The office

I've been wanting to write about the office for a while. Offices are always full of peculiar characters, and this one is no exception! When I arrived in Australia, the only person in this continent I knew was my own bloody boss! Phil is the most relaxed boss ever. I mean, he makes Melvin from London look slightly edgy! For those not familiar with this example, Phil makes Jesus Christ himself look like Woody Allen! The turn off is his addiction to 80's pop. Any self respecting 70's rock and 90's tri-pop lover such as myself finds that extremely annoying! But he's THE dude!

The office itself is very well located, central and a short 12 minutes walk from my house, which limits the damage of my daily oversleep. People make the funniest faces when I say I leave in the neighbourhood. Yesterday I came in 25 minutes late, looking like a zombie straight out of Michael Jackson's Thriller. That's when you wish your boss is away. Of course, we was by the printer next to my desk, shaking his head in disbelief. Some days at 9am I'm still getting out of bed. I wonder what would happen if I lived inside the office. I'd still be late, I'm sure, question is how late?

Though well located, this office lacks the most basic element. A decent toilet, clean and big enough for me to go and have a nap now and then. In London we had amazing self contained toilet pods, big enough for a small rave party. I had countless 15 minutes snoozes there. Here, there's one cubicle, and any new Zealand rugby aficionado won't be able to fit through the door. The only thing that small in the whole facilities is the sense of privacy you get. That and the sink, which makes a plane toilet look like a Cuban girl's ass. Spacious.... But the highlight is the urinal. A model from the late 1300, its set next to the window... a low window. As if that wasn't bad enough, there's a public stairs right outside. Its as hilarious as it is embarrassing! The combined toilet areas are still smaller than my apartment's storage closet. Mind there are approximately 30 males working here! There are maybe 15 women, and legend has it that they even have a shower... Food for imagination. True.

Every Friday afternoon there are drinks, the occasional movie, but mostly, the trademark aussie "no worries" approach. One time I had to do this 3 day marathon design, to send that Friday afternoon. Main Man Phil had the email address I had to send the presentation to, but he wasn't in. However he did call saying it was an important client, blah blah. By 5pm I had it done, but no boss nor email address. The dude arrived like an our ago, straight to the meeting room, for chat, chips and booze! Phil!!!! What about that email?! What email..., oh yeah..... sorry.

If I have to select a character to describe, Orlando, the short fat and extremely cheesy gay interior designer, has to be the one! He's quite funny, but again, with the most retarded sense of humour since Tango & Cash. Orlando looks odd, acts odd, chooses the oddest colour and material combinations known to man with the possible exception of Vegas, and talks odd. He swallows half the words, which I can only guess is a natural tendency to swallow...
The best way to illustrate him, is to imagine a cute cartoon of a baby elephant, but still not quite as amusing as the original! Still, he's always in a good mood and I'm quite fond of his presence.
I believe this email would be utterly incomplete without a picture of both Orlando and the man's toilet.

In January we're moving to the new office. Apparently its bigger, brighter, has a snooker and ping pong table, a more generous toilet space, and a great city view. But for the love of God, it's a 20 minutes walk from my house!!! I fear the worse. Oh lord, why do you mock me???

I told you so!...

Airports

During the first 8 months of the year I did a fair bit of flying. Between work, family and leisure I flew as much as some heads of state. Because of that, I knew I would be spending the first few months in Sydney away from airports. Besides the desire to truly discover Sydney, the vision of an airport was something I was very keen to avoid.

That was until last Friday. I went up to Brisbane to visit an old friend from my Lisbon days. Since it was a flight within Australia, it was a domestic airport.
As some of you know, Portugal, compared to Aussieland, is equivalent to the size of a small half bitten nut. Its so bloody small that any pilot spending 10 minutes after take off flirting the flight attendants will cross some international border. Keeping a plane in Portuguese air space is a bit tricky. Almost like that snake game.
Englad for instance has a lot more internal flights, but the airports used are all international, which means you have to go through the most ridiculously meticulous security scrutiny, a bit like Nazis going through Warsaw ghettos. Shoes, metal, liquids, gels, electronic devices... soon someone will put a bomb up their bottom (a fart would act as a detonator - no beans on in-flights menu, please) and we can all imagine the next level of body search, can't we?!...

4 months away from airplanes did a lot of good to me. I didn't even stress on landings, but nothing could get me ready for what I was about to witness... I did my check-in online, so believe it or not, I walked through the airport without having to show ID once. I did not have to remove my shoes; hell, not even my belt! There were maybe 4 people on the x-ray line, and overall it must have taken me 5 minutes between front door and the gate. No wonder most aussies look happy. If they had to go through that soul stripping dark ages Senator McCarthy styled prosecutionist ritual there would be a lot less smiles on these streets!
It was a 1:15 hour long flight, and I had a personal entertainment system, with The Dark Knight on! Take that, you creepy Ryanair! In fact, it was such a nice experience I thought of doing it again this month... and again, and again... It's time to start exploring the big island continent.