somewhere on my way by Anna N. Schnieden (best ebook reader for pc TXT) 📕

you had to go through that bloody idiot woman. We’re not like that!” Lyli.

 

“Thank you so much for helping me. I’m beginning to believe it’s worth it to risk my life with a psychopath!” Me.

 

 

One problem solved, but when I was looking at the record of my funding from my scholarly probation officer, the cost of the rental was over my limit, I needed jobs like ASAP…again! It was 4 stops from a town named Rockdale (my new home) to the city by suburban train. The apartment was nice and quiet; Lyli was a caring person and she was a big tall woman. Her boyfriend, Mr. Nice…later her husband, was a handsome and kind man, studying nursing, the same as Lyli. Cat was an art student, a cute girl from Canberra, she did not like having a boyfriend only boy nights. They were nice and fair and…crackpot like me, it was a good time living with them.

 

Another day after moving, I went to the city, with a list of hiring places in my pocket, targeting only Thai restaurants. The first one I went in, the owner was not a Thai, but Chinese, and they needed someone for full-time work. The next one was quite an exquisite Thai restaurant, all decorations were in original Thai style, the owner’s wife was Thai and most workers were Thai, only the owner was Australian. He was about 45 years old with a skinhead hairstyle. His name was Mr. Wine. He was looking for a cleaner to clean the dishes and floor, he used to have 3 of them, but one cleaner dumped him. I was thinking, “Here we go again, dishes save the world.”

 

“I don’t think you can clean the dishes. It’s heavy. When it’s a busy time, you need to carry them to a big table there (pointing). You’re skinny, I don’t think you can do it.” Mr. Wine.

 

I had to come up with a plan, one that was very convincing, in order to get a job. I was thinking, Lyli was an Australian, she felt sorry for me about my homestay…Ahuh! There was a very high possibility that I would get a job. So. I told Mr. Wine that I had an emergency situation; I did not like personal talk with a stranger, but desperation came with desperate need.

 

“Do you have any position which doesn’t require muscle? I’m a fast learner. And here is close to my school and the subways.” Me.

 

“You’re a master’s student…hmm…What did you do before here?” Mr. Wine.

 

 

“Ah! Designing...Sir. But I used to clean dishes before.” Me.

 

 

 

“How about you help me run this place?” Mr. Wine.

 

 

“*-*! Sir. I really need a job. But, I don't know anything about anything about any restaurant. I used to run a design company. And cooking is not really my strong suit. You’ll have a very high percentage of going bankrupt…if you let me run your restaurant…Sir. When I was walking here, I was hoping to get the dishes job!…Sir.” Me.

 

“Ha ha. It’s not like that. Your jobs are checking stocks, make sure all tables are set nicely. Oh, you’re an architect, right? You must have some ideas of decoration! And be a receptionist at the opening time. Helping the waitresses. Do not drink my wine!” Mr. Wine.

 

“Don’t worry sir. I don’t drink at all. More like cannot drink.” Me.

 

 

“Good, you check the wine too.” Mr. Wine.

 

 

Another problem solved. I had classes only 4 days a week and my work time was 4:00 pm–11:00 pm, but I usually left at 11:30 pm, unless it was an occasional holiday. The last train back home was 11:45 pm, I always had to run, but if I missed it, Mr.

Wine drove me home…nice boss!

 

 

The first week I was kind of having an uneven irregular time; everything was new, new people, new school, new place, new environment, and a new job. The only old was me…it felt like history repeating itself, but not exactly. The studies were fine except the architectural terminologies were a big pain in my ass! Professor Daddy was right about me – “Doll-Head”– I did not pay attention to all of those terminologies in English while I was studying for my bachelor’s. Well, Thai workers barely read and I was not a psychic. If I knew that my life would be up and down the world, I would have studied more of…clay work and many things…like…prepared for the battle!

 

The second week of the job was kind of…possibly murderous circumstances. On my checking job, the restaurant had 3 chefs and I found out that the big chef was

 

 

cheating on my boss. The bills of grocery were…unnatural mathematics between Lb./price and Lbs./total price. Moreover, there were RPs, and it meant restaurant price on the bills, did I mention the odd handwriting? I did not know what to do, and the only Australian I could trust was Lyli. I wanted to do…the correct human thing, but Mr.

Lunatic who forever lives in my head said I might have been dead murderously…soon.

 

 

“Well, Lyli, he’s kind of huge…don’t even think about his chopping knife. He’s a big chef, big mouth, and big ass.” Me.

 

"You do what you think is right for you. You have a right to be scared…You seem to have problems with…Food!! That’s why you’re bloody skinny?” Lyli.

 

“Maybe…because you’re too big. Don’t you think?” Me. With an exclamation…Ouch…

 

And I got beat! I was thinking about my former senior in pre-med, who chopped his girlfriend into 59 pieces. But, for better or worse…yada…yada, besides I had Mr. Cross in hell, so highway to hell it was.

 

“Hmm…Boss! Can you just find out about all these…by yourself? Not me? I’m kind of small…for a chopping knife. I decided to tell you because when I was in trouble with shit and piss, Lyli helped me and she tried to tell me that Australians are cool…with me. I’m grateful. So, boss, on behalf of Thai people, I’m truly sorry for…shit happened.

But, it would be very very good, if I’m not dead in the process.” Me.

 

 

“Ha ha. You’re good. And a smart girl. Do you have a boyfriend?” Mr. Wine.

