deserves to be treated with care. You have to trust me on this. Do you trust me?

I nod stupidly and wipe my nose. Something in me never trusts anybody completely, but what is the point of saying, “No, I don’t trust you.”

Our last week together dissolves in a busy whirr of farewell parties and packing. And then G is gone – to India to find adventure. Leaving me with his car (I can’t drive!)  a teddy bear (promptly named G2) and his itinerary and contact details in India.

I feel empty when G leaves. I never knew I could feel so much for anybody in just 6 short weeks. And I throw myself into work to fill the emptiness.

“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.” [Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2]

Snapshot 67 – Blurt

You don’t get it! [Sob] I think I am in love with you and it’s useless because you have a girlfriend and…and you are about to go off to India…and then you’ll go home and I won’t see you anymore…[boo, hoo, hoo....snivel, snivel] And…and I’m being a complete idiot here and you have to let me leave…I have to go…[hiccup...snivel...blow nose...]…I hate crying…[snivel, snivel, SOB]…

Snapshot 66 – Caution: Drama Queen Ahead!

The week before G leaves for India, I get a call from the Swiss bank. They would like to offer me a job. Would I be interested in working for them?

I can’t believe it! All those applications and interviews with other banks…and then here, where I thought I had NO chance because of my flippant behaviour (including threatening to yell at rude senior traders) they are offering me a job. I am thrilled. And the first person I call is G.

He is thrilled for me. But he says, “Promise you won’t forget me when I’m in India and all those merchant banking types are trying to impress you!”

I laugh, but something in me feels sour. He shouldn’t keep saying things like this to me when he has a girlfriend at home. One who is waiting for him to return so they may be able to take the next steps in their relationship. I don’t want to be played with.

Me: Shouldn’t you be thinking about who might be trying to impress your GIRLFRIEND while you are away??

G: Ouch! Direct hit!

Me: No…but seriously…[where am I going with this??]

G: I think we have to talk before I leave for India.

Me: No. There’s nothing to talk about. You need to think about your girlfriend. And there’s nothing more that you have to say to me. You don’t owe me anything.

G: I think we need to have dinner tonight and talk.

Me: [Irritated] Oh, come on! We’ve been hanging out together for so many days, and now all of a sudden we have to TALK?? What hasn’t been said already? [Arrrgggghhh! Combative drama queen is in the house!]

G: Yeah, there are things you don’t know, and maybe don’t understand…

Me: Oh please! Spare me! What don’t I know? That your girlfriend doesn’t understand you?  That she’s not very nice to you?

I hear myself becoming more and more shrill and wonder at what the hell I’m doing! Why am I being so aggressive to this poor man, when it was me who called him to tell him about my new job? What am I thinking??? His girlfriend is none of my business.

Me: I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m carrying on. I didn’t mean to harass you. I have to go now. We’ll speak soon.

I hang up. What the hell is wrong with me??

At the end of the day I walk down to Circular Quay to catch my ferry home. And G is waiting for me at the quay. Something in me warms at the sight of him. And something bristles.

G: Lets have dinner and talk.

Me: What’s to talk about? You don’t owe me anything! I’ve always known where we stand.

G: Yeah – that’s why we need to talk.

And I go along with him. We buy some take away dinner and sit on his balcony in the dark.

G: You have to know that my girlfriend and I have been having problems and that we are going our own ways?

Me: Oh sure. She doesn’t understand you, right? Please tell me something original. I expect better from you.

G: Please don’t be so cynical. It doesn’t suit you. It’s true – when I came here I asked her to come with me so we could get a fresh start without the on-going irritants of home, but she was working and thought that the time apart would do us good. It hasn’t. We’re worse.

Me: Sure. You expected her to leave her job and follow you and now it’s her fault that it’s not working out? That’s so chauvinistic of you.

G: I didn’t say that.

It’s the first time I have seen him so serious. And quiet.

G: I was planning to call her on the night before I go to India and tell her that we are not working out. We need to end it once and for all and stop dragging out the inevitable.

Me: Oh! So you’re going to break her heart and then leave the country!?! Can’t you see how terrible that is? I thought so highly of you…and now…this…this…it’s all wrong!

I feel the tears well up and I have to leave. Once again my tear ducts have lost control and I have to get out of here before I embarrass myself further. But G grabs my arm and keeps me sitting next to him.

G: You can’t just run off. We haven’t finished.

Me: [Sobbing pathetically] But I’m going to cry and I don’t want you to see me…[sob...hiccup...snivel...blow nose...] You just don’t get it….[hic...sniff...]…

He puts both arms around me and just holds me.

And that is when I blurt it out…between pathetic sobs…

Snapshot 65 – Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner…[or Lunch]

Somehow, G and I see each other nearly every day after his exams finish. We often end up catching the same ferry home after work and then have dinner together. My favourite is when we buy some fish and chips and sit cross-legged on his balcony, chatting and eating. We talk. A lot. And he always walks me home after.

After a couple of weeks like this, I think it’s ridiculous that I can go to his house, but he can’t come to mine. So I take my life in my hands and say to my mother, “I’d like to invite G home for lunch one weekend. How would you feel about that?”

She gives me a questioning smile and says, “You’ll have to clear it with your father.”

Oh hell.

But I feel determined. I am not asking for anything so outrageous.

So I’m sitting with my parents one night, eating dinner and I say to my father, “I have a friend, G, and I would like to invite him to lunch one Saturday. What do you think [gulp]?” I steel myself for possible abuse. Uncomfortable silence. My parents exchange looks.

I am about to say: actually, I’ve made a mistake, sorry – don’t worry, rewind, as you were…when my father asks, “Who is this G?”

And I tell him. Flatly. Simply. Factually.

My father shrugs and says, “Okay. Why not?”

And I go from expecting the worst to realising that the best has happened. The normal has occurred and this is a big breakthrough in my parents’ house.

