The famous Coca Cola Sign at the entrance to the infamous Kings Cross

Welcome to the Home of Thieves, Pimps and Pros

I will never forget my first day at Kings Cross as a juniour section manager (for those who don’t know Sydney, KX, as it was generally written, is the heart of the Red Light district). When the Americans made Sydney an R & R (Rest and Recreation) centre for their troops in Vietnam, Kings Cross went into melt down. Woollies was where you came to recover.

Call Girls One Day and Sales Girls the Next

I mean it, many of the girls who worked the streets of KX got jobs at our shop when they were worn out and needed a rest. The fact that they seemed to recuperate so well there meant that we always needed new staff but we never had a shortage of applicants. In fact it was regarded as the best R & R  / job for girls on the job. You could keep in touch with your mates (and clients), take it easy and still make enough to pay the rent.

An hour after I started there, I was engrossed (absorbed, gripped, engaged and much more) while listening to a conversation between one such girl who was behind the counter and a male customer. He seemed to be in urgent need of something he called a “quickie” but she kept telling him she was on holiday and to go elsewhere. I thought she was working for us but as I didn’t understand anything they were saying I decided it must be code for something that they didn’t want me to know.

My First Brush with a Shop Lifter

Unfortunately, for me, while I was watching them, a customer standing not 3 feet away from me was literally hoovering up the counter and sticking the stuff into a gigantic pocket in his coat. RK was watching all of us. As soon as the customer left the store RK ran after him and made an arrest. As they passed by me on the way to the office I coped a clip to the back of the head and when I asked the girl why she suggested I work with my eyes open and keep my nose to myself.

RK’s office overlooked the shop floor and had one way glass installed so he could watch us but we could not tell if he was there or not. I later came to believe that he didn’t need the one way glass, he had a sixth sense for thieves. He would be giving you a bollicking in his office (He never talked to new section managers) and suddenly he would stop and say, someone’s stealing and off he would go. Mind you before he was posted there, you could say that at anytime the shop was open and you would have been right 90% of the time.

After six months at the Cross I learned how to manage women and smell a shop lifter almost before he entered the shop. I even started to like it there so I took a 12 month lease on a flat nearby in Elizabeth Bay. I moved into the flat on Saturday and on Monday morning I received my transfer to Liverpool which was a good 8o minutes drive away in the boondocks of Sydney’s outer western suburbs.

No One Welcomes You to Liverpool

Liverpool Woolworths was having huge problems with shop lifting or more particularly, the poor old distressed manager was.

I was sent up as RK’s star graduate to help him stamp it out.

I walked in and the manager promptly had a nervous breakdown. I‘m really not that hard to get on with, honestly. I think it was watching a gang of teenagers descend on the ladies hosiery counter and literally lift everything off it then walk out of the shop, right past him, while he pissed his pants, that did it).

So I got my big break. Head office asked me to look after the shop until they could find an experienced manager. The bit they didn’t tell me was “..and who would be stupid enough to go there”

When I got to know Liverpool it was everything I imagined the original penal colony was like. Rough, tough, uncared for, far from the city and a labour seat in a state where the liberals held power with a vice.

A couple of days later, just as we were closing I got a phone call from St Vincent’s hospital to say my sister had been admitted with a burst appendix. That’s Very serious stuff and they said I should come immediately. Can you imagine, that was the second manager in just under a week to piss on the shop floor. No wonder we had such a difficult job hiring a good cleaner.

How I Cured the Hitch Hiker

Any way, I was in a hurry to get out and rushed to my car. In those days we didn’t have radar so I set off at a cracking pace. Then for some reason, and I never did this ordinarily, I saw a chap stick up his thumb to hitch a lift and I stopped and picked him up.

He was grateful at first, but I was a man in a hurry and soon he turned to me and said “I said Sydney not Heaven” and he demanded I let him out. I think I cured him of hitch hiking, stupid thing to do anyway.

My Brush with Instant Death

Well my sister pulled through and the next day I went to work and as I put my hand on the door to use my key, the door slid open. At first I thought we had had burglars but I soon realised that in my haste to leave the night before, I had forgotten to lock the front door. If some one had touched it or if there was a strong puff of wind the door would have opened and Woolies would have had their biggest ever sale. The stock would literally have walked out of the shop.

