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Published: September 18th 2008
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Cassey, your Husstling Hostess
Welcome to the ultimate in tacky fornication presentation, yes we're here today @ Club X and its Selling Sex! Queensland, MacKay
Back in Melbourne it was getting decisively cold. The evenings were what spurred the decision to move towards a hotter climate, but as I approached various jobs and sent of resumes I discovered that was everyone else’s plan also. With feedback only from one lead I decided to follow it up. It was working the bar at a strip club in Brisbane. The evening I arrived, 17th July, I was told they only needed dancers, and although I was willing to parade around on stage I was unprepared for back lounge sittings, especially as they were full on contact. I also felt quite angry about the whole situation, as it was a steal. For $70 you got 15minutes of my time, of which I got half of that, $300, for a few hours. The hustle was on, and I’m crap at bullshit. The girls looked quite immature, all very young, and skinny. Yeah but No but, Nah! Not for Me! Maybe some classy harem with exotic flowers and silk cushions, but this was neon lights, and tacky sin city with overweight lonely men. Hhmm.
Relentlessly running out of ideas there was nothing really happening in Brisbane, and
Christinne Zimmitat and eye @ Maguires
My room mate for a while, Pristinne Christinne, (she was always looking gr8t), mother of 3 (my age), professional windsurfer, and my partner in Town, a real rocker! She descended from Polish royalty! I researched & sent my resume to as many possible jobs as I thought would suit. Not hearing anything back from my preferred choice of Environmental/Gardening work, my only reply came from MacKay to heed the calling of hospitality. Ten years rusty in that department, I tried to spice up the flavor, and sell myself on good work ethic and a vague memory of how to make a cappuccino.
Making my way to MacKay, I arrive at Boddington Street at the Aboriginal Hostel. I was informed by Buddy, who runs the hostel with his partner Veronica, that it would not normally be the choice of someone of my origin to stay, but would be welcome to. The truth being that I would have otherwise stayed at a camping ground much further away in my tent, and that would have been a dangerous place to be. So maybe they took pity or were obliged to as it was a ‘government’ facility. Whatever, there was nowhere else everywhere is full. The floods that happened here in February were really bad and many people were left without homes or they are still in dis-repair, the economic crises too has left people
high and dry, as housing costs increase, and families are having to leave their homes unable to support mortgage repayments, familiar story? We had a brief chat about cultural diversity and how communities the world over where not as black and white and in between as they once were, he disclosed to me that his family were actually connected by blood to Camilla Parker Bowls, a ‘black sheep of the family’ relative of hers vacated the UK to spend his life on the Torres Strait and fell in love with one of the islanders, who gave birth to his off spring. Camilla Parker Bowls however is still in strict denial!
The Hostel was set up by the Australian Government Company ‘providing quality, affordable accommodation that assists Aboriginal and Torres Straight Islanders increase their opportunities and allow them better access to services’. I was reminded of an opinion by a tenant that what the commonwealth has done to support the workers, or the poor, unlike, as he said communist regimes where the rich languish their royalties and leave their people to fend for themselves. My new job was not far from the hostel, and I walked home that evening,
to the shock of some of the ladies staying at the hostel. ‘Don’t walk home alone around here, get a taxi home! Un be known to me this was a rough part of town. So Moses the night watchman took me out the next day to the re-cycling centre to get a bicycle. I then realized why there was a 6ft fence all the way around, and although the place looks like a concrete block it has a few palm trees to remind you you’re in the sub-tropics. So bombing it back at night my eyes wide open for any suspicious alley ways. Although I haven’t seen much dodgy movements it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. The problem, as with towns and cities the world over, being drugs, or in the case here locally, adolescent kids get high on glue and alcohol. The hostel this weekend is fully booked, relatives have come to mourn the loss of a young boy who committed suicide last week. Reported in the papers today, 4th Sept, is the concern for street kids that congregate together and get high, there have been a few suicides triggered by depression and drugs, not unfamiliar to our own
communities. A new girl started at work today, a friend of the deceased, who told me her views of contributing factors that led to why he, and other adolescent’s her age get high, although not for discussion here, she believes it is the lack of education and stability within family life. With some of the attitudes of race that I hear sometimes outside my window, e.g. ‘F#ers!’ it’s not another surprise that tension is high here too.
Maybe that is why there are so many rules and regulations here at the hostel. It has extremely strict protocol. They like to know you’re every move, and drugs, alcohol and smoking strictly banned. Just goes to show, rules and regulations are a sign of respect and decency to some communities, but in the same breath, maybe that’s the pride of a government run hostel, but I guess the chaos has to stop somewhere. I remember a logo in London once saying ‘stop the madness’ with two heroin needles crossed over like the sign of death. With everyone who works here having their different roles, it is a reminder of how jobs have there sense of belonging and self and
mutual respect. Sometimes I feel people talk to me with that mutual respect, and that’s probably why I was allowed to stay, but being the only, single white female here, I sometimes feel a bit like I shouldn’t be here, a bit of an outsider, one comment being, I was lucky to have a job, and why was work not for locals. Not in a nasty sense, I think, but in my defense, no-one wanted the job where I was working, that’s why I got it, or maybe it was luck. In fact they seemed to be crying out for people, with such a high turn over of staff. People were walking out all the time from the minute I started the job, it does have its stressful moments, and commitment seems to be all over the place. Its 4.5 star exterior gives the impression that it’s top quality, and for the price you pay for a nights stay, I guess it is, or at least it should be.
Marjorie a few doors down from me goes to church every week, at the tribe of Judah Church, but she praises the lord every 10 minutes. You can hear
Global Grooves @ the Botanic Gardens
Multi-Cultural Day Festival, this was a Belly dancing workshop her singing around the place at various intervals in the day, and she mutters over lunch, and pronounces that the lord speaks to her at every instance. I’m not sure if she thinks I’m an angel or a devil, but it’s very disconcerting knowing that ‘someone’ is watching your every move. She listen’s carefully to ALL that is said, he try’s to reach some people she told me, but their hearts are closed! She invited me in one day to watch an episode of Christian, as I call it, storytelling. When I told her my job at the MacKay Grande Mecurere she said, ’ah so you’re a servant?’ ‘Well yes, I suppose I am, I serve people food, clean away their plates, make them drinks etc..’ ‘You cannot reach the kingdom of heaven’, she proclaimed, ‘without first being able to serve’. I’d never really thought of it like that, but fair enough. ‘Praise the Lord!’.
Yep, the Day of Judgment is certainly here. We are all the divine beings aren’t we? We are all the droplets of rain descending from a cloud. We are God, we make the judgements!
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