G is very surprised when I invite him to my house. He says, “But I thought your parents are very strict and I’d never be invited!”

Me: They are strict. But sometimes they are also human. So will you come?

G: Yes of course. But I feel scared!!!

Me: Don’t worry, I’ll protect you!

Saturday rolls around and I don’t know who is more nervous – my father, or me. We kind of avoid eye contact and I stay out of his way in case he has a sudden change of heart and strangles me in his anxiety. By lunchtime my mother has prepared one of her feasts, the house is clean and we all wait nervously. I feel ridiculously anxious – kind of like I am about to be executed or something.

G arrives, clutching a bunch of flowers for my mother and a bottle of wine for my father. I whisper that my parents don’t drink – my father did at one point, but then gave it up after his consumption hit anti-social levels.

G grins broadly and flourishes, “See – that’s why I brought NON-alcoholic wine…read the label!!! I think its grape juice in a fancy bottle actually!” I am warmed by his thoughtfulness.

Lunch goes surprisingly well. G is interesting and interested. The conversation flows easily and time passes comfortably. I am impressed by G’s broad ranging repertoire. My parents are impressed by G’s education, work and interests. And taken aback by his down-to-earth, relaxed demeanour. It’s kind of like he’s always lived here.

When I walk G out after lunch, I whisper, “You did well. I might be able to invite other friends home now!”

G: Oh good! But you’re not allowed to invite any MALE friends. I forbid it!

Me: Really?? You and my father can join forces in forbidding me!

Another big kiss and he ambles off down the road. I come back inside and my mother pulls me into the kitchen with a big smile. She whispers, “Your father said to tell you that he thinks G is NOT the marrying kind!”

Me: Really? Just as well because neither am I. Plus, G has a girlfriend, remember?

Mother: Yes – but do you remember?

Me: [Rolling eyes] And what has my father based his brilliant observation on, anyway?

Mother: He just thinks that G has too much going on his life to want to settle down – he works, he studies, he plays sports, he’s off to India with friends – he is not the marrying kind. He won’t be settling down for some time.

Me: [Deflecting] His girlfriend will be disappointed, I’m sure.

My mother talks a lot about G. He’s so TALL. He’s so WHITE! He looks like a VIKING! [Hmmm...I didn’t notice any horns on his head!] He has such a happy LAUGH! His EYES TWINKLE when he laughs! He’s so EDUCATED. He has such a GOOD JOB! He owns his own HOUSE…at such a YOUNG AGE!!! And he’s SO DOWN TO EARTH…SO EASY TO GET ALONG with! He’s so SMART! So SWEET!

Me: Yes Ma. That’s why I like him. He is a decent person.

G calls on Sunday to ask if I want to go for a walk down to the beach. We both live about 5 minutes’ walk from the beach.

Me: No. I’m not allowed. Now that my parents have met you, I’m not allowed to meet you anymore. You were too outrageous for them.

G: What?? I didn’t pass the test??? What did I do wrong?

Me: [Laughing] Of course you passed – you were great! I’m just being silly. Like I said, you have paved the way for me to invite ALL my other boyfriends home now!!!

G: Hmmm. I’ll have to have a word to your dad! See you in a few minutes then?

And we spend the day sitting at the beach. Watching the world drift by. Chatting. Eating. Laughing. And it’s just so easy. I never knew it could be so easy to just be with someone.

But he will be going to India in a couple of weeks. And then he will return to his home – not Sydney. And I will miss him – and our time together – terribly.

I have to start letting go.

It’s Called Shhtyle Daaahling (NOT a Snapshot)

I read this article (below) yesterday – on the importance of style and fabulousness.

I think they are quite right…especially the parts on ‘Etiquette v Manners’ and ‘The Basics of Good Manners’! And my favourite is:  Listen, listen, listen If all you can hear is your own voice, shut up.

….I’d love to know what you think! Is style better than beauty, brains and billions in the bank??…I’m sure I’d be a lot more stylish if I had BILLION$ in my bank account!! 

HOW TO BE FABULOUS

by Melissa Penfold and Jenny Tabakoff

Most of us know how to live but not how to live well. There is a world of difference between the two — and the difference is style. It is better than beauty, brains and billions in the bank and it’s never too late to acquire it, say the authors of Australian Style, Melissa Penfold and Jenny Tabakoff.

WAYS TO SHINE

Use imagination in all you do. Creativity is the magic that will transform the way you live – how you present yourself, set a table, arrange flowers and how you see things. Money can never do what imagination can achieve.

Rise above things. When people gossip or blame you, shut up. Never complain and never put out a statement.

Dress to feel good. If you like what you see in the mirror and the way your clothes make you feel, it will weave the same magic over everyone who sees you. Identify your best feature, then flaunt it shamelessly. If all you’ve got are great elbows and ears, then cut holes in your sleeves and wear chandeliers everywhere you go.

Put your faith in the classics. That goes for everything, from frocks to flooring. As a general rule, choose plain over patterned, understated over overstated. Avoid fashion, especially fads. Some dress rules are for life: never wear clothes with words on them, polar fleece, cheesecloth, plaits or Jesus sandals.

Maintain your standards. Prune your wardrobe seasonally, bin chipped china, toss stained linen, hang those pictures, file and frame photos, reupholster that tattered sofa. Throw out everything that’s broken – relationships included. You will feel free to get on with the rest of your life.

Don’t try too hard. Gold-plated taps, unnecessarily enormous houses and clothes with designer labels on the outside scream “I’ve arrived!” You will be treated accordingly. Simplicity is more stylish. Sometimes it’s more sophisticated to serve smoked salmon on toast than a five-course meal.

Aim for a compliment a day. Even if it’s just flirting with the butcher. Compliments give you confidence.

Make a great first impression. You’ll never reclaim the lost ground if you don’t. Develop a firm handshake, a warm smile. It’s free and it’s the most effective thing you’ll ever do. Onwards!