The big front door to paradise that I left unlocked all night.

I shook all day but I think it was because every time I thought about it I got a bout of the giggles. That was my first near death experience. If my regional manager had found out, you would be praying to me not writing to me.

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A doctor was addressing a large audience in Oxford. He said, “The material we put into our stomachs should have killed most of us sitting here, years ago. Red meat is full of steroids and dye. Soft drinks corrode your stomach lining. Chinese food is loaded with MSG. High trans fat diets can be disastrous and none of you realise the long-term harm caused by the fluoride and germs in our drinking water.

But, there is one thing that is the most dangerous of all and most of us have, or will eat it. Can anyone tell me what food it is that causes the most grief and suffering for years after eating it?”

After several seconds of quiet, a 70 year old man in the front row raised his hand, and softly said, “Wedding Cake.”

Thanks Tom

Bye the way Tom makes great healthy food bars – you can see them here: www.healthelicious.com.au

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We look before and after,

And pine for what is not:

Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought

Shelly (1792 – 1822)

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Your never too old – to have a broken heart.

Life as the product of life.

However far man may extend himself with his knowledge,

however objective he may appear to himself -

ultimately he reaps nothing but his own biography.

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 – 1900)

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But that is just me. Some of the kids I went to school with positively lived for it.

Watching the movie the Karate Kid recently reminded me of the time my mum decided to put a stop to one bout of bullying I was going through at school.

The Day the Bully Followed Me Home

This particular bully lived near our house and used to catch the same bus home from school as me. Somehow I came to his attention (my mouth was always bigger than my biceps) and from that day on, he made coming home a nightmare.

I tried everything, including catching a bus going in the opposite direction and once when he was getting especially frisky, I jumped off the bus as it went around a corner to escape his pugilistic attentions. But almost every day I came home with a new bruise or a black eye and my mum was getting fed up with it.

One morning she told me it was over, that I was to give him a hiding he would not forget so he would leave me alone.

It sounded like a plan when she said it, but the closer I got to school and the further I was from home the less plausible it sounded. Why was today any different? How was I any different to the boy who took the beating every day rather than being the one who gave it?

We were in different classes so I managed to avoid him throughout the day but when it came time to go home, my stomach was in my mouth, as usual. I got to the bus stop to find him there already and he gave me that evil smile that was full of promise. And I knew he intended to keep it.

The bus was full so he couldn’t get near me until we got off so I kept close to the exit and was the first off when we reached my bus stop. By a combination of running and mingling in crowds I got closer and closer to home without coping the hated beating.

I got pretty close; I could see my mum in the kitchen window. If I thought I was home safe, the bully had other ideas, he knew it was now or never so he grabbed me, swirled me around and smacked me in the mouth. He knew my mum could see us but my embarrassment just gave him extra pleasure and made him even more determined to give me a good beating.

Fight! Fight! Fight! They Cried

Isn’t it amazing how fast it goes from no one around to a circle of blood thirsty hunters with ugly screwed up masks for faces screaming fight! fight! fight!

I wasn’t in the least bit keen; I just wanted to get the bashing over with but with my mum watching I couldn’t just surrender.

I was angry, I was embarrassed, I hated the thought that my mum was going to see me get well and truly done over. I hated the kids in the circle for hemming me in and, of course, most of all I hated the bully.

I felt my self start to cry and the shame made me scream a roar of frustration. I saw him look scared for a second and I instantly decided it was now or never.

Again we collided like two fighter planes spewing death. There was little defense, it was all offence and the blows thudded home to nose and cheek and bone.

I attacked.

It was like two trains colliding. We ran at each other kicking and punching, gauging and scratching with no rules or etiquette. The crowd went quite at the sight of our ferocious conflict but we fought on until we could not move an inch.

There was no winner; we were both beaten and sore. I looked at him but he was not keen to continue and neither was I so I turned and walked the few yards to my house hoping my mum saw my best fight ever.

It’s Not Over till……

She met me just inside the door, took my school bag and then taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.

She said “You have not won”. Then she told me to go back and fight him again.

When I got back to the crowd, he was being feted by the boys. I knew then that she was right. I challenged him to fight. The crowd gasped. Wasn’t the first one bad enough? Did I have a death wish or something they wondered?

I could see him deflate for a second but he was a fighter and quickly came back. He was not going to give me the same chance he gave me the first time.

