The Graduate

I have some shocking news to tell you all. Seriously, you might want to sit down for this one. OK, here it goes: I’m having an affair with a much older woman, but now I’ve fallen in love with her daughter and things are getting awkward. OK so that’s not true at all, I’m not that type of graduate. I’m the other kind, the kind that GRADUATES!!!

On the 25th of April 2010 at around 8pm, I stumbled out of my last exam. It was Canadian studies and the last word I wrote was ‘eh’.

You may be wondering why if I finished uni over a year ago I’m only graduating today. It turns out there are a few things you have to do when you finish your degree whilst on exchange. I lie, there’s only one; you have to ask. After putting it off for over a year, I finally picked up the phone sometime in May.

“Good morning, Sydney University Graduations office this is Helen speaking”

“Hi Helen, ummmm I was just wondering if I could graduate?”

“What is your student number please?”

“306124749”

Typing noises

“Yes that’s fine Maya, we’ll send your invitations out in the next week”

-------------

Dear University,

Thanks for allowing me to receive this very expensive piece of paper. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the attention you deserved and that I hated you with a fiery burning passion. Thanks for helping me qualify for youth allowance and letting me go on exchange to Canada, that was really fun. I’m sorry that I didn’t pay you any attention there either.

I did learn some things from you, and I appreciate those times when I can pull out a fun fact about language, or meditation or one of the sculptures I made, even if it is only at pub trivia. I have a great respect for what you do University, and I hope we can still be friends- friends that don’t talk or write or have any contact with each other.

Sincerely,

306124749

Trombone Praya

20-something-year old Tristan approached me while I was packing up the other day.
“Wow I’ve never seen anyone busk with a trombone”
“Yeah there aren't enough of us out there” I said

It turns out Tristan was an ex trombonist, so I offered him a go on mine. He played, then I played; we ended up chatting for quite a while. We talked about music and busking and what we were doing with our lives, it was all very pleasant. Then he dropped a bomb on me.
“Hey” he said casually “do you mind if I pray for you?”

Tristan was by no means the first person to ask me such a thing while I’ve been busking. I’ve had people throw money in my case and say “Jesus loves you”, I had a woman whisper in my ear “always play for the lord our saviour”, I’ve been given books and pamphlets and have had homeless people with stale beer breath yell bible verses at me. I don’t generally mind depending on how much of my time they take up- they’re all well meaning people.

For some reason Tristan caught me off guard. I told him it was fine if he prayed for me, it couldn’t hurt right? I assumed he’d do it later, in his own time. How wrong I was. He stood facing me, less than a metre away, shut his eyes and said:

“Dear Lord thankyou for this chance meeting I’ve had with Maya. I know there is a reason our paths have crossed today. Father, thankyou for reminding me of my love of music, I pray that I can use it as a way to reach more people so that they might understand your amazing love. Lord I pray that you will give Maya a clear vision for her life.”

I was starting to feel uncomfortable now, he was standing awfully close and we were in the middle of a very busy street.

"Father thank you for the carefree summer you have given Maya, where she was able to busk and travel. Let her know Lord, that your love is great for her and no matter what she does with her life your love is unconditional. I pray that we can love and serve you as you have done for us. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen"

He slowly opened his eyes and smiled.
“Cool, thanks man”

Happy Birthday Deb!

A few days ago I was approached by a couple of women who worked for Sydney Ferries. They wanted to know if I’d play ‘Happy Birthday’ for one of their colleagues, the catch was, she was in the office.

“We’ll give you $20” one of them said

“Done.”

I got the down low on the way to the office. Deb was from France and turning 30 something that day. She is getting married later this year and is missing her family terribly. To make matters worse, her bf at work had FORGOTTEN HER BIRTHDAY. In an attempt to rectify the situation, she had employed me to try and make Deb’s birthday a little more special.

After going through a few security doors I was told to wait in the tea room.

“Start playing as soon as you get through those doors and turn left” the lady instructed “A tall blonde lady will be standing next to Deb, OK?”

