3.5~4★
“I retired when I was twenty-eight years old, but ran out of money the same afternoon, so I caught a bus to the dole office. My feeling about unemployment was: Someone’s gotta do it. Why not me? The pay was lousy, but I’d heard the hours were good.”
This is the opening of the first essay and a good example of the conversational style of most of the pieces. Each is like reading a letter from an old friend, or perhaps the friend of a friend about whom you’ve heard many anecdotes. You just know he’s done something wrong, brought the wrath of someone down on himself, and is trying to win you over to his side with self-deprecating charm.
I have to admit, he’s pretty good at it. The title of the opening essay is “War and Peace”, because he’d promised himself he was going to read it before he found work. Relax a little, take in the sights.
So off he went to Centrelink, ‘the dole office’, to apply for Newstart, the Australian support payment for the unemployed, or jobseekers, while they are looking for “a new start” in life. Both the program and the name have gone through countless iterations, but all have required variations on the theme of proving you’re actively applying for jobs.
“‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘This isn’t the kind of Newstart I had in mind at all.’
I had only just moved to Melbourne. It was a place filled with magic and possibility. I wanted to meet interesting people at rooftop bars. I wanted to read Russian novels. What I didn’t want was a pesky job, but try telling that to your dole officer.”
The subjects and topics vary as much as his jobs and activities, which gives him a lot of choice.
He agrees to go with his parents on a ten-day trek with camels in the Flinders Ranges in South Australia. Sure, why not? As he’s on his way to meet them, his father rings him with a shopping request, and they chat.
“I asked how far we’d be riding all up. There was a moment’s silence.
‘We’re not riding, mate. They’re wagon camels.’
We would be walking, said my dad. Next to the camels, and for 25 kilometres a day. He paused.
‘You have been training, haven’t you?’
I said yes, in the sense that I’d managed to keep my legs in pretty much mint/unused condition. I started to panic.
‘I thought I was supposed to be practising sitting down.’”
He did get through the trek as well as other miscalculated adventures, as I think of them. Hitchhiking with a group of dodgy people was a particularly bad idea.
One good idea, but one that was probably destined to eventually fall through the cracks was when he and friends founded a literary magazine. Like all literary magazines, it took a lot of work, dedication, and promotion. Like many, it stumbled along and finally folded, but it was obviously successful enough that many years later, he was invited by a university to speak about ‘How to Make It in Business’
“I was one of three speakers. We were speaking to an auditorium of about a hundred high-school graduates, all of them prospective arts students, and we were meant to persuade them to take up an education in the arts. I did some rough calculations. If we succeeded in convincing all of them, then Melbourne University stood to make about $4 million in revenue. We, the speakers, weren’t being paid anything. It was a Ponzi scheme alright, but we weren’t at the top.”
It really is a Ponzi scheme, isn’t it?
He enjoyed at least pretending to be at the top in “Stopover”, where he spent a wonderful time imagining being wealthy as he mingled with other travellers during a 12-hour stopover in Singapore. He power-walked through the airport, because, as he says “If you want to look accomplished, that’s how you do it.”
I remember the feeling well from past travels alone. You can be anybody in a big airport, particularly an international one. Nobody knows where you came from or where you’re going.
[Pro tip: I have a friend who says she always wears professional outfits when flying, because when they bump people up to business or first class (if they need more seats in cattle class), they choose people who look like they belong there.]
He writes about the pandemic, about a running feud with the government about a supposed debt he owed, and about “The Art of Tour Guiding”, probably my favourite section, because I know someone who’s done this. Some of his tricks for dealing with the mixed bunch of tourists every driver-guide is faced with are very funny – and a good idea.
He can be philosophical and poetic when he dares to stop being funny.
“The last hour before sundown is a beautiful time in the outback, Uluru or no. A sudden aching softness comes to a landscape that just five minutes ago seemed barren and unrelenting. I always felt beers were important at a time like this because you wanted everyone to slow down for what was going on. You could tell the nondrinkers because they were impatient for something to happen, when in fact it was happening all around them: breezes stirring the desert oaks, lizards emerging from clumps of spinifex, colours changing and the whole sky deepening into night.”
I started reading this straight through but was interrupted. When I went back to it, I realised I would enjoy them more individually, very much as if I were getting a letter from a friend, one at a time. It’s much more entertaining that way. I could see these as columns in newspapers or magazines. I don’t know if he’s tried that job yet.
Thanks to #NetGalley and Steerforth Press for the preview copy of #IdRatherNot from which I’ve quoted.