Have a nice day - but really, I mean it

Today, I was buying a few bits and pieces at the supermarket with my mum - right now, you're probably thinking 'Where is Sarah taking this exactly? Why am I reading a post about supermarket shopping?' Don't you worry, friends, I'm getting there.

We got to the cash register, and the lady started to scan through our items, and as I stepped up to the register she politely said hello and I asked her how she was. Not only did I ask her how she was, but, when we went to leave the supermarket, I told her I hoped she'd have a nice day.

My mother commented on this after on our way to the car, telling me what a nice girl I am. Confused, I asked what she meant, and she seemed to think it was particularly kind of me to wish the lady at the register a nice day.


Has it become strange to hear a customer wish a shop employee a nice day?


The more I think about it, it definitely seems to be the case.

Working in retail, I have become much, much more aware of the way in which customers treat the employees of different shops; it actually makes my day when a customer appears to appreciate the effort I take to help them, and thanks me. I am so often faced with rude, inconsiderate, and ungrateful customers who immediately view me and my fellow employees as a number, faceless, branded by the polo tee-shirt I was given on my first day on the job. Yes, I am wearing a tee-shirt that associates me with this shop, but do not let it fool you into thinking that it gives me an entire new identity; I am still a human being, and I am on my feet for nine hours assisting you in your search for different books, some that I've never heard of and that have been out of print since the 80s.

And, whilst I'm on a tangent about this, no, telling me that the cover is distinctly brown does not help me in the slightest; unfortunately, my search options do not include 'colour of book cover'.

But, to continue with my rant and get to my point.

It saddens me to think that simply being a nice person to the lady at the cash register at the supermarket is out of the ordinary. Although working in retail has increased my awareness of the way in which employees are treated by customers, and allowed me to reconsider my own treatment of said employees, it should not take working in retail for anyone to be able to feel some sort of sympathy and understanding for the employee of any shop.

Come on, people; it doesn't take much.

P.S For a rant on a similar topic, you may wish to take a look at this blog post written by a dear friend if you feel you would like to continue along the journey of ungrateful customers and channel your inner rage as we both have.

Que sera sera

Today/tonight/this morning (I can't decide what to choose - it's 1.17 in the morning), I've decided to tackle an issue that seems to have become quite pertinent in my life recently (a dramatic statement, I know).

As we speak/as I write/as you read, I am in the midst of a discussion with a friend of mine about chance and fate.

At 1.17 in the morning? you ask.

I will rebut the question I just posed on your behalf by saying that, now, of all times, is the time to delve deep into issues such as these. 

And so, I pose this question: is it better to make things happen in life (forge your own fate even), or to let things happen?

The more I learn about relationships, the more I realise they are so very much based upon games to the point of absurdity.

We wait until we have seen a person a certain number of times before adding them on Facebook, then we wait days, maybe a week, until it's okay to actually speak via this media. Then we take turns making moves (it's a bloody game of chess, I tell you - and yes, I did just get all Aussie, please accept it), and so we wait a week or two at a time, playing this game, and always retaining this aura of nonchalance; we love to project this idea that the other person is a mere afterthought, and we have so many other better things to do and other people to talk to that they are of less significance. We heighten our own significance and appear unattainable and thus (hopefully) more attractive in the other person's eyes.

The fact is, the more I discuss these things with others, the more it seems that it's the waiting around for the other person to make a move (and, let me tell you, a like on Facebook is absolutely not a 'move', let me be clear) is the most (although crucial) nerve-wracking and torturous part of this 'game'.

Will they reply?

Did I say something ridiculous?

Tell me they didn't detect that spelling error I just noticed from re-reading what I said and now it's too late to correct myself because they'll see I'm re-reading our conversation oh no oh no.

Which often leads one to think whether it might be better to just make things happen yourself; why wait around when you can just take the bull by the horns and actually do something, make something happen, forge your own fate and so on.

Then, of course, comes the issue of appearing foolish if and when nothing comes out of it, and slowly stepping away and cringing at your own behaviour.