HOW TO HANDLE ANY SOCIAL SITUATION (WHAT TO DO WHEN …)

A friend tells you she’s going to marry the creep she has been dating:

Say: “I’m so happy for you.” Go to the wedding but just keep the friendship one-to-one. Lots of girl time, walks, lunches, trips to the art gallery, coffees and telephone chats to keep the friendship strong. Never mention him. If she does, just listen. Don’t abandon her; she needs you. Odds are, he’ll eventually leave the scene.

You know your best friend’s husband is having an affair:

Never tell her. She won’t thank you for it. Let her work it out herself and even when it’s out in the open, never mention you knew all along.

Your best friend runs off with the pool cleaner:

Say: “Well done” or “I’m so proud of you.” You have to applaud her bravery, even if you think she’s been possessed by chlorine-induced madness. Support her through it, because she’s going to suffer enough without you telling her what you really think.

Your married female friend runs off with another woman:

Celebrate! Buy her a pair of overalls. Kiss her new girlfriend on the cheek. If she’s happy, be happy for her.

You receive repeated unwanted invitations:

When they say: “How about lunch tomorrow (next week, month)? No? Well, what about dinner? Any time, we can work around you,” reply with: “I’m overcommitted right now. Let me get back to you when things lighten up.” When they do come back to you (and they will), just say things are even more frantic now.

You didn’t invite someone to a party and they found out:

Forget long explanations. Say: “I invited a different group of people. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” No more, no less.

You get drunk at a party and end up disgracing yourself:

Put your clothes back on and call a cab. The next morning, telephone the hosts and deliver a charming apology. Think Hugh Grant.

You bump into someone you know for a fact has had plastic surgery:

“Gosh, you look well!” is the correct response, even if they turn up looking like the Bride of Wildenstein with tennis-ball cheek implants and a whole new cleft chin. Follow that up with: “What a great haircut!” or “That colour really suits you.” They’ll think their $50,000 was well spent.

Someone asks: “Does my bum look big in this?”:

It depends if you like her or not. Warn a good friend of a looming wardrobe disaster but in a nice way. Never say “yes” to the above question. Try something like: “It doesn’t make the most of your little waist” or “I prefer you in the blue one.”

TRAVEL WARDROBE STAPLES WHAT TO TAKE

* A belted shirtdress: You’ll look like a local wherever you go.

* Tailored pants: Two pairs for flights, shopping, evening affairs and sightseeing.

* Silk palazzo pants: Teamed with flats and pearls, they’ll take you anywhere.

* A jacket that dresses up everything else. It gives you shape and status.

* One LBD (Little Black Dress): It will take you from a Tuscan trattoria to a royal garden party.

* Shirts: Two in different lengths, styles and patterns in good-quality, non-crushable fabrics.

* T-shirts: Two, new and shapely, that can be worn from beach to ball. One should have long sleeves you can push up or down depending on the temperature.

* A pullover: Consider a cotton-knit V-neck that you can team at night with a pair of trousers and long necklace.

* A trench coat: The ultimate look when teamed with a good pair of heels. It covers up, or dresses up, anything you wear underneath.

* A pashmina: Even if you’re heading to St Tropez, you’ll want something light, foldable, warming and glamorous for the plane and for evenings.

* Shoes: Two pairs, one for comfort, one for style. That means a pair of fabulous sandals, loafers or boots, plus your favourite heels for evening. No joggers, ever, with day wear.

* Loads of accessories: You’ll use these to change the look of your outfits without taking up valuable suitcase space. Think belts, scarves, earrings, rings (all styles, no real value), hats and big sunglasses. Don’t forget an evening bag.

ETIQUETTE V MANNERS

Etiquette is about knowing which fork to use and the right way to introduce people. Useful, yes – but only when accompanied by manners.

Luckily, anyone can have beautiful manners, whatever their background or bank balance. People with good manners might not know how to pass the port (it’s clockwise) but they will always offer a guest a drink, then sit and chat – and not just about themselves.

They know how the tilt of the head can express empathy or when it might be rude to use a mobile. Etiquette is nice but it’s manners that make you fabulous and take you to the top.

The hostess who greets you with a booming “you’re 45 minutes late!” but then rallies with an Oscar-worthy round of introductions scores zero for manners, completely wiping out the marks she gets for etiquette. How much better everyone would feel if she just said: “Darling, how lovely to see you. Don’t you look gorgeous?” and proceeded with introductions.

Beautiful manners are the knack of making everyone feel loved, honoured and interesting.

THE BASICS OF GOOD MANNERS

Be interested in others. Don’t fake it.

Say hello If you pass someone you recognise, greet them. Don’t scuttle past like a cockroach. Saying hello makes everyone feel better.

Say thank you. They are the two hardest words for most people to say but they work wonders.

Be gracious. Allow others to pass through doors first, take the credit, have the best room or deliver the punchline. They’ll love you for it.

Put others in the spotlight. Even if you’re only having a coffee together. Ask about them, their children, their lives.

Listen, listen, listen If all you can hear is your own voice, shut up.

Be generous. Shout lunch or coffee.

But let others pay for you sometimes. Don’t have a punch-up over the bill.

Put down the mobile. Even cradling it in your hand when you’re talking to someone is a subtle sign there’s someone you’d rather be chatting to.

Be big. When you’ve done something wrong, apologise – and mean it – but then move on. If both parties are in the wrong, apologise first.

Don’t do anything that makes others uncomfortable. Whether it’s swearing or talking about money.

Let things go. Know which battles are worth fighting.

Australian Style, by Melissa Penfold and Jenny Tabakoff, is published by Penguin/Lantern.

…Original article  from the Sydney Morning Herald, October 29, 2009  is here:

http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/lifematters/how-to-be-fabulous-20091028-hk43.html

Snapshot 64

I think of G often as a week drifts by. I resist the urge to call him. He is studying for his CPA exams and I don’t want to disturb him. And I don’t want to look like a stalker either!

