Say what?

I am a true migrant at heart. Any possible uncertainties a journey might present, I consider opportunities to experience something new.

I have moved to Australia with my family in 2004. Never setting foot on the Golden Soil before, but embracing a long craved adventure.

I was fresh out of uni (that’s short for university), and had no other way of looking for a job other than door-knocking to see if there were any vacancies.

My resume contained nothing. It did however have my name and my only two achievements listed. This included a leadership position in school and winning a small art competition with a fancy hair comb I’ve made. Who wouldn’t want to hire me?

I studied jewelry design, and with that printed in bold on my resume, I went hopping from door to door looking for relevant work.

The second door I knocked on was in a building full of creative businesses. Somehow all the workspaces I have seen have been quite depressing. Fluorescent lights, air conditioning that was way too cold, and no women in sight.

During my studies, our class consisted mostly out of girls. Music was always playing and fresh air streamed in through the old sash windows. My bench was next to the window and at a certain point during the day, the sunlight made it impossible to work, forcing me to take a coffee break and sit in the courtyard under an oak tree.

The real world was clearly different.

I spoke to a bearded gentleman and he could offer me no position at the time but he directed me to a company around the corner that was recruiting bench jewelers. He connected me to his friend, who gave me a time and a place to meet him that same day.

I got lost and was late for the interview. Not a good start.

Three levels up and through two security doors, I found myself in a tiny dark room with my interviewer and a framed Oprah hanging on the wall, wearing the jewels made by the man in front of me. I reassured him that I can definitely do the job and that I am qualified.

He was a pleasant man. I think I would describe him as being ‘so Aussie’.

I got the job.

I arrived at 7:30 am on a Monday at my first ever decent job. I made sure I was early, just to make up for being late the last time.

There was one other woman in the workshop and the rest were men of Asian descent, working away without making eye contact. Despite feeling out of place, I did find all the familiar jewelry-making sounds comforting; the hammering, soldering, drilling, and polishing. This could work.

I wasn’t making jewelry. I was cleaning castings all day and every day and grabbing the boss’s occasional lunch. My hands have become calloused and rough and my nails were shorter than usual from getting in the way when filing and sanding. Wearing nail polish has now become pointless. It’s official, I’ve got man hands.

Lunchtimes were particularly hard. Everyone sat together on the large balcony outside and talked about this and that to pass the time. The only problem was that I could not make out any of ‘this or ‘that’.

Why can’t I follow their conversations? I was fluent in English but somehow what they spoke was different.

“So Bazza, whataya gonna do this arvo?”

Who’s Bazza? I can’t remember meeting anyone with that name. Oh right, Barry, of course, I see. And Karen is Kaz and Gary is Gazza. Got it.

“Could you please go and grab me some Maccas?”

“Me?”

“Yes please”

“ Ok, sure. What is Maccas?”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Wish I was.”

“McDonalds”

“Oh right, got it. What do you want?”

“An Angus”

“Okay. Do I just ask for Angus?”

“Make it a large”

“So what exactly is a large Angus, just so I know to come back with the right thing”

“A burger.”

“Cool, umm where is Maccas?”

“Down the street next to the servo.”

“Umm, which way is down, and what is a servo?”

He rolled his eyes.

“That way,” as he pointed me in the right direction, “and next to the service station.”

“Like a petrol station?” Came my request for clarity.

“ Yip” as he emphasized the ‘p’.

“Cool, I’ll be back soon.”

I was gone for 40 minutes.

These painful interactions have kept me awake at night as my already social awkwardness was exposed daily. I would practice clever conversations in my head as a backup so that I could throw them in there to avoid looking like a Galah (that means like a totally stupid person- not a pretty pink native bird).

I soon moved up in the world and started soldering. Not just any piece of jewelry, but the boss’s wife’s bracelet’s clasp needed fixing.

Was that a test?

I’ve passed the test of fire and assembling and soldering was no my new responsibility.

I started wearing nail polish again but the struggle wasn’t over.

“So what didya have for tea last night?”

“I had chamomile tea. Hey, how did you know I had tea last night?”

“Not tea as in a cup of tea, I mean tea as in dinner.”

“Oh, okay, well I had chicken with roasted veggies”

“How about you?”

“I just put a few snags on the barbie”

He must’ve seen that I had no clue as he rephrased.

“Sausages on the barbecue.”

“Oh, I see. Yum.”

My mind is exhausted.

Two years into the job and I could understand everyone. I felt like I could confidently approach anyone around the workshop and have a stress-free conversation.

My advice to anyone trying to communicate to an Australian (and that now includes me), is to smile and nod when uncertainty kicks in (and believe me, it will). Start by making notes of what you’ve learned (mostly via Google) and practice in the mirror how to use the phrases in a sentence. Lastly, limit questions during conversations to only one. Any more and you will look like you have a roo loose in the top paddock.

“Hey Siri, what does ‘roo loose in the ....”