I nodded, then gingerly stepped through the doors.

What an entrance! About 40 people working quietly in their cubicles looked up. They were surprised to see a girl blasting a trombone in their office and 3pm on a Wednesday afternoon. Deb was also surprised. By the time I’d finished a small crowd had gathered.

“Play it again” someone said

I played Happy Birthday again. Applause, a hug from Deb and $20. Just another day in the office.

I'm Not That Kind of Street Worker

One of my favourite things about being a busker is telling people about my job. When I meet someone I get to tell them I’m a street performer or if I'm feeling cheeky I'll say I'm a street worker. It’s fun to watch people nod politely.

When I met Los Angeleno Christina in Kuala Lumpar, I told her that I was a street worker. The conversation moved on before I could explain what I meant. After spending 2 days together, my travel companion Hannah told me she suspected that Christina thought I was a prostitute. I decided to confront her over dinner one night.

"Christina, do you think I'm a prostitute?"

"What? Ummm.. no... I don't think you're a prostitute... I mean not that there's anything wrong... you know if you were... but... you're not.... are you?"

"No."

She looked relieved.

"I just blow boners on the street for money."

A few weeks later I was making my way to the bus station in Melaka when a man on a motorbike pulled over and asked where I was going.

“To the bus stop” I said

“Turn left, over the bridge, keep walk 5 minutes. I give you lift.“

I uncharacteristically declined the offer (be proud Mum)

“Where you go today?” he asked

“Singapore”

“Ooooh Singapore, you have money for Singapore?”

“What? Oh yes I have money”

“You want money? I give you money”

“No I’m fine thankyou”

“500!” he said

“Ummmm No thanks”

“I give you 500, all you have to do is give me nice sex”

500 Malaysian ringit is about AUD170, if he was talking about Singaporian dollars, that’s more like AUD400, a hell of a lot better than the last offer I got.

I wasn’t looking so great; falling apart fisherman pants, a baggy tie dye t shirt, a giant backpack and I was dripping in sweat. That didn’t stop him from hunting me down at the bus station and offering me 1000. There really are so many career opportunities out there for Arts graduates.

Coming or Going?

Kind of....

I spent the last 3 weeks gallivanting around Singapore and Malaysia. I figured I deserved a holiday seeing as though I work so gosh darn hard.

After a few days in Singapore I caught a bus to JB in Malaysia. We had to get off the bus once to leave Singapore and a second time to enter Malaysia.

There were 2 ways to go after entering Malaysia; one to the buses and the other to the town. I went to the town to grab some lunch before continuing on my journey.

Somehow I ended up in another customs line after lunch. I couldn’t figure out why, but I wasn’t too bothered about it. I showed the official my passport, got another stamp and headed for the buses. Alas, my bus wasn’t there, nor any others going in the direction I wanted. I asked a few people who gave me confused look until I found a policeman.

“Where you want to go?” he asked

“JB”

“JB? Where you come from today?”

“Singapore.”

“You go to Singapore?”

“No I came from Singapore, now I want to go to JB”

The policeman spoke to his colleague and they both looked at me suspiciously.

“Show me your passport” he said

He clicked his tongue as he looked it over.

“You left?”

“What?” I asked

“You already left Malaysia”

“Oh. I see.”

I followed the policeman as he radioed various people and talked to customs. He told me he’d made the same mistake when he first started working there. I breathed a sigh of relief when he lead me past customs back into Malaysia.

“Will it be OK when I leave?” I asked him

“Yes, yes, no problem”

What a splendid time I had in Malaysia; lying on beaches, playing with monkeys, trekking through jungles and eating all sorts of delicious food. Then all of the sudden it was time to leave again.

The man at immigration looked at my passport.

“Where is your departure card?”

“Ummmm….”

“Did you lost it?”

It was probably easier to explain that way.

“Ah, yes”

“Where did you lost it?”