The night before his final exam G calls to ask if I feel like meeting for dinner.

Me: But don’t you need to study?

G: Yeah – but I’m sick of it…and I need to eat. Come out for dinner – we won’t stay out for than 2 hours – I promise!

Me: 1 hour!

G: Sold!

We meet at a local Thai restaurant. They are having a “2 for 1” offer…yes…we like to live it up!! When we taste the food, we understand WHY it is “2 for 1”.

G: Guess where I am going!

Me: I can’t. Where are you going?

G: I’m going to INDIA!!!

Me: What? Why??

G: My friends are going trekking around India and asked me to come! Do you want to come with me?

Me: [Choking on the “2 for 1” gristle] No. Wow. Have you ever been to India before?

G: I’ve NEVER been out of Australia before!!! Why don’t you want to come with me?

Me: Because I have to be home by 10…and I’ve only just met you!

G: But it’s INDIA! It will be fantastic! You have to come. We’ll have fun!

He is like a big romping kid in all his enthusiasm.

Me: [Laughing] Yeah – I don’t think so. But tell me about this trip.

G: I haven’t had much time to talk to my friends yet so I don’t know all the plans. But we’re going in 4 weeks. The only bad thing is that I have to get lots of injections before I go.

Me: 4 weeks?? Wow. It will be an amazing experience for you. You’ll be totally outside your comfort zone. I think you’ll enjoy it most if you go with a completely open mind and just let it all flow over you. Don’t let it overwhelm you.

G: I can’t wait! Hey – you should give me a list of things you want me to buy!

Me: Hmmm. Perhaps some gold and diamonds would be nice.

We chat away till it’s time to go. G walks me home again. He plants a big kiss on my cheek and leaves me with the words: “Think about coming to India with me. We’ll have fun.”

…Sigh…

Snapshot 63

As I start to walk away, cursing myself for ever trusting a man, I hear G’s voice calling out, “Hey – S – where are you going??” I turn to see him running towards me.

G: Where are you going?

Me: You’re late

G: Yeah – I’m sorry – but I’m not VERY late – and I was hoping you’d wait for me inside. Why are you leaving?

Me: I would have waited – but you didn’t book and so I wasn’t sure you were coming.

G: What? I booked!

Me: They don’t have a booking for you. Did you use a secret, undercover name?

G: Come on – let’s go inside. I’m sure there’s been an error. I definitely booked. It was only yesterday!

Waitress: Can I help you?

G: Yes – I have a booking for G at 6.30.

Waitress: I’m sorry sir – we don’t have that booking.

G: Well, obviously there’s been a mistake. But you can fit us in, can’t you? It is only early on a Tuesday night – surely you’re not booked out?

Waitress: Follow me.

We are seated. There are no set menus. A waiter comes and tells us the menu. It is challenging to listen to a menu of 20 dishes and choose just 1 dish! But we manage. And laugh when we order the same dish because it was the only one we can remember out of the 20 dishes the waiter recited.

But I feel agitated because of the start to our evening. I have to tell myself to settle down and have a pleasant dinner instead of being tense and wrecking the evening.

G: Are you alright? You seem tense.

Me: Yes. I’m sorry. I thought you weren’t coming. Especially after the waitress said there was no booking for you.

G: I’m sorry about that. I’m not sure what happened there. And then I ran late because I had to run into the shops after work and got held up in traffic. Looks like you were leaving.

Me: I thought you weren’t coming.

G: But it was only 20 minutes!

Me: I know. I hate lateness – it’s my personal madness – and when there was no booking, I thought you’d stood me up.

G: I’m sorry. I know. Let’s start fresh from now! Let’s enjoy our dinner.

Me: [relaxing] Yes – lets.

And our conversation flows so easily. The meal is delicious and the company is delightful. I look at my watch and realise 2 hours have flown by and I have to get home. G spots me looking at my watch and comments, “Don’t tell me! You have another party to go to!!”

Me: No. [I decide I am not going to lie to G about my parents’ time limits] But I do have to be home by 9 otherwise my parents will be annoyed and will ban me from ever going out again! They may even send out a search party for me…and that would be embarrassing!

G: Your parents?!?

Me: Yes. I know it’s pathetic. But I come from a fairly traditional family and while I live under my parents’ roof, I live by their rules. I don’t want to create problems at home.

G: That’s interesting. Tell me more. You stayed at dinner on Saturday till almost 10, and then you said you were going to another party. And tonight you’re saying that you have to be home by 9. How does that work?

Me: I was enjoying dinner on Saturday so I overstayed a bit. And then I went straight home – I didn’t go to the other party. But I was too embarrassed to say that I have curfews at the ripe old age of 23 so I used the other party as an excuse! And you know it’s not like it affects anybody but me – mostly.

G: Hmmm. But it did affect me on Saturday.

Me: How’s that?

G: I was enjoying your company and then you were off! I didn’t even have time to ask for your phone number!

Me: Really? I mean – yes – but it would have been too embarrassing to explain that I have curfews – especially the first time we’ve ever met!

G: Alright. Let’s get you home before you get into trouble. Where do you live? Shall I drive you? Or shall we walk?

Me: It’s just a 10 minute walk from here. It’s okay – I’ll walk myself – you don’t have to walk me.

G: Yeah – but then you’ll get kidnapped and it will be my fault for not taking care of you.

Me: I’ve managed to NOT get kidnapped for the last 23 years!! All by myself!

G: Yeah – sure – but now I feel responsible for you – so please let me walk you home.

We wander out of the restaurant. Still chatting away. And G carries my bag because I “shouldn’t carry heavy things” (his words).

As we reach my house, G says, “I really enjoyed having dinner with you. Let’s do it again. Wish my exams were over already!”

Me: I’d like that.

