A day in the life of your not-so-average, girl-next-door
Its 6:15, my alarms been going off for the last 20 minutes, with my blanket still wrapped around me I stretch out a lazy arm to stop the sound.
I yawn. I’m still tired. The last four days at work have been a hectic blur. TGIF lol.
My son’s stirring. He’ll need some coaxing. Good thing is school’s started, though last night, he goes “I want to go back to the village”. You should have seen my face.
“Wake up” I tell him gently. Like, me, his long legs are reaching the ends of his mattress.
With the weather turning frigid these past few days, I slept in a sweater. The shower’s going to be fucked. Luckily the water has been running for days without interruption, unlike last month.
Anyway, rolling my eyes won’t work. I need to outta this joint ASAP.
The taps cold to the touch, the water even colder. My naked skin already has raised goosebumps. I shiver as the water hits my body. A quick soap down and I reach for my towel. I need a new one. This one’s wearing out and thinning. Actually, come to think of it, I need new everything.
Back in my room now, its cluttered. I’ve yet to organize it well, though with a 9 year old messy son, that’s next to mission impossible.
My tops on a hanger, good thing I ironed it last night. I cringe at the thought of how people can be crinkled out, in the office.
My son’s gone to shower, so I got an ounce of privacy. Let’s see, panties, pants, probably go with the black bra today. Fuck… where are my pants? Oh… there, it is.
Should I go jeans today? Maski, the long blue pants will do.
I squeeze into it. Those goddamn planks are doing jack shit I swear.
20 mins max is all I need and I’m almost ready. It’s a quarter to 7 and my sons taking aaaaaaaaagggggeeesssss. Arrrrrrrrrrgh.
I yell out quickly for him.
“I don’t want to go to school today”
I’m running late as it is.
“Fine, stay”
A quick comb through and I’m good to go. I can freshen up later in the office.
The waters been boiled – thankfully. There’s enough time for a cup of tea. I drink quickly, grab my purse, bilum, and shove various what-nots in.
Its 7 sharp. I’m late.
The bus stops not far. The bus stops not a bus stop, it’s morejust where the 25seater coasters park and pick up passengers. The bus stops packed. Like everyone else there – we know we’re late.
Two busses arrive in quick succession, the first one is full, with passengers hanging over the open door. Visitors to the country might call it dangerous. In this country its normal.
The second one is empty. I rush forward as soon as it stops. Pushing my way through I barely make it. Legally it’s a 25seater. In Port Moresby, it’s a depends-how-many-can-fit vehicle.
Less than 2 minutes is all it takes and we’re off.
There’s 5 stops to the next big transit point – Waigani about 6km away. With luck this PMV will go past that without stopping. But this is POM city. Luck doesn’t exist.
Those 6 kilometers between home and waigani bus stop… on a quick day, 25 minutes, and today isn’t a quick day. By a quarter to eight, after crawling through traffic, the Waigani traffic lights are in sight.
The PMVs bus-crew shouts out in tok pisin, asking if anyone’s going down. Several people say aye.
The rest of the passenger’s groan. Most of those coming off aren’t formally employed, and with job opportunities rare in that part of the city, it only means these one’s are off to visit friends or family, while the rest of the commuters are going to work. Fucking lay-abouts.
The bus has stopped now, the lady next to says excuse me and leans across me to spit out the window. I lean back. It’s not so much the buai spit I’m worried about, but apparently, she didn’t get the memo on putting on a goddam deodorant.
How does that ad go again? Yada yada something smell like an angel idk.
Well, it sure isn’t Angel I’m smelling right now. I pull my face mask closer.
We’ve hit Waigani bus stop now. Its packed too. While the disadvantage of a window seat are the spitters, the advantage is that you don’t have to get up when other passengers are disembarking. I’d be careful opening the windows too wide though. Pom isn’t well known for its public safety record.
I check my watch. 7:49am. Looking ahead at the traffic lights, its just turned green. I know we’ll miss that. Doing a quick calculation, I know we’ll be here for about 5mins to whenever the driver decides we can pull out.
PMV drivers are notorious for being unpredictable. Them and taxis. Ask any regular driver. They’ll tell you that too.
I’m patient though. It’s a virtue. My normal clock in is 8:30ish on a Friday. Some of my workmates have a noon schedule…. Unofficially. And depending on if it’s a fortnight.
I smile in relief, the driver’s decided he’s in a rush too. And at 7:51 we’re off. From Waigani there’s only two stops to mine. Still, its another long walk to the office, and the suns up, and warming the city streets.