“Ummm…”

“You must have departure card” he said

“OK I didn’t lose it exactly, it’s just, well, I accidentally left Malaysia” I explained.

He looked confused, rightfully so.

I tried to tell him my story in greater detail. The ridiculousness of my story combined with the language barrier made things difficult. He took me to a woman who spoke even less English and wasn’t very friendly. She spoke to him in Malaysian and I was told to follow the first guy.

He took me to an office like on ‘Border Security’. This was getting serious. An older gentleman in a military uniform escorted me through the open plan offices to small room with a glass door.

He sighed as he looked at my passport.

“Mya is it?”

“Yes” I said meekly

“OK explain me the whole story please”

He listened patiently and then said “you came to Malaysia on 5th April”

“Yes”

“And you also leave Malaysia on 5th April”

“Yes”

“Now is 22nd April”

“Yes”

“So you have been in Malaysia illegally for over 2 weeks”

“No. I mean, well, I didn’t mean to…”

He sighed again. “When do you leave Singapore?”

“My flight is tonight at 11.30pm”

He looked at the clock. It was 4pm.

“Hmmmm… you see if I take you to the authorities then they’ll detain you for a very long time.”

Oh my god. I was in a Malaysian immigration office and the man sitting across from me just said the word ‘detain’. Now I was freaked.

He picked up the phone and called about 5 different people, sighing and tutting and muttering ‘Mya, Mya, Mya’ between calls. Things weren’t looking so good.

I didn’t particularly want to spend the night in a Malaysian prison or miss my flight. I started wishing I’d purchased more comprehensive travel insurance. Maybe V Australia would get me on another flight, I was a Velocity frequent flier member after all.

The man opposite me spent half an hour trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation, he didn’t seem to want to detain me.

“Mya” he said “I think I close my eyes on you”

“Sorry?”

“I think I close my eyes on you. Do you understand?”

Boy did I ever! I was out of there 30 seconds later with a ‘void’ stamp covering my 5th of April exit, and a 22nd April exit stamp in its place.

Maya: 1, Malaysian Immigration: 0

Winning at Losing

Losing wallets is one of my greatest talents. I have lost my wallet an incredible 3 times in the last 3 weeks. So what should you do if you lose your wallet? The most important thing is not to freak out. People seem to think it’s the worse thing that could happen, but it’s really not that bad- especially for me.

Losing my wallet has almost no impact on my life. The most useful items in my wallet are my license and my atm/credit card, but I can even do without them. My license is important for ID, but I can use my passport for that. Unless I lose that too, but that has only happened once. It turns out bars don’t accept birth certificates as ID.

As I busker I work in cash, so not having access to my bank account isn’t an issue most of th time. To answer that age old question: should I cancel my credit cards? I say no. Perhaps I’m too trusting but I’ve never had anyone charge stuff to my credit card, and I find getting a new one a bit of a hassle. I’ll give it at least a week before I cancel it. This tends to surprise people.

“Oh my gosh, you haven’t cancelled your cards yet?”

“No”

“You really should cancel your credit card.”

“How many wallets have you lost?” I ask

“None, I’ve never lost my wallet”

“Well I’ve lost a lot, so who’s the expert in losing wallets here?”

Yeah, that’s right, me. I am highly skilled at losing things, but wallets are my specialty. In the last 6 years I’ve lost 10+ wallets on 3 different continents. Here’s the good news, I’ve gotten 8 of them back. People think it’s because I’m lucky, but I don’t believe that, I think most people will get their wallets back, I just happen to lose them more.

In this experiment, 100 wallets were dropped around a city in the USA, 74% came back. This website did a similar experiment comparing various countries and cities. 70% of wallets in Australia and Canada came back, 83% in New Zealand and 67% in the US. The results for Sydney and Toronto were not as good as I would’ve expected or hoped, with only 40% being returned. I found this article about lost wallets in Toronto saying that 75% had been returned, and my personal experience in Sydney has been 7/8 returned.

