As I stumbled out into the hipster streets, I thought it would be easy for people to think I've missed this career for the lifestyle. It's true, I'd felt like going home when I had my name ticked off the media guestlist. I was somewhat intoxicated, and I'd made the most of the antipasto in the private bar before the event.
I recalled the lifestyle, certainly - starting work in a pub at midday, evenings on duty in lobbies and bars - but as the thought crossed my mind, 'It's good to be back,' what I was thinking of was purely work. How could I create an honest review, whether positive or negative (and my feeling at the time was that it could go either way,) whilst still crafting enjoyable content?
That was my job before. It wasn't lucrative, but I enjoyed it. Perhaps now, I can enjoy it again. On Tuesday, May 16, I submitted my notice of resignation, giving my final date of employment as June 30. For the following week, I kept running into my new manager, Chris. He kept telling me that we needed to talk, and I promised that we could, when I had time, or after hours. It wasn't until over a week later that I was available for a few minutes. I was asked to stay. I was asked what I need to be given to stay. I can admit that I was surprised to be asked, but also satisfied with my autonomous respose - that I would only need everything that I have been requesting for the past two years: the minimum resources required to do my job to even an adaquate standard. During that meeting, I was promised that everything would be done to make those requests a reality. The CEO and other stakeholders were called. I responded that those improvements would be wonderfully beneficial to my antecendents... so I suppose my answer was moot. I would not stay somewhere where it takes one's resignation to be provided with a notebook, pens, and space to work.
It was nice after months of 12, 13, 14, and a few 22 hour shifts, to spend an evening going to a different type of work, the kind I enjoy. It might have only been a one-night deal, but it was good. The show - a premiere of a web-series - wasn't exactly my cup of tea. I'll need to consider it in context though. As Marshall McLuhan said, the medium is the message, and this was a medium which fascinates me. I'll need to consider the work in its original context before writing.
At the station, I discovered that trains were cancelled. Signage to the arranged alternative transport seemed to assume prior geographical knowledge, but all I knew was that I was somewhere near where I bought breakfast after Angela's birthday party. After a lucrative detour to a gaming lounge, I found my bearings when I spotted the Brunswick Hotel. I knew that the tram route with a stop outside would lead to the city, but a glance along Sydney Road revealed no tram in sight. Live music was playing inside the Brunny, so I headed towards the entrance.
A group of people seemed to be debriefing outside, and I was shuffling past them to the door when a large man speaking on a mobile phone grabbed me by the shoulder. I assumed I was being refused entry - perhaps my intoxication was more evident than I realised - but the man's arm moved from my shoulder to wrap around me for a hug. I looked up into his face and recognised that it wasn't a bouncer, but Adam.
I hadn't seen him in at least six months, but maybe closer to a year, and I'd been postponing returning his telephone call for over a month, knowing it would lead to a long conversation during a time when my hours between work were limited and generally dedicated to essential and limited sleep. So I spent longer than I had planned with him and his friends. With them, I praised, rather than heckled, a few dreamy guitar boys, each of whom wore his heard on his sleeve and his influences on his setlist. Both of them were undeservedly self-depricating in their banter, but this was perhaps fueled by the fact that the group I had joined were only half-watching, seated directly beneath the stage,and at similar stages of intoxication as myself. All of this, in hindsight, was probably causing us to speak at a higher volume than neccessary during an acoustic performance. We probably also did nothing to encourage the following performer by starting to leave right when his act was annuonced, but it was getting late and we all hail from the suburbs. The act was a rapper with an indeterminate yet charming accent rhyming over a backing tape reminiscent of the New York rap of the 1990s. Part-way through his first song, he demanded that the music be halted so that he could restart, though we had noticed no fault. We were leaving by that time though, so didn't get to see the song in full.
It couldn't have been long, because it seemed like only a couple of minutes later that the rapper joined me on the tram I'd boarded outside the pub. I asked him about the restart, and he told me that he needed to correct a mistake.
'No, you should have rolled with it!' I told him. 'You sounded great there at the start.'
He seemed disappointed, like he didn't agree. I asked how the rest of his set went, and was told quietly that it wasn't good. I asked if he ever went to dedicated freestyle nights, but the rapper told me that he needed a lot of practice before he tried that. I told him to keep it up, that he sounded on the right track. He thanked me quietly, but didn't say much else, which I took to mean he wanted to be alone. It is equally as likely that I was still speaking loudly and he simply hoped to avoid encouraging me, or that I would not draw attention to him.
Either way, I went to a different seat and opened my notebook to pen some thoughts on the series premiere. I suppose I won't be getting far on that though, since I've ended up writing this entry instead.