August 13th
Thursday. I turn up at the Show grounds early. After three days, my body is objecting less to both the hilly terrain and separation from The Silver Steed (and here I’d thought it was only my heart and soul that loved that glorious bike so dearly).
Plenty of time for a morning visit to the Poultry Pavilion.
Did I mention that I love the Ekka?
Things at The Mexicantina are slow; it’ll be just me and Terry for the next three days. Peter, his wife Leslie, and Abby are split between the two other stands.
Terry is a brassy broad in her mid-40’s. She’s loud, all fake-nails & frosted-lipstick, running a steady commentary on nearly every being that saunters by: about all the bogans (funny, as I somewhat considered her eligible for bogan-status); the scantily clad teens dressed like “thur givin’ it away;” how obese people repulse her -- “I don’t know what it is, but they make me feel physically ill… oh! There’s another one! No, I can’t look.”
None of this is said quietly.
I’m smiling and nodding to be polite, trying my very hardest not to pass judgement on her. And I’m doing surprisingly well.
Until around midday, when Terry – speaking to a customer – says, “Well, I’m not racist, but…”
At this moment, I’m making a bean burrito, my back to her, and I freeze. I remember a comedian’s bit – maybe Chapelle or Chris Rock – about how the words I’m-not-a-racist-but are without exception followed by a horrifically racist statement.
Terry does not disappoint.
From this point on, it is increasingly difficult not to judge Terry for all her outrageously judgemental comments. She decides I can’t take a proper break, despite the relatively easy pace of the day. (Later, Peter and Leslie separately ask whether I had a break. They each knowingly roll their eyes and say to make sure I do the next two days.)
I crack at 5:20, enveloped by a grumbly rain cloud of surliness. At 6pm on the dot, I take off my apron and say 'bye without offering the standard polite “is there anything you need me to do?” – secretly hoping that yes, yes there are helpful things I could do before leaving.
I trudge through the evening crowds to Divine Donuts.
“Hey Sunshine!”
“I need a hug.”
“Oooh. Do you also need wine?”
“Yes.”
In an instant, I’m seated on a crate, glass of locally-made wine in one hand, telling Tom and D’Jean about my day in the International Food area while they start to close up.
“I think I also need a chocolate donut without the donut.”
Tom smiles and comes over to my crate, carrying the pump they use to inject organic Belgian chocolate into the donuts.
“Open up.”
My chore in the clean-up is to lick the chocolate spoon and spatula. A dough ball is lobbed over and makes the most delightful thwack as it hits my leg.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Ekka: Trades-ies
August 12th
Tom’s concerned: it’s his first time at The Ekka and business is much slower than he was expecting. Attendance is generally down (Swine flu? Hiked admission rates? Theories abound) and all the vendors are feeling pinched. Tom had assumed The Show would at very least be on par with other festivals Divine Donuts has been at and staffed it accordingly.
No matter how much I try to reassure him that I don't need buckets of hours, he still feels responsible for me, that I came all the way to Brisbane for work that may not be available (I repeat several times it was an excuse to get to Queensland and be a carny).
Then, luck of luck, word comes by Tom’s friend Nemo that a neighboring stall is desperately short staffed for tomorrow.
And Wednesday is Show Day!
All the states in Australia are allotted the same number of statutory holidays. So where Victoria has a day for the races (for The Melbourne Cup, the city has the day off work, gets dressed up, the girls put on beautiful hats, and everyone goes to the races), all the towns and cities in Queensland have a Show Day. No school, businesses close, and everyone hits the Show grounds. But unlike The Races, no one gets dressed up and the girls do not wear beautiful hats.
Show Day passes in a blur of people and vegetarian Mexican food. Never have 9 hours disappeared quite so quickly. There are four of us dishin’ up tucker nearly non-stop. When Peter, the owner, says they could definitely use my help for the rest of the week, it’s good news all around.
***
I arrive back at Sally and Carlie’s properly beat, the bike ride home the final nudge. Brisbane has some bastard hills, including a long gradual one on the last stretch. The house is at the bottom of the most ridiculous slope imaginable; I can barely walk up it in the mornings (no exaggeration). But on the way home, it’s bliss. The thought of it makes the slow climb possible. At the top of Jones street, deep breath and down, so fast it makes me giggle every time. I coast far beyond the house, chuck a u-ey [as they say here], and head back.
***
The ladies are also tuckered. We’re playing on youtube, relishing the video for “Love is a Battlefield,” deeply mesmerized by Pat Benetar’s ‘angry shimmies’ [check it out: you will not be disappointed!].
The Internet trail leads to another Australian mystery: The Rock Eisteddfod. This has been introduced to me before and, much like The Show Bag, I don’t get it. We watch clips, I have the girls explain it a couple times, we Wikipedia it, but The Rock Eisteddfod is beyond me. My Canadian brain can’t make sense of it and all the excitement it carries. And while it’s no angry shimmy, The Rock Eisteddfod is pretty damn good.
Tom’s concerned: it’s his first time at The Ekka and business is much slower than he was expecting. Attendance is generally down (Swine flu? Hiked admission rates? Theories abound) and all the vendors are feeling pinched. Tom had assumed The Show would at very least be on par with other festivals Divine Donuts has been at and staffed it accordingly.
No matter how much I try to reassure him that I don't need buckets of hours, he still feels responsible for me, that I came all the way to Brisbane for work that may not be available (I repeat several times it was an excuse to get to Queensland and be a carny).
Then, luck of luck, word comes by Tom’s friend Nemo that a neighboring stall is desperately short staffed for tomorrow.
And Wednesday is Show Day!
All the states in Australia are allotted the same number of statutory holidays. So where Victoria has a day for the races (for The Melbourne Cup, the city has the day off work, gets dressed up, the girls put on beautiful hats, and everyone goes to the races), all the towns and cities in Queensland have a Show Day. No school, businesses close, and everyone hits the Show grounds. But unlike The Races, no one gets dressed up and the girls do not wear beautiful hats.
Show Day passes in a blur of people and vegetarian Mexican food. Never have 9 hours disappeared quite so quickly. There are four of us dishin’ up tucker nearly non-stop. When Peter, the owner, says they could definitely use my help for the rest of the week, it’s good news all around.
***
I arrive back at Sally and Carlie’s properly beat, the bike ride home the final nudge. Brisbane has some bastard hills, including a long gradual one on the last stretch. The house is at the bottom of the most ridiculous slope imaginable; I can barely walk up it in the mornings (no exaggeration). But on the way home, it’s bliss. The thought of it makes the slow climb possible. At the top of Jones street, deep breath and down, so fast it makes me giggle every time. I coast far beyond the house, chuck a u-ey [as they say here], and head back.
***
The ladies are also tuckered. We’re playing on youtube, relishing the video for “Love is a Battlefield,” deeply mesmerized by Pat Benetar’s ‘angry shimmies’ [check it out: you will not be disappointed!].
The Internet trail leads to another Australian mystery: The Rock Eisteddfod. This has been introduced to me before and, much like The Show Bag, I don’t get it. We watch clips, I have the girls explain it a couple times, we Wikipedia it, but The Rock Eisteddfod is beyond me. My Canadian brain can’t make sense of it and all the excitement it carries. And while it’s no angry shimmy, The Rock Eisteddfod is pretty damn good.
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