Big thanks go out to all the people who have helped reunite me with my wallets. Central station, Wynyard station, NAB, Sydney police, Canberra police, my Dad, Queen’s University, that guy from Kingston, that guy from the Bridge hotel, and that bar, to name a few.

Chuggers

Being a street worker, I work alongside a variety of characters. I’ve mentioned homeless people and other buskers, but not some of my other colleagues; namely the charity workers.

The trick with these charity muggers, or 'chuggers' as they are known, is not to stop. Ever. You don’t have to be mean or ignore them, but you must continue walking. If they ask how you are, tell them you’re well and return the question- as you walk by. If they follow you and ask if you have pets, you can talk them as long as you like, don’t stop. Here’s my issue: when I busk, I’m stopped.

I had a monopoly on street performing when I was in Canberra, but I had to share my turf with an awful lot of chuggers. The first lot were from UNICEF. A confident young man approached me to tell me about all the dying children in Africa. I smiled at him and said ‘maybe later’. He didn’t believe me, for good reason. I started playing.

“You know 5 children died from diphtheria while you played that song.”

I moved spots. This time to where WSPA people were on the prowl. One of the guys gingerly approached me.

“Do you like animals?”

“No” I said blunty

“Oh, ummmm….. Really?”

“No”

“You don’t like animals?”

OK now he was giving me puppy dog eyes.

I sighed. “Animals are OK I guess…”

He looked relieved, was he really still going to try and sign me up? I let him talk to me about the bears having their teeth pulled out, then told him “maybe later”.

Over the next couple of days we all worked the same street. I watched as they tried, and mostly failed, to sign people up for their various charities. It’s tough, soul destroying work and if you don’t have the right personality, you aren’t going to last long. They’re supposed to average 4 sign ups a day which is a lot harder than it sounds.

Every so often one of them would peer into my case and gawk at how much money I’d made.

“You just made $80 in an hour and you can’t afford $1 a day to save the bears?”

In the end I caved. I couldn’t in good conscience leave without giving Josh from WSPA a sale, he sure as hell wasn’t going to get one any other way.

Then the UNICEF guy walked past. I didn’t feel right giving it to one and not the other so I told him to get his clipboard. He was elated. He kept going on about how many kids I’d just vaccinated in Africa. He couldn’t seem to switch off his charity charm, meanwhile Josh was trying not to screw anything. His team leader stood there, bewildered by his good fortune.

Maybe it’s my way of paying tax or compensating the charity people for having to listen to ‘Oh When the Saints’ 10 times a day, or perhaps it’s karmic retribution for kicking people out of their busking spots. Either way, part of my earnings are going to charity. Can I put a photo of an Ethiopian child next to my case now?

Abracadabra- Now Disappear!

Be Gone!

I’ve been busking at circular quay for the last couple of months now. It’s the hottest busking spot in Sydney and has proved to be extremely profitable. The authorities are very strict here; not only do you need a license, there are designated spots depending on your act. For example you can only play in certain spots if you’re amplified, or if you are a circle act (a circle act is a performance that requires people to stop and watch e.g people that juggle chainsaws). I am defined as a non amplified, walk by act, which means I can play almost anywhere. I have found myself a lovely spot between ferry terminals 4 and 5, where only walk by, non amplified acts can perform. That pretty much leaves me and statues, so I’ve never had a problem.

The other day someone was in my spot. He was a magician. An amplified, circle act. In my spot. He looked about 15 with his top hat and slightly oversized suit. I waited til he’d finished his show.

“Hi are you finished for the day?” I asked

“Ummmm.. Actually I was going to do another show”

“Oh. Are you allowed to do a circle act here?”

“I’m not sure… probably not”

“mmmmmmm….”

“Maybe we could share the spot?”

“I’m pretty loud”

“Or could you play down by the restaurants?”

“Hmmm I don’t really play there”

I was not smiling.

“How about I do one more show, then you can have it”

“Fine”

In truth it was getting a bit late and I had to be going anyway, but there was no way he was getting away with being in my spot.

