Not Quite Five Star

Somehow I’ve managed to go from working on the streets to working in a five star hotel. My colleagues are no longer prostitutes and panhandlers, but five star professionals.

There are two types of people in this world, those who can keep a white shirt white and those who can’t. I fall into the latter category, whereas most of my colleagues are in the former.

I have to wear a white shirt every day. The chances of me keeping it white significantly decrease on meatball and sloppy joe day. I’m just thankful someone else washes it for me.

The only thing I find harder than keeping a white shirt white, is sitting in an office. I figure if I'm not going to fit in, I might as well go the other way. 'Creative genius' is what I'm going for at the moment. I've got balloon sculptures, piles of paper, a tennis ball, yoyo and a huge wall of post its.

One of my favourite pastimes in the office is distracting the events department who work nearby. They organise things for a living so I'm kind of like their worst nightmare.

One day I was peering over event executive Nina's shoulder to see what she was doing (people love it when you do that).

"Oh wow, look at all your little folders in your email" I said

"Yeah I have a folder for each month, and a folder for each event in that month."
"That's amazing!"
"Ummm not really. How do you organise your emails, dare I ask?"
"Come, I'll show you"

I must explain that we get emails here every time a boat arrives (about 4 a day), every time a boat is 10 minutes away, every time a boat leaves, every time a boat is delayed etc. etc.

I took Nina round to my desk and showed her my email which had 6,000 emails sitting in my inbox, mostly about boat times.

Her knees buckled, she fell to the floor and put her head in her hands.
"Why haven't you deleted all those useless emails?"
"It just didn't occur to me"

Next time I have a real job, I'm totally going to delete my emails as I go, and maybe even have fancy folders.

Off the Record

I took this photo of my collegue. She thinks I'm really pro.

I’ve been working on the island for a few weeks now and it turns out I’m meant to be a photographer, videographer and reporter. If you’ve ever travelled with me you’ll know that my camera rarely comes out. I’ve either lost it, broken it or I can’t be bothered to get it out of my bag. I’ve never owned a video camera, and my computer skills could certainly be better.

Now I find myself being referred to as ‘the island photographer’. People ask me questions about cameras, lenses and editing programs. I’ve been trying really hard to look professional even if my photos and videos aren’t that good. Here are some of my tips on how to look like a pro photographer/videographer:

• Get down on the ground to take a photo
• Shut one eye
• Take photo, look at camera, press buttons, take another photo, look at camera. Nod.
• Talk about lighting
• Take a whole lot of photos really quickly. Nod.
• After filming, say ‘that’s a wrap’ or ‘yeah, we got it’
• Use a tripod
• Taking films from different angles
• Talk about editing programs, compressing files, transferring, uploading, downloading and converting

A few days ago there was a massive all staff pep rally and pool party. The general manager asked me to film his speech among other things to make into a short film.

I felt particularly pro that day. I had my tripod and a few different cameras. I got a shot of all the staff walking into the room with a plan to do a time lapse (how’s that for lingo). When the speech started I ran over and changed angles, zoomed in and out, panned shots of the crowd, swivelled, adjusted the tripod; I had it all going on.

I’ve actually learnt a bit about video cameras over the past few weeks and there’s a nugget of information I’d like to share with you all. When you film something, it’s good to do panning shots and keep the camera steady, zoom in and out, get various angles etc; it’s even better if you push the recording button first. Yeah, that happened.

Technot

I spent the last week training for my new job in a marketing office in Sydney. The last time I worked in an office was when I was 18. I worked in a payroll office and I hated it. I spent most of my time making paper cranes and post-it mosaics.

This isn’t like that job, this it seems, might actually be a real job where I’m expected of do things. One of the problems is that I may not be fully qualified for it. A lot of the issue is technical; I have no editing or filming or photography experience. Such a shame.

They gave me a whole lot of equipment; video camera, underwater camera, macbook pro and loads of cords that I’m not sure what to do with. I was trying not to show them my inexperience with technology. My computer got delivered one afternoon, all the staff stood around looking at the box.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?”I shifted awkwardly; I didn’t want to open it in front of them. Computers make me nervous.

I took it out of the box; it was shiny and silver with a big white apple. I touched it, pretending to caress it, but really I was frantically trying to figure out how to open it. I found an indent in the front side. I gently tried to pull it apart. Nothing happened. I tried again, with a little more force. Nothing.