How could I have been so foolish?!

How embarrassing!

I can never go to uni where they may see me again!

Etc.

I think, after much thought and consideration, I have come to the conclusion that, even though it's important to play a part in your own future/fate etc, sometimes it's best to just let nature take its course. Whatever's meant to be will be, and, after all, it's better than appearing foolish if you've tried a little too hard to make things happen and it's merely backfired (goodness, no one likes daily, needy texts from someone you've known for under a year, let me tell you).

Yep.

I'm still just sitting here waiting, waiting, waiting, playing this stupid game.

But if it works, it works.

Que sera sera, I guess.

My life in a bag

Hello Gorman bag

So, I thought it would be fun for us to play a little game called 'What's in Sarah's bag' where I empty my bag of junk/the bag I take around with me to uni etc, take photos of everything, and we collectively analyse each item and create assumptions about what said items mean.

This game is also called 'I don't want to do my French work or art history readings so am going to take pretty pictures of hand cream instead for my blog because blogging is an important part of my life and I'm fulfilling my dream to write instead of focusing on my degree'.

Sounds fun, yes?

Well, this is what we're doing today, so I hope you find it equally as enjoyable as I already am.



Figure 1.

The very large second volume of my
Art History readings

Yes, you read correctly. Second volume of readings. This, my friends, is just half of the reading required of art history students, and it's the smaller half as well. You may recall me mentioning the stacks of reading for uni (as above as well). Well, here it is, my friends. Basque in all its glory. You might be lucky to find a notation on this page as well.

Maybe.

Figure 2.

Pretty kikki.K notebooks

Stationary is something that I love. Love. So, in an effort to increase my enthusiasm for returning to study (although, I'll admit, I was pretty excited to go back), I decided kikki.K notebooks were the way to go. The colours were such pretty shades of pastel pinks and yellows; how could you resist?! Clearly, I couldn't, hence the photo above. Needless to say, the purchase of said items did little to augment my desire to study.

Figure 3.

Pens and stationary left to roll around
in my bag without a pencil case to
contain them

I once owned a pencil case. In fact, I still do, and I believe it is somewhere on my desk amongst all the jewellery, books and pieces of paper left lying there. There's nothing wrong with it; it's a sweet little Cath Kidston floral pencil case. However, after a couple of weeks of uni, I decided "Who needs a pencil case? Not I!" Apparently living free of a pencil case would fill me with a sense of empowerment.

I can do anything!

This pencil case serves no purpose!

Who created such an object?

I clearly did not think about the usefulness of a pencil case and the use for which it was designed.

I have hence lost many, many pens.

As a side note, I bought the ruler in Paris at Versailles! I couldn't resist the little Marie Antoinette figures all lined up along the measurements.



Figure 4.

My slightly tattered copy of Huck Finn

I'm actually not sure how my copy of Huckleberry Finn has become so tattered and so quickly. I've been reading it for a couple of weeks, and it's already looking a lot worse for wear.

However, I'm one of those people who loves it when books become all creased and yellowed; they have so much more character - they've been loved! My copy of Catcher in the Rye is so yellowed and lovely and scratched and loved.

I'm weird, aren't I?


Figure 5.

Jono Hennessy glasses

The famous glasses.

Need I say more?

I think enough has been said of these glasses.

Also, Jono Hennessy is great.


Figure 6.

Plum sunnies from Witchery

For years, I was convinced that sunglasses did not suit my face.

I am now convinced that, for years, sunglasses were just bad; there were no nice shapes.

However, last year, I rediscovered sunglasses, and also realised that Witchery makes such lovely shaped eyewear, that I now own not one, but two pairs of sunnies from there.

What a turnaround!


Figure 7.

Beautiful, beautiful Nancy Bird busting
at the zip

Busting at the zip indeed! How I fit so much into such a small item, I do not know. I carry my life in this wallet - probably because I have too many bags that don't have pockets or compartments where I can put things like lip balm etc.