I waited til he started up again, then I called the ranger.

“Hello Circular Quay rangers, this is Ian speaking”

“Hi Ian, there’s a young man doing a circle act between wharfs 4 and 5”

“Is he amplified?”

“Yes, he has a microphone”

“Well he shouldn’t be busking there”

“…no”

Minutes later the rangers arrived. Minutes after that, the magician disappeared. Magic.

The Art of Bingo Calling

Me (basically)

Bingo calling isn’t as easy as it looks; it’s not just about calling numbers. Well it is, but a good bingo caller knows that there is an art to bingo calling. Numbers are exciting, especially when they’re generated randomly- you never know what’s coming next. There are 90 numbers in bingo, now I’m no statistician but the odds of having 4 numbers from the 40’s in a row aren’t too high. That’s why it’s so exciting when it happens!

If I commented on all the interesting number sequences, no one would ever get bingo, so I use exaggerated intonation to emphasise the excitement. “forty- naughty forty, forty eight- four eight, forty five- half way there” and then “foooooorty threeeee, four three” but you have to say it like you just found out you won the lottery. The great thing is, the crowd get into it too; listen to the oohs and aahs when they hear such a rare and wondrous sequence of numbers.

The drama doesn’t end there, oh no. A big talking point, is how many calls it takes someone to get bingo in. A few weeks ago I announced that a certain bingoer won in just 52 calls, only to have the room erupt in applause.

I like for my bingo to have a little more crowd participation. My favourite bingo ladies sit up the back, maybe it’s all the scotch they drink at 11am, but they are by far the most enthusiastic. I’m all about the old school bingo calls; legs 11, 66 clickety click etc. The great things about these chicks is they respond to a bunch of the calls I make:

‘4- knock on the door’ (avon calling)

‘14- valentines day’ (kiss, kiss)

‘22- 2 ducks swimming’ (quack, quack)

‘64- everybody sings (when I’m 64)

‘69- breakfast for two’ (bad breath)

For an excellent article on how to call bingo, and a whole lot more number nicknames, check out this website.

Bingo

I’ve spent a lot of time writing about busking but not much about my other job. I work mostly as a bartender, but every Monday I take on a new role; I am the bingo caller.

I got the gig a few years ago when the old bingo caller left and my manager was complaining that he was going to have to take over.

“Oh boy I’d kill to do bingo!” I said

“Oh yeah” he said sarcastically “it’s going to be great”

“..it sounds like so much fun”

“Yeah, you’re really missing out, it’s going to be a party”

“I wish I could do it…”

“I really don’t want to do it…”

I looked at him “Wait. Do you seriously not want to do it?”

“Do you seriously want to do it?”

And that’s how I became the bingo caller.

It turns out bingo is serious. In North America you can win big bucks, up to $10,000, but here you’re lucky if you get a $20 woolies gift voucher. Despite the relatively low stakes, bingo players, in my opinion, are among the most competitive people in the world. The great irony is that bingo is almost entirely luck.

If you are a competitive person, and you don’t win at something, and it’s not your fault, it must be someone else’s fault, right? That someone is usually me.

Bingo players are generally older. Mine range from about 50 to 102. No joke 102 year old Albert comes to bingo every week for a chance to score a $15 Woolworths wish card.

I think at 102 you should get anything you want, which makes it hard for me when he gives me a stern look and says “You’d better call my numbers today”

I look at the random number generator.

“You’d better call Albert’s numbers today”

To be fair, players know that responsibility does not lie completely with me. Lucky rituals have a big impact as well. According to bingo players, your luck will change depending on where you sit, who you sit with and what colour dobber you use.

I recently made the fatal mistake of getting the wrong coloured dobbers. Whilst I was ordering I was asked if I wanted any colour in particular. No, I didn’t mind. WRONG! Apparently orange is not a good colour for my bingo ladies failing eyesight. Unfortunately we’ve got to get through 250 more dobbers before I can order a new box. Orange you glad I didn’t get yellow?