They Tell Me "We've All Been There"

There is something about my genetic makeup that inhibits me from ever acting suave and relaxed while sitting at a crowded table in a busy restaurant. Invariably I find myself a part of a very uncomfortable and embarrassing scenario, that sends blood to my cheeks and floods my brain with noxious neurotoxins which halt all forms of coherent thought. Thus my situation last night during dinner with folks from the whale lab at UQ (University of Queensland), a final 'pie-in-the-face' to what had already been a sort of ‘step in dog shit’ kind of day.


For starters, I regrettably decided to stay in bed, actually more like a box of chicken wire than a bed, instead of starting my day as they all should with a surf. My first of many mistakes to come. So I slept in for a few extra hours, dragged my crippled body from all the walking I did in Tasmania which I’m still recovering from, into the kitchen for a complimentary Corn Flakes breakfast, and spent the majority of the morning finishing Bill Bryson’s ‘Lost Continent’. He’s convinced me that in order to truly understand my own country, I must drive around it aimlessly while sampling the various fast food and Motel 6 options. I’m sold.

I realized once I finished the last paragraph that I’d be embarking on a two hour bus and train ride into the city that night without a good book to distract me from all the other whack jobs , and also that I had thoroughly burnt my now Rudolf red nose while laying in the sand reading about the American Midwest. My nose is perpetually red down here on account of the relentless sun; even its reflection off a full moon requires a sufficient application of white goo for protection. So I scoured the various strip malls and shopping centers in the pursuit of another Bill Bryson classic, only to find an endless selection of crap fiction novels and the Twilight series.

Exhausted I gave up my search and reluctantly boarded the train at Varsity Lakes, which would take me on a one and a half hour journey into Brisbane. Varsity Lakes is the first stop from the Gold Coast, so the ride began promising with only a single other person in the car. My solitude slowly deteriorated one stop at a time. First with a couple of popped-collared feminine law students who sat behind me, ranting in forced pre-pubescent voices about “like how insanely hot the weather is” and “OH MY GOSH when is like school going to be over all ready…I MEAN HELLO?”. I’ve always been slightly envious of my Dad’s ability to turn his ears off and effectively mute annoying people at his leisure, a trait which would have come in handy at this point. Still I think even the thought of them babbling away behind me would still have been irritating.

The next edition to the dysfunctional group of public transitors came a few stops later. A mentally handicapped individual holding a red cup in one hand and gesturing with an extended pinkie with the other, who took a seat to my right. His method of dealing with social anxiety it seemed was toooo taaaalk veeeeerry sllloooowwwllyyy to himself about the varying levels of husbandry requirements for zoo wildlife. From HIIIGGGGHHH PRIORITY for the Giraffes and LOOOOOWWW PRIORITY for things like lizards. This went on and on, I think the extended pinkie was an attempt to mimic a cell phone hovering miles from his ear. When the effeminate couple behind me elevated the volume of their conversation, which in retrospect was on the same level as the topic of cleaning up Giraffe droppings (and drop they do), so he too would elevate his conversation to his finger. Not a bad strategy actually, why didn’t I think of that?

The rest of the train ride was dominated by a gang of high school students, jumping around and being obnoxious. Public transportation is a circus, and I hate clowns. And I didn’t have a book to get lost in. And that’s just the beginning.

After wandering around the bustling city, with its grey mirage of sky scrapers, the same strange public statues found in every big city, several McDonalds and of course a Farris Wheel; I met up with Zeus who now lives in Brisbane and had a few beers. I also managed to find a Borders and pick up ‘Down Under’ also by Bill Bryson, and also gut wrenchingly funny. After drinking two jugs between us we stammered briskly under overpasses and through traffic to South Brisbane, where we were to meet up with the rest of the gang at a place called the German Club. Australia is a big proponent of clubs; everyone wants to be a member. Now this is where I step in a big pile of dog shit, much like a pile Reef would make on the beach after a healthy serving Kibbles-and-Bits and avocados.

The reason for the dinner was to celebrate Elen’s recent publication of her dissertation on the evolution of song patterns among humpback whales in the South Pacific. Male humpbacks, as you may know, sing elaborate structured songs during the breeding season in the tropics; and individuals within each ‘breeding stock’ sing the same notes and chorus by the end of the season; isn’t that amazingly odd? Well she’s worked out the regional breeding stocks well adopt pieces of song from neighboring stocks, thus changing the song of various populations in the South Pacific through time, like a wave. Pieces of song have even been recorded to propagate into other oceans, say from populations in the Pacific to whales that breed in the Indian Ocean. Crazy! What on earth are they singing about?

I of course was wearing sandals, and since I don’t have breasts and I’m supposed to dress like a proper man, I would be not allowed into the restaurant with such monstrosities on my feet. “I Do Say look at that massive big toe and ungroomed nails Belvedere…take my food away at ONCE waiter I CANNOT be expected to shovel it into my face with such a sight as this man’s exposed feet!”. We pleaded that I was only visiting for the night, and that we were all in celebration, and that I had no other option…but the decidedly un-German door man would not budge. The no sandals rule by far is my least favorite rule in the universe, and people who enforce it should have their faces stepped on by countless sweaty old feet for all eternity when they die and go to hell.

