The Postman Drives a Motorcycle

As I’ve previously mentioned, I still find it quite shocking at times that we live in Australia.  I’m a visual person, and therefore picture a world map with Australia at the bottom right of the map, and I see myself and my 3 boys (soon to be 4!) happily smiling on this map that lives in my mind.  Before our journey Down Under we explained to Parker how we were going to fly to Australia.  We would lie on his floor and gaze up at his enormous wall-size map that Gram bought him and talk about how we were going to fly west, not east.  A puzzled look appeared on his face as he imagined us flying off the map and then looping back around to Australia (we don’t have a globe, I know, shame on us). He would have understood more clearly had we had an Australian world map.  Down Under, Australia is in the center of the world map and not on the bottom right corner, as if almost forgotten.  Check it out:

Anyway, day-to-day life is still very much the same Down Under as it was back in California.  The boys still wake up too early.  I still have to ask Parker to get ready for school at least 10 times.  I’m still 2 to 10 minutes late for everything.  Our boys still have ear-to-ear smiles at simple things like ice cream and Diego.  I still have to go to the grocery store.  We still have bills to pay.  Mark and I still drink FABULOUS wine, but from Australia now.  But it’s the little differences like the postman riding a motorcycle that wakes me up and reminds me that we’re living an adventure.

The first time I heard a motorcycle charging up the sidewalk behind me I instinctively sprung out of the way with a mix of fear, question, and surprise wrinkled on my forehead.  I think I even said aloud, “What lunatic is driving a motorcycle on the sidewalk?!”  He wasn’t that close to me, but sounded feet away because his motorcycle was thunderous and must have been having exhaust issues.  Well, he proceeded to stop at every house on his approach to where I stood with the stroller and boys looking bewildered, and deliver mail.  He didn’t dismount as he placed the letters in the boxes, just stopped briefly and then rambled on to the next box.  Hmmm, haven’t been faced with a postman on a motorcycle before, do I let him pass as I stand aside, or will he go around me?  The closer he got I could see he was wearing a neon yellow shirt, a white helmet with a matching neon yellow mullet-type flap hanging from the back of the helmet – Australians are serious about their sun protection – matching neon yellow side satchel bags where I imagine the mail resided, and lastly a little neon flag that stood erect off the stern of his vessel.  He was certainly color coordinated.  We decided to wait until he passed and then followed him up the sidewalk where we could see the word ‘POSTMAN’ glimmering on the back of his neon shirt.  Parker said, “Mommy, I don’t think you’re allowed to ride a motorcycle on the sidewalk.” – my little rule follower.  I answered, “I guess in Australia riding on the sidewalk is acceptable, but only for the postman.”  He then corrected me saying, “I think he’s called the mailman Mommy.”  Again, my little rule follower, “Peanut, we’re in Australia and they call him the postman here.”           

More shocking than the postman on a motorcycle is the astonishing realization that pedestrians DO NOT have the right-of-way here.  Not only do they not have the right-of-way, but if you decide to boldly walk across the street when a car is approaching they will accelerate and honk until you run full-speed screaming for your life to the safety of the sidewalk – even if you have children and a stroller!  I kid you not!  I’ve never felt so vulnerable on foot!  Last summer I visited Sarah in La Grande, Oregon and La Grande is such a sleepy town that if you were nearing an intersection and a car was approaching, they would stop just ‘in case’ you wanted to cross.  As Sarah said, “They stop their car if they think you might want to cross the street, and then they wave.”  Not the case Down Under.  There are designated crosswalks, but not on every corner, or street for that matter.  And you know how the ‘don’t walk’ sign is optional for some people, well not here.  Even if no car is in sight the pedestrians wait until the little green dude lights up telling them it’s safe to walk.           

Another tidbit of surprise - or reminder that I’m in a different country - is the lack of customer service here.  Customer service is absolutely, undeniably, incontrovertibly appalling here.  Which I think is the case for many countries outside the US.    

Our first brush with customer service occurred 2 days after our arrival.  We dared walk into a mobile phone store and began speaking with a young woman about purchasing mobile phone plans.  She acted as if we were wasting her time, intruding on her space, and generally putting her out.  I wanted to pull a Daniel LaRusso on her ass and give her a crane kick to the chin.  Upon exciting the store I immediately turned to Mark and said, “We are NOT giving this company our business!”  He gloomily informed me of the important fact that there aren’t many options Down Under and there is no competition, therefore, we had to swallow our pride and go with the only option available.  I died a little inside at that moment. 

At some of the grocery stores they don’t even look up from their stool to greet you, they continue to stare head down as they slowly ease your food item over the scanner.  Recently, while making one of my 10 weekly trips to Coles supermarket, I put my groceries on the conveyer belt and the checker didn’t look up, of course.  She began bagging my groceries in the plastic (ruining the earth, killing dolphins) bags.  I said in a very friendly tone, “Oh, excuse me, I have my own bags,” and handed her my bags with a smile.  She looked up at me with irritation and displeasure and said, “Well I already started putting your groceries in these bags and I’m not going to waste them.  You should have told me you had bags.”  My blood boiled and I snapped.  I looked at her, raised my voice and said, “Well, had you looked up to kindly greet me you would have seen that I have bags right here, but you didn’t acknowledge me.”  That’s about as snappy as I can get, so I was proud.  I proceeded to unpack my groceries from those crinkly, jellyfish looking, destroyers of the planet, pushed them aside and repacked my groceries.  Needless to say not another word was spoken between the chipper Coles clerk and myself.

One thing the lack of customer service has done for me is made me appreciate quality customer service.  Now whenever I receive good customer service, which I definitely have, I take note and really appreciate the interaction.  Maybe I was numb to the good customer service that is the “norm” in the US.  In fact, maybe we all need a little shake up now and again to appreciate the things we find important; I guess I find customer service important.                                    

I feel like this has turned in to a bitch session.  I like it here, I really do!  I’ll close with something positive about Australia other than the beautiful beaches, sunshine, good wine, unique animals, and general splendor…

Australians are proud; of their country and themselves.  Most would say Americans are proud, which I believe they are, but not like Australians.  Maybe it’s that I feel America’s pride is not as justified, but I don’t know why I feel that way?  Maybe it’s like being the smartest student in class and continuing to proclaim how intelligent you are.  Australians have an authentic pride that makes you feel like they need no one else on earth in order to survive – not even England, their “mother” country.  With a history like Australia’s, starting as a penal colony, it’s respectable that they don’t look back, but only forward to what this country has to offer, and the future of this vast continent, country, and island.  It’s an extremely unique country for so many reasons.  Going to the grocery store the majority of food announces on their labels, “Proudly made, or grown, in Australia.”  In fact, when it’s not grown or made in Australia they tell you, with disappointment: 

I’m touched by their pride, as it’s palpable.  Therefore it makes sense that Australia would have it’s own version of a world map.  Of course they’re in the center of the world and not falling off the right, as if barely there!  I’m happy experiencing this wonderful country, and it makes me appreciate my own country, and makes me realize my identity - when someone like me barely has an identity in the US.  I also ponder and analyze my own country’s pride – which I do have, truly.  But that’s all for another post, for another day…