G: But I have something to tell you before you go.

Me: [Oh-oh] Don’t tell me…you are an axe murderer and my life is in grave danger!

G: Uh – no. I have a…sort of…girlfriend. She hasn’t come to Sydney with me. But she’s at home, waiting for me to return from my posting here.

Me: I know.

G: You KNOW? How?

Me: I picked it up at the dinner on Saturday. It’s not a big deal you know. I’m not auditioning for the part of your girlfriend. But I like you and I’d like to be friends. Will that upset your girlfriend?

G: You picked it up on Saturday? HOW?

Me: I’m female…picking up vibes and hints is a biological imperative!

G: [Laughing. Hands jammed in pockets] I was so worried about telling you! I was trying to work out all evening how to do it…and you knew already! Go figure!

Me: Yeah. Go figure. Look – If it will be detrimental to your relationship, we don’t have to talk again. But if your girlfriend is comfortable with you having female friends, then I’d like to catch up again.

G: I am so glad! I will call you after my exams!

Then G swoops down to plant a great big kiss on my cheek (he is a foot taller than me) and ambles off into the night.

I enter my house with a smile on my face and my mother is waiting eagerly: “How was it??” she demands. I am pleasantly surprised by her positive interest.

“It was lovely. I really enjoyed it. G is lovely. I think we will be friends forever.”

Snapshot 62

Monday morning, I head to my interview with the Swiss bank. I feel light, bright and carefree. As I head into the interview room, I notice that I have something resembling cake icing on my sleeve. It is VERY decorative around my wrist. I don’t know where it came from and resist the urge to lick it off before the interviewer arrives. Who knows where that icing has been.

My interviewer is the head of trading operations: a very sharp but shy man named Jeff. He asks the usual questions about my interest in the position. Why should they hire me over the other 8,000 applicants? What do I have, that others do not? Jeff’s shyness leads to him talking to me without actually looking at me. This is slightly disconcerting as he gazes into the middle distance, somewhere around my elbow. I wonder if he is staring at my icing covered sleeve and thinking, “I’m not hiring this grubby woman.” I subtly cover my dirty sleeve with my other arm.

The interview lasts about 20 minutes. Jeff’s shyness makes me bolder than ever and I joke and chat about things I am sure are completely inappropriate for an interview. At one point Jeff bursts out laughing and then blushes a deep red as he tries to turn it into a cough.

As I skip out of the interview, I am pretty sure that I won’t land this job. I have threatened to yell at their senior traders (if provoked) and made their head of trading blush. But as I run back to my job at the exchange, I have other things occupying my mind.

I have been thinking about G since Myra’s birthday on Saturday night. There was something about him that appeals to me. He seemed like a genuinely kind and decent person. I would like him to be my friend. This is a HUGE revelation for me because usually, I am completely anti-social and don’t go out of my way to make friends.

Back at the exchange I casually ask Myra about G…how does she know him…what is he like…and just to be sure that Myra doesn’t become suspicious about my questions, I ask about some of her other friends who were at dinner on Saturday night as well. And I find out G’s surname. Now I know all I need to send G an email to ‘just say hello’ – his name and place of employment!

I compose my email to G with great care. I want it to sound like a casual ‘hello’ from a recent acquaintance… suggesting it might be nice to catch up for a coffee one day…

I expect that he won’t respond, so I want my ‘hello’ email to sound as casual as possible. That way I won’t be disappointed when he ignores it. I think about deleting my unsent email several times…think about how idiotic I’ll feel if G tells Myra about my email and they think I’m some kind of stalker!

And then I hit SEND anyway. What’s the worst that can happen?

If he thinks I’m an idiot, then that’s just the way it is.

5 minutes later, my phone rings. The telephone switch board woman tells me I have a call and then I hear a man’s voice: “Hi! It’s me! G!”

“Whaaaat?” I splutter. “I mean hello!”

G: Hi! I just got your email. It’s great to hear from you. I didn’t think that I’d see you again after you left so quickly on Saturday – I was just thinking about asking Myra for your number…”

Me: Oh – I worked out your email address because I remembered where you work. And I enjoyed meeting you and wondered if you might like to have a coffee one day…but you know if you’re too busy or something, it’s no big deal…” [I feel SO stunted!]

G: No, no – great idea! I have to tell you though [here we go, I think]… I have exams coming up later this week so…

Me: Oh, no big deal. We could always have a coffee some time after that…I know you’re busy…[or, I know a brush off when I hear one]

G: No listen – what I was going to say was – and this might be too short notice for you – lets have dinner – I’m free tonight or tomorrow night. And then I’m in exam mode for a week, so I’ll have to be disciplined and study every night. What do you think?

Me: [Thinking: thank goodness it’s not a brush off...but tonight is too soon and tomorrow is Tuesday...and how am I going to be able to go out in the evening without alerting my parents??? Arrrgggghhhh] Tonight doesn’t work for me because I’ve just had a job interview this morning and I know I’ll collapse once the adrenaline wears off – so I won’t be very good company….and tomorrow night…I’m…um…

G: Oh – you’re worried that it’s a week night…We could make it an early dinner – we could do it after work  and then head home early. Do you know any good restaurants in our area? We may as well go local since we live so close to each other.”

Me: [thinking - not really...I don’t really go out much] Okay. Why don’t you pick a cuisine and I’ll pick a local restaurant.

G: Italian. I like Italian.

Me: [I’ve only had Italian food about twice in my life] There is a good place just around the corner from where you live – I hear they do excellent home-style Italian food – I haven’t been there myself.

G: Great. I’ll ring them and make a booking – and how about we meet there at 6.30 tomorrow?

Me: Okay. See you then. [Insides in turmoil]

It’s hard to think about anything else for the next 30 hours. I think about what I will wear…not that I have so much choice – I will be coming straight after work, after all. But which suit makes me look thin…strand like…sophisticated…

I decide that I am going to be completely up-front with my parents about making friends with G. I despise sneaking around. It goes against my nature. If they don’t approve of my having dinner with a male member of the species, then they can work through it.