Again we collided like two fighter planes spewing death. There was little defense, it was all offence and the blows thudded home to nose and cheek and bone. I don’t know how long it lasted but we were both on the ground with the crowd shocked into silence.

I rolled on to my knees and shakily rose to stand. He got up too.

I staggered through the crowd towards my house and raised my eyes to look at the door. She was there, her eyes steely in their stare and her arms crossed. Her body said it all; I had not won.

My entrance was barred; I knew what I had to do.

I felt the tears well in my eyes, I felt the anger surge through my body as I turned and screamed a great roar of hate and anger and frustration and death. I charged at the crowd and to my surprise they burst and scattered in all directions and ran from me screaming and then in an instant of fear, he turned and ran after them.

When the anger left me, I was so tired I could not move. But I felt her behind me and then her arms engulfed me and as I broke down and cried, shaking from exhaustion, I could hear her say, “There, there, it’s all over now. You will never have to fight him again”

And boy, was I glad.

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When my kids were really young we used to play monsters which involved the four of them spending an hour or two attacking me from all directions after which I had just enough energy left to watch TV with them.

Every time we watched an old movie they would turn to me and ask, “Was it really like that Dad?” One day we were watching Camelot and they turned to me, but before they could open their mouth, I said “Exactly how old do you think I am?”

That’s how I got the nickname Dinosaur.

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It’s a simple parable about an enterprising boy who starts a great little business at infant’s school.  I like the little blighter but he does make you think. This is the American Dream  (which is now the world’s dream)  but is it what we really want.

I am really keen to get your feedback so please leave a comment or send in a longer response. The details are at the bottom of the article.

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I didn’t want to go home by taxi and then traipse all the way back out to Parramatta the next day to pick up my car so I decided to stay at the Parkroyal hotel which was next door. It was too late to ring my wife so the next day I wondered what I could do to make her forgive (okay, I know that was asking too much, how about forget) that I didn’t come home. Then I remembered that I had put her watch in at the jewelers to get a new battery about 6 months earlier but never had a chance to pick it up. So I thought I’ll pick it up on the way home. She will be so pleased she won’t go nuts over my (shall we call it) late night.

While I was waiting for the assistant to get the watch, I saw a bottle of after shave on the counter and not planning to be out all night I was caught short without my usual. So I sprayed myself (liberally) with it. When the assistant came back she said that is the latest Cartier perfume for women, would you like a bottle for madam?

So I had stayed out all night and now I smelt like a French brothel to boot. No, she didn’t believe me either. That was probably the first nail in the coffin.

I know what you are thinking, this bloke is accident prone but you have to admit I have taken the concept to a whole new level.

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The alcove could just fit a desk under the window sill of the only window the flat boasted. It was my pride and joy and my clock. I ate breakfast when the sun rose, I thought about lunch when it was high and when the sun went down I looked forward to dinner – wherever I got invited.

The kitchen was at the opposite end of the flat and about the same size as the alcove. It was too small for a fridge which probably hadn’t been invented when these flats were built but that was okay, I couldn’t afford one anyway.

My telephone was located 3 floors down in a structure that resembled a red gazebo with glass windows and was situated on the street just outside my block of flats.

One day, as I was returning to the flat after making some calls, I passed the most beautiful angel I had ever seen. She had traded her wings for a clapped out old wreck of a car and was standing in front of the open bonnet seemingly praying at it.

She was stunning, not too tall, slim, curvy figure and long wispy light brown hair that blew across a perfect face. As I stood looking at her looking at her car she suddenly noticed me, smiled and took a deep breath, like you do when you see someone you know just when you need them.

“Excuse me” she floated over invading my space but I had already surrendered so I didn’t object. “It won’t go” She said looking back at the car and then at me waiting for an answer.

Now I need to tell you that I am probably the world’s least handy man. I had never so much as changed a tyre let alone looked under a bonnet. I had an arrangement with my car, it went and I supplied petrol, never complained and did not tinker with it.

So when I realised that she expected me to fix her beast I had a panic attack and just starred at her in awe and in terror. I couldn’t tell her what a useless sod I was she would find someone else (in a snap). This was a god sent opportunity and I was not going to pass it up.