“Go on Maya, don’t be shy”

I wasn’t being shy. I just didn’t know how to open the computer. It could happen to anyone right?

*I eventually opened the computer and am now using it to type on.

2nd Best Job in the World

I’ve been a professional street performer for over a year now. It has to be one of the best jobs in the world. Playing my trombone in the sunshine at Sydney Harbour, people throwing money at me. Busking around Canada, Business trips to New Zealand, Canberra, Blue Mountains and Picton- it’s a tough gig to top.

Summer was golden. I was working 10-15 hours a week, getting paid more than most of my friends and not paying tax. The last few months have been harder. It got cold. Less people, less tourists, no cruise ships and it’s harder and less pleasant to play. I was going to have to find employment elsewhere. Now I find myself about to begin my very first full time job. You heard right; I, Maya Sebestyen, have a real job with a contract and leave and everything.

I bet you’re all wondering what else you can do with a Bachelor of Arts aside from being a street performer/ sailor/ hotel manager/ bartender/ bingo caller.

There was a job advertised a few years ago as “The Best Job in the World”. Tourism Queensland was going to pay someone $150,000 to live on Hamilton Island for 6 months, do all the cool stuff and blog/ vlog about it. I don’t have that job. I’m not getting paid $150,000 but I am getting paid. I’m not going to Hamilton Island, I’m going to Hayman Island which is slightly further north and I’m being employed by Hayman Island Resort not Tourism Queensland. Other than that it sounds pretty similar.

Got Questions?

Where is this place?

Hayman is part of the Whitsunday’s, a group of islands in the Great Barrier Reef. Far smaller and more expensive then Hamilton, this privately owned island is home to a luxury resort and that’s about it.

What exactly will you be doing there?

Writing blogs, making videos, taking photos etc. I will have a better idea once I’m up there, but I'm pretty sure I'll have to go snorkeling, sample the lobsters, test out the masseuse, jet ski....

How did you score this?

A girl I went to high school with hooked me up.* I made a 2 minute video (busking turned out to be an excellent topic) and voila!

*To all those people who delete people on facebook they “never talk to”, I say; think twice.

When do you start?

Training in Sydney this week. Fly to Hayman July 10th-ish.

How to Get the Most out of Your Sub

For Catie,

Subway. It’s the fast food joint you go to when you want to feel less bad about yourself, or you accidentally walked past it and forgot how darn good it smells.

It’s a well known fact that the employees at subway are called ‘sandwich artists’ I am completely agree with the assessment that a sandwich can be a work of art. I won’t go into my sandwich beliefs now- I simply don’t have time.

Although the subway worker is known as the artist, I believe the customer is the conceptual artist, after all you’re the one who has to get the vision across to the artist. What will your sub look like, smell like, feel like, taste like? How can you control the subtleties of your sandwich; the ratio, the order of ingredients etc.?

My personal aim is to get as much on my sub as possible. Sure, the flavours might not mingle as well as they could but at least I know I’m getting value for money and also taking out some of the decisions I have to make. I used to say “I’ll have everything” but as my friend Catie pointed out, this was a rooky mistake. When you ask for 'all the toppings', they only give you a little bit of each, the trick is to ask for a few at a time. “I’ll have tomato and carrot” then you wait til they’ve put the tomato and carrot on, then you say something like “and onions”. Wait. “Black olives….. And green” Wait. “A dozen cucumber slices should be plenty. Wait. ”Oh and LOTS of pickles”. Wait. “Are they jalapenos? Yes I will have some of those”. Wait. “Actually I will have some lettuce” etc.

Another important thing to consider is in what order should you ask for toppings? To be honest I’m undecided, here are a few options that you might want to consider:

• Favourite toppings first- sandwich artistry isn't rocket scientist, but after a while I think they start giving less of each topping.
• Smaller items first- they put a lot of the smaller items on first then if they put fewer larger items on, they will take up more space, if that makes any sense.
• Sandwich order- where items go in relation to each other is of vital importance; in terms of flavour but also texture. E.g don’t go putting tomato next to your bread or it will go soggy. A waterproofing topping like cheese or lettuce is a much better option.

Disclaimer: The sandwich artist will almost definitely hate you if you use this approach.

Disclaimer disclaimer: But it's totally worth it.

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