At home I say to my mother, “I made a new friend when I went to Myra’s birthday dinner – his name is G [her eyebrows shoot up at ‘his’] – and we are going to have dinner at a local restaurant tomorrow night. I’ll be home around 9 – not very late.”

I am surprised when my mother does not run from the room, screaming. She says, “Okay. Tell me about G.” And she listens intently while I tell her about how decent and kind he seems and that I would like to be friends with him. She doesn’t ask any more than: “Just friends?”

“Yes, he has a girlfriend back home. I’m not looking for more.”

But the next day, I dress with great care when going to work. I don’t have great beauty, long hair or other feminine charms. But I can be well groomed. I plod through the day with a weight in my stomach and a lump in my throat from nervousness. I throw myself into my work to distract from my nervousness.

I leave work in time to catch a ferry to get to the restaurant by 6:30. But when I get there, there is no G waiting, and the waitress tells me that there is no booking under G’s name. I am surprised at the lack of booking.

I decide to wait outside for him. After 15 minutes, he hasn’t arrived and I start to wonder if I’ve been stood up. He seemed kind but maybe he is the type of joker who thinks this is funny. My nervous energy turns into severe irritation when I ring his house and get an answering machine, then ring his work and get his colleague who says, “Oh, G left about an hour ago.” Well, why is he not HERE then?

I feel very upset and tell myself it’s my own fault for opening myself to rejection. He probably got a more attractive offer.

I knew better than to send him an email. If I make myself vulnerable, then this treatment is nothing more than I deserve. And I start to walk away…heading home. Feeling rejected.

Snapshot 61 – Male strippers and glass slippers

On Saturday evening I prepare to go to Myra’s birthday dinner at a Thai restaurant. I think I will have to manoeuvre around my parents very quickly if I want to get out of the house without major interrogation. Once I am about to walk out the door, I tell them that I am going out and will be home before it gets too late. I do NOT ask their agreement. They are surprised at my forthright statement, but do not oppose me. My mother goes into her bedroom with my father and they talk quietly. She comes out and says, “Please be home before 10. Take a cab. Be safe.” Wow. I am speechless. My friends probably experienced this when they were 15-16 years old. My social development is definitely delayed!

Without my parents’ opposition, I feel the wind go out of my sails a little. It is not so exhilarating to go out at night if they do not actually oppose me!! I suddenly want to ring my friend Myra and say I won’t be able to come after all – it’s starting to rain and I don’t feel so good…so twisted is my mind. But I go. And in my confusion and eagerness to actually leave home before my parents add any conditions or caveats on my release, I get to the restaurant too early by about an hour.

But I don’t care. I feel a sudden sense of release and freedom. I feel like I can fly. That nobody can stop me from doing anything, anymore. And feeling such delicious freedom, I sit alone in the restaurant at a table set for 16 people. I read a magazine and observe the comings and goings around me. About half an hour into my peaceful reverie I hear a man talking to the waiter – telling him that he has come for a friend’s dinner party – booked under Myra – but he is too early by half an hour. The waiter tells him that there is another guest here already [me] – he might wish to join me. I hope the man will choose to go away and walk around the block or something.

I don’t want to make small talk with a stranger. I despise small talk. I am not good at it. But the stranger ambles up to the table and introduces himself, “Hi, I’m G.” He looks friendly enough. Very tall and slim. Big happy grin. I smile and shake his hand and say hi shyly.

G says: I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?

Me: Oh, it’s S.

G: Hi S. Do you mind if I join you?

Me: No – go ahead. [What would he say if I said, “Actually, I DO mind. Please go away!” I return to my magazine – I am out of small talk already]

G: I’m so glad I made it before it started raining heavily! It’s about to pour down. That’s why I thought I’d come in and see if anyone else is here, instead of going for a walk. Usually I’d go for a walk.

Me: It was raining lightly when I left home. You could still go for a walk if you want. [Thinking my mother’s words: “You won’t dissolve in the rain...go for a walk already!]

G: Nah. I’ll keep you company. Did you drive here? I caught the ferry across and then a bus. Parking is so hard in the city.

Me: A ferry? So did I

G: Yeah? Where do you live?

Me: [I name the suburb]

G: Really? Me too. That’s amazing. I don’t know anybody else who lives there! Did you get here about half an hour ago? You must have caught the ferry just before mine. If I had been just a few minutes earlier, we could have caught the same ferry and talked all the way across!

Me: Yeah – but we wouldn’t have known each other… [lame and boring, I know]

G: Oh, we might have hit it off! You never know!

I don’t know what more to say to this happy, optimistic sounding man. So I return to my magazine.

G: [Not deterred] So how do you know Myra?

Me: From work

G: Really? You work at the exchange too?

Me: Yes

G: I work at the Reserve Bank

Me: Oh

G: Yes. I’m posted there for a year. Then I have to go back to my other work

Me: Ah [See – I SUCK at small talk!]

Suddenly there is a great hoo-haa at the table next to ours. It is a large table of about 20 women – I believe they are having a ‘hens’ party’. The bride-to-be is fetchingly attired in a dirty white lace lingerie outfit and has mini rubber penis replicas and condoms hanging from her hair and veil and other strategic places. She has a sign: “BRIDE TO BE” strung around her neck (just in case anyone might confuse her for a hooker). Such a delicate, blushing, virginal bridal creature [not]. Perhaps she is channeling Madonna from her “Like a Virgin” days.

The bride-to-be’s mother appears to be choking. The ‘hens’ are literally fussing and clucking around the mother. A couple are shrieking – or should I say squawking? For the first time I see why it is called a “hens’ party”. A concerned waiter comes running up and tries to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on the ‘choking’ mother, who bursts out laughing unexpectedly and scares the poor waiter. Then another older woman at that table starts retching and looks to be precariously close to vomiting.