In fact, I won't even go into the details of what one might find in this lovely Nancybird wallet; that might require an entirely separate post altogether.

Figure 8.

My slightly weathered Lululemon
drink bottle

Goodness knows how long I've had this water bottle.

Actually, I think I bought it in Year 11.

Scrap that.

I've had this drink bottle for a long time, as you can probably tell from the many bumps and scratches (aka. dents) it has acquired over the years.

It may be metal (and therefore becomes quite heavy when full of water), but I carry it everywhere.

Maybe people will think I'm into fitness or something; it is Lululemon after all.

We all know this is false.

But it's all about the image, my friends.

I also just like the water bottle.


Figure 9.

Hello sensitive skin

Ah, the perils of having sensitive skin.

From the photo above, you're probably gaining a sense of the fact that, through the items I carry in my bag, I'm a bit of a mum.

I carry a water bottle, just in case, and I also carry not only one tube of moisturiser, but two.

At uni, when someone complains of being thirsty, there's my water bottle.

If someone has dry hands, here comes my moisturiser.

Figure 10.

Hand cream explosions are messy

So bloody messy.

I now carry this tube of moisturiser in a plastic bag for fear it might explode once again, because, yes, one night after work when I was ready to go back to a friend's house, it decided 'now is the time to explode in Sarah's Gorman cloth bag and get everywhere all over her possessions and into the material'.

Yet, I still can't seem to tear myself away from the moisturiser.

It must always be with me!

I'm possessive, I know.



Well, to sum up, I guess you may have gaged the fact that I'm a bit of a mum when it comes to carrying lots of things in my bag, like water, moisturiser etc.

Either that or there's something weird going on in my subconscious that won't allow me to leave things at home.

You be the judge.

Sarah

Call me a feminist, but the men out there are freaks.

Am I too bitter? Too cynical?

Sometimes I think I am.

Sometimes I actually worry that I'm too bitter about people and life and I see Miranda Hobbe's cynicism in me.

Has society made me this way (Is this getting too deep? Probably.)?

I once detested Miranda. In fact, I couldn't stand her. But, after a season or two, and once she finally started dressing herself in a manner that didn't make her look frumpy, I began to really enjoy her negative commentary on life.

Yes, despite the fact that I do often try to present myself as being an altogether enthusiastic and positive person, I really do carry a lot of Miranda's pessimism (see my post on public transport for an example of such pessimism in the form of rants).

Phrases such as "of course he did" are some of my favourites; I simply love labelling the general population through a negative mindset.

Am I a bad person?

Actually, maybe we should get to that question in an entirely separate post altogether; that might need some time and thought to process and come to a conclusion.

Saturday night, I had a 21st birthday, so I went along, looking forward to seeing people I hadn't seen in a while. But, when two girls staying in Melbourne for a few months were analysed by the male invitees as to which was the 'hot one', I couldn't help but let my feminist rage take over.

Rage I say.

As I reflect now, I honestly don't remember a lot of what I said to the guy who decided it was okay to call a girl 'the hot one' and thus allude to the fact that the other girl clearly wasn't 'hot'. All I remember is glaring at him angrily, and as he tried explaining himself, saying "No. You can stop. I don't want to hear any more from you."

Needless to say, he shut up.

I realise that sometimes we do generalise people; as mentioned, I love generalising people and categorising them - wow, I'm a bad person.

But, maybe it's just in our nature to label those around us, particularly when we don't know them.

It seems that, once the person knows and is upset by it, that is the moment when you realise there is something not quite right about it.

Is it wrong to categorise people?

If so, my friends and I must be bad people, because, the more I think about it, it seems that we do it all the time.

Perhaps it's just in our nature.

But, maybe there also comes a point when we need to take a look at ourselves and say "No. Stop". If I were the one being compared to my friend, I'd probably be pretty upset too.

But, at the same time, I can't help but think about the way my friends were compared and labelled, and then we labelled the boy who labelled them.