I needed time; I remembered what the NRMA guy always says and asked her to get in the car and turn the ignition key when I called to her so I could see what happens. “Oh yes, good idea” she said now happy that she had found her knight in shinning armour.

I stood exactly where she had been standing and saw what she had seen and I didn’t recognise it either. “Shall I turn the key now?” she called. I stood there swearing at the car, at me and at the world because I was going to lose her. “Yes” I said but it was inaudible. Speak louder you fool I said to myself. “Okay give it a go now” Wow that sounded good, very professional. I felt a glimmer of hope.

Which died as soon as I heard the engine splutter and die and realised I knew not why.

At that moment I felt a head pop over my shoulder. “Having a problem?” said this cheery but surprisingly confident voice. I could only repeat what she had told me “It won’t go?”

“Sounds like you are out of petrol”

I could have kissed him, I almost did. But that would have delayed him and I could hear her open the door to get out of the car. I needed him gone. Then I did something I am not proud of but sometimes a man has to do what a man has to do. I couldn’t share the credit with him. This was life and death and if it was to be life, three’s a crowd.

I looked him in the face and told him to “Rack off”. He looked shocked, stepped back and thank fully turned his back on me and walked off in a huff. Before I could reprimand myself, she appeared next to me, looking at me like I was some guru master. “Well I’ve fixed the main problem with the carbonica but I’m afraid it looks like you are also out of petrol, but no problem there is a garage not far from here, I’ll go and get you a can”

She was so thankful when I poured the petrol in her tank she said she had to repay me somehow and would I please come over to dinner.

I wanted to scream “There is a God”. Would I PLEASE come over to dinner. I would’ve walked to Perth for a cup of tea with her. We fixed a time and I floated back to my flat.

When I arrived I was slightly miffed when the door was answered by her dad. I imagined a quiet dinner (for two), I would open the bottle of Champaign I brought (my car would go without petrol this month) and later we would sit in front of the fire and make passionate love. No matter it was summer and who has a fire place in Sydney?

I didn’t really pay much attention to him, my eyes were firmly on her. I could see her lips moving and imagined them moving over me. I had to concentrate. I focussed on what she was saying, “This is my boy friend” Wow that was quick, I looked at dad to see what he thought and suddenly realised she was talking about HIM.

He took my bottle but he took far more than that. I can’t remember what we ate, I know I never saw my Champaign again and I know I thought about him a lot as I walked to my appointments that month. Bastard.

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I ducked out yesterday to buy some milk for the office and when I got to the cash register you can imagine my surprise when I was directed to a self serve register. Or maybe you can’t, I’m not a regular shopper so this was very new to me.

At first I was told I had a choice, I could use the self serve register or I could go to a regular check out with a much more experienced cashier than me. But when I looked at the long line of registers that are normally manned by cashiers I noticed that 75% of them were empty and the queue to use those that were left was rather long.

I found myself staring at a blinking screen that suddenly said swipe your articles and place them in the bag. I was seriously considering the same thing. How would they know if I swiped one and bagged four. Would the machine scream THIEF! And sprout a pair of handcuffs?

I swiped the first carton to the right but my bag was on the left so as I passed it across the screen it got swiped again. Danger this could turn out to be the exact opposite of what I was thinking.

I bought four cartons and had six on my bill. I obviously got it right twice but shouldn’t they be paying me to do this not the other way round?

The overseer saw that I was taking too long and after considering the whip (that may have been my imagination) came over to see why I was taking so long. I showed her my bag and she could count to four pretty quick but when I showed her the bill it took a while to comprehend that I was being charged for six cartons. Maybe she thought that was a fair deal considering the experience I was getting.

As I walked away (after paying for four cartons) I wondered who benefits from this technology. I don’t think the price was any cheaper than the last time we bought milk but there were certainly 75% less staff on the cash registers. It reminded me of the days when ATMs were introduced by banks. At first they were free to use because they saved the bank wages. But today my bank charges are higher than ever but there is no longer a bank manager to complain to.

If I were a Coles manager I would start looking for a new job now – it is already too late for that pretty check out chick I was hoping would serve me. Oh and the machine didn’t smile at me or say “Missing you already” as I walked away. I wonder where my nearest corner shop is located, maybe a smile and a “How’s your father” are worth the extra after all.

Afterthought: Can you imagine your local grocer telling you to use his cash register while he sits out the back counting his profit?

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