Very suddenly, 2 ambulance paramedics arrive out of nowhere to save the day.

They boom: “Do any ladies here need to be saved? We hear there are ladies here to be saved!!”

I have never seen paramedics arrive at an emergency scene so quickly before! And I have never heard such cheesy words out of a paramedic before either. G starts laughing loudly and I have no idea about what is so funny. He laughs more at the stupid expression on my face.

And then all is revealed.

Literally.

The ‘ambulance’ men switch on their boom-box (I thought it was some life saving equipment…yes, I am thick!) and proceed to disrobe and gyrate, rubbing up against the bride to be. 

Then I get it…OMG. They are male strippers. I don’t want to see this in a restaurant! Or anywhere else for that matter. I am agog…but try hard to appear nonchalant and worldly. I think that dumb-founded is about as close as I get to looking worldly.

The bride-to-be and her hens enjoy the strippers immensely and become louder and louder in their appreciation. Then they become extremely agitated when the restaurant owner asks the strippers to stop stripping and leave. The owner says that if he had known they were going to have strippers, he would not have taken the dinner booking for their hens’ party. The hens cluck their outrage at the owner’s ‘fuddy-duddy’ attitude, but eventually let the strippers sidle away. The strippers appear almost relieved to get away while they still have their g-strings on…without getting pawed too much by these lust-crazed women. A couple of the outraged hens demand that the restaurant owner should reimburse them for the strippers’ fees, since he threw the strippers out and ruined their fun. The owner politely advises the hens to leave if they are not happy with the restaurant, and when they don’t, he ignores them.

G turns to me and says, “Well, that was something!! I didn’t know where to look!” He’s not the only one! Thank goodness Myra and the other guests for our table arrive before I have to make any further small talk with G – particularly about the strippers. I am completely dumb-founded – I have never actually seen a stripper before, sheltered and delicate petal that I am.

I do enjoy the evening as it progresses, but keep a close eye on my watch. I’ll have to leave here by 9.40pm if there is any hope of getting home by 10. I think G is alcoholic because he keeps trying to refill my glass with wine – even though I am not drinking much of what is already there. Eventually he fills my glass so much that it overflows, right into my lap. Arrrgghh! Now I am going to go home smelling of alcohol – like I am a wino! My parents will LOVE this! Very annoying.

Because I keep eyeing my watch, G asks if I am late for something.

Me: Not yet. But I’ll have to go soon.

G: Oh, where are you going? I suppose you have another party?

Me: Uh…yes – I have another party to get to. [I hate admitting that at age 23, I have to be home by 10...it wounds my pride. In fact one of my old uni friends is having a farewell party tonight for her departing flat-mate – I was invited, but said no because the party does not start till 10pm. No chance of getting to that one!]

G: Ah. You are very social.

Luckily I can’t blush obviously over my lie, because of my dark complexion! Who knew that being dark has benefits??

G: Before you go, do you want to come with me to the bottle shop next door and help me choose a nice wine? We seem to be running out.

Me: Why? Are you worried you’ll get mugged if you go to the bottle shop by yourself? Do you need me to come and protect you?

G: [Laughing] Yeah! Come and be my body guard!

This is all too strange for me. It seems flirtatious. But I wander out to the bottle shop with him anyway and we choose a seemingly nice bottle of wine.

G: Is this a good wine?

Me: I don’t know. I hardly drink.

G: Really? You look like a wine lover to me!

Me: How? Are my eyes glazed and unfocussed? Am I not walking straight? Am I slurring my words? Do I smell like an alcoholic? Well – yes actually to the last question, since you thought my glass needed so much filling.

G: [Laughing more] No, no – I meant it in a nice way! I meant you seem like a connoisseur of fine wines! Not alcoholic.

Me: [Backing off] Sure – I’m only kidding. I’m sorry, I have to get going – that’s why I’m a bit tense. I’ll just protect you all the way back to the restaurant and say bye to Myra – then I have to go.

G: Surely you can stay a bit longer? Arrive fashionably late to your next party? Nobody gets to a party on time! Oh – except us – WE arrive fashionably early!

Me: No – thanks – but I have to go. I hate being late.

G: Ah well…we can’t have you turning into a pumpkin.

Me: No. And I forgot to wear my glass slippers tonight. [What the?...]

And as I say goodbye and run out of the restaurant for a cab (running…to keep up the Cinderella analogy going) I have the urge to tell G, this strange, happy man that I’d like to see him again. I’d like to leave my phone number and tell him to call me.

But it feels too forward for me. And during the course of the evening, without it being said explicitly, I picked up that he has a girlfriend somewhere – and I really don’t want to leave the ball in his court. I head home with my thoughts.

Snapshot 60

Sometime in the middle of my tear duct incontinence, I call my doctor. My rational mind has been whispering to do this for 2 days and I finally think: what have I got to lose? I feel embarrassed calling because the doctor has known me since I was 11 – when my mother used to take me for common childhood viruses. The doctor’s receptionist asks me over the phone, “And what is wrong with you?”

Where do I start?? I blurt out: “I can’t stop crying.” And burst into fresh tears just to prove it.

The receptionist is alarmed and books me in for an urgent consultation.

I sit outside the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery. I don’t want to upset the other patients with my non-stop snivelling. My irrational mind is weeping inconsolably. My rational mind is pointing and laughing at me.

The doctor lets me speak and cry for over an hour. I pour out all my short comings and failures. All my craziness. I can only imagine the poor, actually sick patients sitting outside, waiting for me to leave so they can get their turn. Especially now that I have jumped the queue ahead of them because of my EMERGENCY.