"What an idiot" I'm now thinking to myself.

Men.

Now, there's a paradox for you.

Sarah

Miranda Hobbes: a role model for us all, despite
the haircut and brown lipstick

Do I look smart in these glasses?

I recently acquired a pair of glasses, mainly for when my eyes are tired and for use in front of the computer screen, as I have them perched on my nose at this moment, or for when doing large amounts of the reading I should probably be doing for uni but rarely seem to get to. I spent a long amount of time in a little boutique on Smith St finding the perfect glasses: small enough for my face that they don't look ridiculous and classic tortoise shell that fades to clear at the bottom. And it's only right that I should spend so long finding such glasses; after all, like a haircut, glasses do frame your face.

And your personality it seems.

Indeed, it has only been since wearing my glasses that I feel the representation I've been giving of myself to others may well have changed in some way.

My sister, a pretty, blonde, blue-eyed dietician working in a hospital, insists upon wearing her glasses upon her head at all times at work, though she only really needs them for the computer. Yet, to avoid being seen as a pretty girl who has no idea what she's doing, wearing a pair of glasses on her head helps her to present herself as knowledgable and professional.

I, too, must admit to wearing my glasses on my head when I'm at work; working at a bookstore, I simply look more bookish with glasses on, and this seems to instil a sense of confidence within our customers. Maybe they'll actually take my recommendation! Maybe they'll take me more seriously! I do look like a small, 12-year-old child, so anything that will help make me look more experienced and intelligent I'll take!

So, it seems I can not help but ask: do stereotypes govern our society? Are we so easily persuaded by little details that we see in others? If a girl is blonde and blue-eyed, does that mean she's simply a pretty girl? If I wear glasses, am I bookish?

Turns out, I am somewhat bookish, so I guess my little experiment hasn't quite worked out as planned. However, in my sister's case, of course, she is an intelligent and successful dietician, glasses or no glasses.

But, I can not help but add: I did like books before the glasses.

Sarah

Xristos anesti

You've probably been wondering, "Sarah promised us food on this blog. Where is the food? I see no food. Only rants. Lots of ranting. And angst." And, that's where Greek Easter comes into this.

Ah, hello there Greek Easter, one of the most wonderful times of the year when I'm supplied with the most extraordinary amount of extraordinary food and I spend the day consuming such food.

Fantastic.

Even my half-Lebanese best friend gets to pretend she's Greek for the day, and who wouldn't enjoy that? My life is My Big Fat Greek Wedding pretty much, and that is one fantastic film.

Now, for the food.

As I have mentioned, my mum has published cookbooks - someone asked for one at work the other day (I work in a bookshop, remember?) and I got so excited that a customer was asking for it I almost squealed.

Anyway! You can imagine the sheer level of deliciousness of her food, especially at Easter time. I'm salivating at the thought of it.

Just last night, my best friend and I were trying to organise a quiet wine night for in a couple of weeks at my place, and she commented on the similarities between my mum and I, especially as I love hosting and force-feeding my friends just as much as she does, only without the level of expertise and experience that she of course possesses having played hostess and force-fed for years.

I love that I can be compared to my mum in this way. The feeding and I guess the act of being generous and making people welcome in your home and everything that comes with hosting an event like Greek Easter is what I love most about the culture.

So, to finish off, enjoy a few pictures of the ridiculously amazing spread my mum put on today and drool away.

Mama bear in the kitchen

Turkish delight ice-cream with rose petals

Sipping Greek coffee and unsuccessfully
attempting to read our futures

Sarah

P.S If you enjoyed drooling over my lunch, you should definitely check out my mum's website for more info about her books and photos of more food to drool over.

Mark Twain, you got it going on.

It took me all of first year to get used to uni, and, my goodness, is it different to school.

But, unfortunately, my first year of uni clearly had no real effect upon my study habits and ability to read any large amount of pages among pages of articles and books.

As you may remember, I was sort-of-attempting to read Poe last week.