Zeus suggested to Bec who lives just blocks down the street (a PhD who runs the whale lab….who’s also a scary Irish), that I walk to her house and barrow some of Heath’s shoes (her scary Irish boyfriend). Not a bad idea right? She proceeded to give me directions:

“It’s easy, you just walk straight down this road past the GARGON until you see an indiscriminant unlabeled street that looks like cars can’t go down it, and you make a left. Then you go through the round-a-bout until you reach another unlabeled and equally inconspicuous alley, and you make a right. From there it’s just a few houses down on your left, past the gum tree and next to the ‘Bubble Gum’. Oh yeah and watch out for Rusty…..You with me?”

Long pause with blank stare….”What’s a GARGON?”

This would only end in tragedy. But without hesitation she handed me a bulging ring of keys and sent me on my way.

“Remember…past the GARGON…left, right, left….simple”

It’s never that simple.

Miraculously I returned to the German Club with a pair of shoes in hand (well more like on feet), the first pair I could find, and I only briefly got lost. Basically it went well, so I thought. I walked up to the table of whale people and proceeded to catch up with everyone. They all seemed very happy to see me, which after many months of traveling solo made me feel good about myself…that would all change very soon. I of course took the shoes off and replaced them with my sandals after making it past the turban wearing non-German and through the door, as I kind of FUCK YOU to the joint. Heath noticed that in my haste I had picked up his pair of expensive dress shoes, and he did not look amused by this. He then asked me for the keys.

“AW YES the keys, I have them right……ugghhh. Did I not already give you the keys?” His already furled expression dropped to a new low.

He stared at me long and hard….”NO”. Panic swept over my face, all table conversations lowered and all eyes were on me. I hate it when all eyes are on me.

“You’re joking right? I must have given them to you. They were in my pocket; I remember fondling them on my walk back, sockless in your fancy shoes.”

Another long and increasingly murderous stare, mind you this guy had an ear piercing, you don’t fuck with those kinds of people….”NO, you didn’t”.

I proceeded to walk around the table and check everyone’s feet for the keys, all the while I could feel his fuming Irish eyes following me every move (did you catch the accent?). ‘He’s going to kill me’ I thought. After all I had lost his lucky charms. ‘This is it; I’ve had a good run’. Finally I couldn’t take the eyes watching me anymore and I proceeded to venture back out the German Club, past the GARGON, down the unlabeled streets, past the Bubble Gum (whatever the hell that was) and up to the house in hopes of finding the missing, and apparently very precious, ring of keys. I called Zeus to ensure he wasn’t screwing with me; he is somewhat of a shit head after all. He answered no, and that Heath and now Bec were extremely pissed off…and that I’d better find those keys. What kind of thing to say was that? ‘They’re just keys’, I thought, ‘it was a simple mistake’. These people were obviously being a bit dramatic, it's not like I had stolen their pot of gold. What a shitty way to treat someone who obviously is a complete dope.

I figured I must have locked them in the house, and a scrambled for a way to get inside. After several spider webs to the face, no doubt spun by some deadly arachnid, I returned to the porch shit-out-of-luck. And with shit all over my exposed toes to keep with the theme. Then I discovered a single key attached to some gadget sitting on a ledge next to the door. It looked like a replica of the house key. It didn’t occur to me at the time that this was likely NOT the house key, seeing as how it was placed next to the front door and thus would defeat the purpose of locking it in the first place. But I tried it anyways, I jiggled and turned, pushed and pulled, and in my frustration of the situation I yanked the key ring off the key, which remained lodged in the lock.

FUCK

Not only had I lost the keys to their house during a simple five minute walk down the street, along with their car, office, cabinet, and all other forms of keys necessary to access their lives; I had now also managed to get whatever this key opened stock in the door. ‘That’s it’, I thought, ‘there’s just no way I can go back there. I’ll just have to live off my toenail clippings and somehow manage to hitchhike back to the US’. I was legitimately shattered, ruined, I felt like a total schmuck. This entire day just kept eating away at my soul, until I was now left with nothing, no hope. They were going to kill me, and I would never live this down.

I sat there in the pitch dark on the porch, brewing over my options, and finally decided to call Bec. I was going to tell her the whole story, and accept the punishment, which would undoubtedly be stoning to death with heaps of rock hard potatoes. However, when she answered, she told me in a calm and casual tone to just come back. Zeus had gone to the bar and asked for the keys and found them (I did the same and they told me they couldn’t help, probably because my toes were showing). He HAD been fucking with me. I COULD KILL SOMEONE. Steaming I walked back to German Club, straight past the door man WEARING sandals, giving him the casual finger as a passed. Looked Zeus in the eyes and grabbed his beer. He would be buying the rest of the night, and I would be drinking beer with my toes out. What a shitty night….I hate Germans. (Not really, I’ve met some really agreeable Germans over the past 6 months).

I can’t stay mad long, and after an hour or so, and several pints of some German concoction, I had managed to temporarily put the unfortunate and embarrassing events out of my mind; and actually had a very nice evening (and the duck was good). I had a good chat with Mike (the main PhD of the whale lab) about research, and teaching, and grad school, and everything else that’s been occupying my mind lately. After all he seems to be distinguised in his field and was a good source for advice. He even offered to pay for my flight if I came back for HARC in September. I wish he hadn’t of offered this, I wasn’t planning on coming back. Especially not after that night. But I’m learning that in this game you can’t really plan for anything. Life is about decisions, and there is no right path, just and endless course of junctions….past the GARGON and down some inconspicuous alley.