The doctor tells me that I am depressed. I need medication to get me through this time, until I can think more rationally and try to find a way through the fog of my mind. I nod dumbly. And then walk out clutching a prescription for anti-depressants. I have stopped crying. I buy my drugs from the pharmacy and head home. I take the required dose and promptly faint. When I come to, I figure I have been ‘out’ for about 5 minutes. Fainting was not one of the side effects listed. I go to bed. After days of weeping, blessed numbness sets in.

The drugs take about 2 weeks to have any meaningful effect on my mental health. I faint every morning when I take my pill – but the period of fainting reduces to a few seconds. And then stops. I feel the weight of life slowly lift off me. My sense of failure does not subside. But I do not care so much. So what if I failed??

After 3 weeks, the doctor calls me in. She tells me that I am progressing as expected on the anti-depressants. She advises me to keep taking them for at least 3 months and then we will speak again. That sounds fine.

I find the courage to tell my mother that I have been diagnosed with depression. She is alarmed and holds her mouth, her eyes wide, eyebrows raised to her hairline. I have disappointed her yet again. She eventually accepts it as bad luck.

But she thinks that my father will be outraged and disappointed, so I should not tell him that I am taking anti- depressants. She says that he will be disappointed about my addiction to a drug. About my inability to cope with the curve balls of life. Apparently in a past life he became addicted to Valium. To the point that he could not function without it.

I don’t feel the need to tell my father. I don’t actually care what he thinks. Unlike him, I do not have a particularly addictive personality. I haven’t smoked my life away like he has. I never became addicted to alcohol like he did. I never chewed tobacco. I never took Valium. I feel a certain contempt and resentment towards my father and his inability to separate me from his weaknesses. But I also lug around the feeling that I am doing something wrong by taking the anti-depressants.

After a month on anti-depressants, I feel emotionally light and bright. I am back at work. My failures don’t bother me so much. I float around. My work colleagues notice the change in me and ask me if anything is new. I never share my depression and anti-depressants with anybody – it remains something of an embarrassment that I am mentally unstable. I just shrug and laugh their questions off. They tease me that I must have a new man in my life. I shrug and laugh some more. I ask, “How do you know it’s not a new WOMAN?!?”

I like this new being. I observe it from an objective distance. The drugs have re-invented it. It is light and bright. It makes jokes with people. It never feels hungry. The weight falls off and it feels physically strong. It has loads of energy and can’t sleep at night. It makes friends with everybody I meet. It becomes deliriously happy – to the point of not caring. It is a winner.

I ask my doctor why I am like this. She believes I have bipolar disorder. Due to a Serotonin imbalance. In my hypomanic state I am driven and energetic beyond reason – particularly in my work, where I channel all my energy. In my depressive state I feel like a complete failure, unworthy of life. That’s when I can sleep for hours – no, days on end.

It is almost a relief to have a label for the madness and despair I have felt. I like me when I am hypomanic. I achieve when I am hypomanic. I hate me when I am depressed. I am a waste of life when depressed.

The anti-depressants also facilitate a big change in my attitude to job interviews. I don’t care what the interviewers think. I still apply for jobs, but shrug off rejection.

Then a Swiss investment bank calls me for an interview. I bounce into the interview. Feeling deliciously light. Smiling. Chatting. I combine the strong interview skills I have learned from my employment guru, Martin Yate, with my anti-depressant effervescence. Woo hoo!

There are 4 interviewers this time – and this is just a screening interview! They play Good Cop, Bad Cop, Fun Cop, Worried Cop. It’s a tag team and the game is on! Worried Cop is particularly concerned about how I might cope with the bank’s traders being rude to me day-to-day because they are so stressed by their jobs.

Worried Cop: What would you do if one of our senior traders was rude to you during the course of a day?

Me: Describe rude.

Fun Cop: What if they yelled at you?

Me: I don’t put up with much rubbish. I would yell back.

Bad Cop: [sharp intake of breath] You would WHAT?

Me: I would yell back. If I’ve made a mistake and that’s causing problems, I’ll apologise and fix it. But if they are just being rude because they think its sport, then I won’t suck it up. I will yell back.

Worried Cop: You know that our traders are SENIOR Vice Presidents?? You can’t yell at a SENIOR VICE President!

Me: Why not? It may teach them some manners. Senior or junior doesn’t come into it.

I start to enjoy myself. I know I won’t get a second interview after this performance, and I don’t care. I say exactly what I think. I do not censor what I think. My rational mind keeps asking me: Who are you? What are you doing???

Then Worried Cop leaves and one of their SENIOR Vice Presidents strolls in. Fun Cop informs Mr Senior Vice President that I will YELL at him if he is rude to me. Mr Senior Vice President bellows: “WHAT?”, slaps his leg, guffaws and says that he likes me already. I burst out laughing. When I leave, I expect to never see these people again…and I don’t care. Take me, leave me, love me, hate me – I DON’T CARE! God bless anti-depressants!

A couple more happy weeks drift by. A work colleague from the exchange, Myra is having a birthday dinner party on Saturday and invites me to come along.

Aw hell. How do I put her off? I don’t go out for dinners because then I have to tell my parents where I am going and seek their agreement. I prefer to not seek their agreement on anything. I find it embarrassing that I have just turned 23, and still have to ask my parents’ agreement to go anywhere during the evening. Blah. I would normally just put Myra off with some vague excuse, but I actually feel like going. Why shouldn’t I? So I say that I’ll be there. I’ll deal with my parents.

Then a girl from the Swiss bank calls and asks me to come back for a Stage 2 interview with their PRESIDENT of trading operations, next Monday. I burst out laughing and ask the confused girl on the phone whether they are willing to take the risk that I might yell at him.

“What? Huh?” the girl stammers. Clearly most employment hopefuls don’t say things like this. So I tell her that it’s an inside joke – don’t worry!

“Oh. Ha-ha-ha…” she stammers. “So we’ll see you on Monday? It will have to be at 8am – before trading starts for the day.”

“Yeah – I’ll be there.” Looks like next week will be fun!