Fail.

Read 50 pages - 50 fantastic pages that I thoroughly enjoyed - and then stopped.

Bam.

Sorry, Edgar.

Now, since I promised posts about books, here we are: a post about the literature I'm currently attempting to read or should be reading or at least attempting this semester.

Well, Poe failed, and this saddens me. This was a novel I was so looking forward to reading: where is my motivation? Goodness knows.

However, I'm excited to announce, I'm currently reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Mark Twain, you are fabulous. Seriously.

Beginning to read this novel was just like beginning to read The Catcher in the Rye, my all-time favourite novel - don't even get me started on this one. Actually, maybe I should prepare you now by saying, at some point, I will probably dedicate an entire post to the analysis of this wonderful, wonderful piece of literature. So, be ready: I will be getting into depth and getting way too enthusiastic discussing youth and innocence and adolescence and so on.

Anyway.

As I was saying, beginning to read this novel reminded me of reading Salinger. The voice of Huck Finn gets you right from the start, for want of a more eloquent expression. I can hear him in my head just as I can hear Holden complain about the goddamn phonies in New York.

Obviously, it's a classic, so I don't even need to tell you how fantastic it is and that you should all read it as there is clearly something about this novel that has made it a classic and thus still accessible to audiences today.

But, truly, Mark Twain knew what he was doing.

Sarah.

Back off mate (I ain't your girl)

Now, in other life lessons from Sarah...

It is hard enough navigating the roads of friendly relationships between girls and boys. It's even harder to navigate these roads when the friendship becomes a relationship or a sort-of-relationship or could-be-relationship or there's potential or whatever. But there is something that makes this almighty difficulty an immense challenge, and it has recently come to my attention, and thus I feel the need to address it.

When a friend's boyfriend is a little over-friendly - not in an I'm-interested-in-you kind of way but more I'm-affectionate-and-like-holding-hands way -  I can't help but wonder: what does one do? What would Carrie do?

Probably cheat on her own boyfriend.

Wait.

That escalated.

How?

What?

Anyway.

Let's leave Carrie out of this.

This issue has come to my attention through a number of sources who have each expressed the woes of over-friendly-boyfriends-who-aren't-actually-their-boyfriends-but-their-friends'-boyfriends.

Has this become an epidemic of sorts? Why is this something that we are finding more often? Please don't take the Spice Girls seriously boys. If you wanna be my lover, please don't get with my friends.

And now, the almighty question: can men and women be friends?

When Harry Met Sally taught us: no, probably not. Will probably end up married.

Now you're probably thinking, "Oh, goodness. Don't tell me I'm going to marry one of those guys".

Don't be alarmed.

Accept it. Embrace it. You probably will.

But, in all seriousness, is this an issue that should alarm us? Should we do something about this? Or should we just accept affection in this cold, harsh, materialistic world?

Am I too bitter? No faith in humanity? I'll tone it down.

So, as I sip my tea in front of my laptop, I now realise that I've come to no conclusion. My so-called 'wisdom' has provided nothing but a commentary or overview of sorts of the over-affection that one might encounter and that we seem to be encountering more and more often from the people we don't expect to receive it from.

Sure, I'm concerned.

But, maybe we should just cross that bridge when we get to it.

Sarah.

Lady, let me off the tram!

Ugh.

Public transport.

The mere thought of taking the tram or train every morning before uni or work makes. me. cringe.

(This is the point where you should prepare yourself for the impending rant I intend to now conduct)

Goodness, the idea of being shuffled and squeezed into a tight corner of the tram before I've had the chance to inhale my morning coffee makes me uncomfortable as I sit in front of my laptop now. Just this morning, I was crammed between a number of people, and, at one point, had nothing to hold on to.

Imagine that! Nothing to help me balance as the tram jostles along and turns corners!