 

 

“Ok, boss. Don’t go there, trust me, you don't want that. Do we have a deal or not?” Me.

 

“Of course, I won’t mention you. Don’t worry. Thank you so much for telling me.” Mr. Wine.

 

 

Later on, I looked after everything including money, but he paid me more and gave me more jobs. Mr. Wine had several businesses, 2 restaurants, 2 TABs, (TAB is a bar with slot machines in it, and they told me that the TABs must serve food), and he had a wine company. So, the day that I had no classes, I usually worked at Mr. Wine’s TABs…so fun!

 

Australians liked drinking and holidays, they were very traditional; for example, St. Patrick’s Day, people wore green and everywhere looked green, including my home! Therefore, no one wanted to work on a day like that except me, hmm…it was paid double, hello! So, I loved holidays as much as Australians, the tips were very good and the so was the fun.

 

I was working at one of Mr. Wine’s TABs, cooking chicken wings and fries on St. Patrick’s Day. It was kind of….men’s party, and all the waitresses were topless except that Strawberry, the bartender, and I were fully clothed.

 

“Hello, little one. Why aren’t you topless?” A 50-year-old man customer.

 

 

“I’m cooking chicken wings and fries sir. It’s dangerous to be naked while I’m cooking…food. And just so you know, sir, the last man who saw me under my cloth, dead by a bullet, sir. Enjoy the wings…Sir!” Me.

 

I was working until 11:20 pm and took the last train home,

but it did not go according to plan! I got out at the wrong station and I was so mad at myself, thinking what the hell I was going to do. I did not know which way to walk home! Walking out of the wrong station, I was looking around for a shop or a bar that might be open, but there was none. I did not have a cell phone in Australia (it was still very expensive). I was walking…no way to know where to go until a police car was shouting at my ass! I was thinking, “Thanks, Patrick!” There were 2 police in the car, one of the officers asked me where I was going. So I told them that I had no idea and I forgot to ask Lyli my home phone number…hmmm Alzheimer problem. The police were very kind, they drove me home…and when I opened my apartment door:

 

 

“Where the fuck have you been? We were worried that you might be dead somewhere.” Lyli.

 

“Ah…Well, I got off at the wrong station and I forgot to ask you my home phone number…again, one police drove me home and another charmed me with his singing.” Me.

 

“I can't believe you’re a scholarship student…Shithead! Police can be rapists too you know…thickhead. Here, this one is the home number and this one is the hospital number. If I’m not home, call Mr. Nice…chock-head!” Lyli.

 

“You know, it doesn’t take much to rape you or kill you. Conveniently, it doesn’t take much time to dig a hole for your body either.” Mr. Nice.

 

“Thank you so much guys, really! I’m a shithead…I know. Sorry. And Mr. Nice, I get the picture…Thanks!!” Me.

 

 

 

I love Australia; most people were nice to very nice. One day, after school, I went to a coffee shop close by, the line of waiting was quite…a long snake. I was waiting until my turn, but a coffee bitch looked at me…like “Get the fuck off!” and…she talked to a man behind me instead. The man said, “What is wrong with you? Can you see, she’s standing right here?” Well, they both were Australians, so I just let them fight with no interruption. As a result of the fight, I got my coffee, worrying that something might have been added to it to make me discharge unusual feces!

 

“Hey. Sorry about that.” The Man.

 

 

“Oh. Thanks again for…defending coffee and me. It’s ok, I get that sometime.” Me.

 

 

“It’s not ok. She wasn’t supposed to behave like that. Australians are not like her.” The Man.

 

 

“I know. I’m living with 3 Australians and they’re good people. I think the coffee girl should listen to Mr. John Lennon. You look like a professor, aren’t you?” Me.

 

“Yes. At Arts and Humanities. And I’ll be your advisor for your research. Have you ever looked at your handbook?” Professor Book.

 

“Oh…crap…Sorry, sir. I was a bit occupied with…bathroom problems and moving oh…jobs…Sir. And the committee said that I need to wait until my statement has been approved before I need you…now…Sir?” Me.

 

“Ha ha. Well, Ms. Aye, you need me now! I’ve had your statement since last week. I was waiting for you to show up.” Professor Book.

 

“How do you know it’s…me…? Oh no, you’re a stalker, aren’t you? Joking! Ahmm…Your photo is in my handbook…I don’t think anyone would carry mine around, do they?...Sir? Sorry, sir, I did not know my statement had been approved…really?” Me.

 

“Haha. You’re the only scholarship student and only Asian. Anyway, I read it already. Impressive theories. Come and see me tomorrow at 10:00 am.” Professor Book.

 

“Thank you, sir. I hope I can prove my theories! Do you think King Khatra actually rode a lion, sir?” Me.

 

“Tomorrow! And, Ms. Aye, go to the committee’s office and leave them some way to contact you…would you??” Professor Book.

 

“Oh..sh…shut, right away sir. Have a good afternoon and see you tomorrow sir.” Me.

 

 

A few months later, Professor Book and his wife took me to Lyttelton Christchurch, New Zealand. The Townie told me that Lyttelton is a port town on the north shore of Lyttelton Harbour, at the northwestern end of Banks Peninsula and close to Christchurch, on the eastern coast of the South Island of New Zealand. Due to its

 

 

establishment as a landing point for Christchurch-bound seafarers, it has historically been regarded as the “Gateway to Canterbury” for colonial settlers. The port remains a regular destination