Don't get me wrong: I'm not a prude about being forced into situations in which I'm placed within close proximity of other passengers (although gently nuzzling into someone's armpit is not something that appeals to me) and situations in which I will hence also often have to politely smile and channel my inner sense of natural courtesy to others (although, sometimes at that time of the morning, especially before my coffee, it take some effort).

But, the effort it takes is not too much: it doesn't take a lot to give someone a smile!

However, there are just a couple of general rules that I truly think people should follow when taking public transport.

(Insert Sarah's wisdom)

Number 1:
When the tram stops, please let me off the tram first before you decide to hurry on in. Surely you can wait a second for me to descend the tram?! I really would like to be able to get off the tram at the appropriate stop, rather than wait for the next one and have to walk further than necessary in Melbourne's random and unpredictable weather - maybe it's started raining or hailing or maybe there's a heatwave? Who knows! Just let me off the tram!

Number 2:
If you see me attempting to read (and hopefully understand to at least a level of superficial comprehension) my latest novel for uni, please, please don't decide it's the perfect time to loudly discuss over the phone that girl in your group for some group assignment who does no work. Just stop. Just. No. I can't. Read.

Number 3.
Your dubstep blaring loud enough for anyone else to hear from your earphones does not help in the slightest.

Number 4.
I worry about your hearing in the future.

Now that these rules have been set out, I'm sure we can all agree that it's only fair to let others - eg. persons of pregnant or elderly condition - take your seat if there are no others available. But, there's just one thing I need to address.

Being older than me - and I aim this particularly at those elderly persons mentioned above - does not entitle you to the right to be mean or rude to me or anyone (though I will add, of course, that I do not intend to generalise all elderly persons as rude or grumpy - this is a rare bunch, but a bunch that I can not help but discuss due to the clear impact they have had upon me and friends as well, I am sure). I am more than happy to stand up and let you take my seat, but please don't inflict your sense of entitlement upon me and thus irritate me for the rest of what will probably be an unpleasant journey home involving nuzzling into armpits, loud music and conversations, and passengers who won't let me off the tram before they cram in, in front of me.

606 words later (goodness I wish I could write this much this quickly for uni assignments - now that would be a skill I'd welcome with open arms), and I think I've sufficiently outlined the most frustrating factors involved in taking public transport.

And now, as I'm sure you can only imagine, I am most positively thrilled by the idea of taking a tram to uni tomorrow morning.

Please people, be kind.

Rant over.

Sarah xo

Rejection: that's life, boys.

I won't lie to you: it's always been a dream of mine to write a Carrie-esque blog entry, or a relationship-related column in a newspaper or magazine, and I think I've finally found the chance. Goodness knows I kind of want to be Carrie - just a little bit.

Mainly for the whole sitting around in my underwear with a cigarette in hand in front of my computer, gazing out the window murmuring "and I couldn't help but wonder..." (what a romanticised vision, I know).

Sitting at our usual spot at uni today with the usual Monday morning gals - tea in hand, of course - our conversation turned, as it almost always does, to the ridiculous stupidity and strangeness that one might encounter during nearly any interaction with the male 'species' - and I say species, because boys in general really do seem to be a part of a whole other type of human being.

Ah, yes. This species of mankind does often seem to be depicted by us ladies as subjecting us to its incomprehensible behaviour and constantly breaking hearts.

Yet, it was Marina who taught us how to be heartbreakers.

Sitting with the girls we reflected upon the harshness of rejection. And I couldn't help but wonder: is a girl a heartbreaker just because she rejects someone whom she was friendly with over a number of weeks? And by friendly, I mean texting often and having coffee together? Surely you couldn't possibly owe another person anything if only after a mere few weeks? Yet, if I were the one being rejected, would I feel like I merited some sort of explanation?

Could we even call rejection a type of character building, or is this simply a way out of feeling the guilt of rejecting someone?

It's easy, of course, for me to say rejection is a type of character-building, but rejection is, after all, a part of life. Maybe we should all take a leaf out of Marina's book, and feel the full force of feminine power and strength that she seems to advocate in her anthem.

To be continued...

Sarah