Three minutes after scooting past waigani traffic lights, I arrive at the biggest shopping mall in the city. Cutting through its gated car park, I turn left down the road, and my building comes into sight.
The security guards greet me as I arrive. We’ve known each other since I first arrived here. I was younger then. Much more naïve. Now, with my 6th anniversary coming up, I can’t wait to leave.
The job’s fine, isn’t too tedious. And there’s lots of free time. LOTS of free time. So much free time there’s nothing to do.
My space is in the basement. A tiny bricked area with four walls, a couple of desks, two computers and an asshole office mate, that sits near me. He’s not in yet. Probably won’t be.
We all got paid yesterday. He must be drinking again. or at the pokies. Or drinking while at the pokies. It doesn’t matter. His absence makes my heart grow fonder – and not in the way you’re thinking. For a guy. He complains. A LOT. And since we have A LOT of free time, there’s a lot of complaining going on.
I get it, the job sucks sometimes, and the pay could be better, but dude, no one cares about your wife’s step-sisters boyfriend who’s seeing his cousin, the pastor’s daughter.
All hail the holy I say.
Its half eight with seven hours and 36 minutes left to leave. I sigh. Another day another dollar.
There’s a little switch behind my desk, to turn it on I have to get on my knees. I’ve bumped my head so many times I can’t recall.
There’s cobwebs and a cornucopia of tidbits strewn about, old lolly-wrappers , and the odd buai skin. I reach further back, till my fingers feel the switch. A click tells me its on. I lean back up.
Thunk!
I just bumped my head again. FUCK. Happens everytime.
There’s no internet connectivity here. Sucks, I know, but over the years I’ve built a little library of books to wile away the time.
Might try the Clive Cussler series. I like romance though, and there’s a stack of books piled in the corner.
My screens on, Its Friday, I don’t expect more than a dozen emails or so today, and most will be about some fundraiser or other that the staff come up with on occasion. I smile, thinking of the last one I attended. That was 6 months ago. A total waste of fifty bucks if you ask me. The food was shit. The company shittier.
I’ve logged in now. Great. Only two emails, and you guessed it, another fundraiser.
Dear darling, it reads, this Saturday we have a fundraiser that starts at – I stop reading, no point really. I won’t have time to go anyway. Not with my schedule, and the fact I’m broke.
The other emails about a restructure. I swear under my breath at that. That’s what they said a year ago, and the year before that. Must be some restructure then. I hate the bureaucracy sometimes, and the amount of red tape and everything else that goes with. There’s enough shit coming from the top down to fill up two dumps.
I switch to my desktop; my CV is in a little folder. I open it up. It isn’t fancy, I haven’t had that much experience elsewhere, but I’m desperate to leave. The job offers security, but nothing else.
I toggle back to my emails, draft out a response to the fundraiser, offering some excuse or other – I need new excuses, I’m running out of them hehe. I press send. Then reach across the desk for my mug. The office is freezing, and the tea this morning hasn’t warmed me up at all.
Coffee is upstairs, on an elevated foyer. The good thing is, my office has an access lift that can take me within a few feet of the table. I pick my mug, head to the lift and press the buttons.
Its 9 now, and there’s a small gathering of people around the coffee area. To call it a cafeteria would be too much. Its pretty much a shelf, with the assorted, no biscuits though. Even if there were, they’d have been long gone before I arrived.
I greet a colleague. An older woman, slightly overweight, ok, I’m being diplomatic, she’s way overweight.
Hi she greets back, we exchange pleasantries, How are your kids I enquire? Oh so and so she goes. Those are her new brood, and from what I have gathered, from her 3rd husband. Or boyfriend. Or baby daddy. I haven’t gotten around to really finding out. Either way, I doubt there’ll be a fourth romantic interest somewhere under those folds of skin she has.
Another colleague joins the conversation. A younger man. Slim, or was, like most people I work with, developing a heavy paunch from continuous drinking.
His suit jacket is oversized, with stained mismatching pants and scuffed shoes. Hi he goes. We Hi back.
He wants to know if I’ll be at the fundraiser, whether I’m free to go with him. I smile and reply no. it isn’t the first time he’s asked. It isn’t the first I’ve said no. I guess some men need a billboard to really drive the message home. In this guy’s case, he might need a full advertising campaign with the slogan NOT INTERESTED.
These thoughts never make it past my lips though. I’m not that much of an asshole. My coffees done. Added in extra sugar and a blob of milk, and I’m heading back to the lift. Talk is there’s going to be a workers strike by some organization or other over pay with a planned protest march later today.
That’s news. If it does happen, it means I get to go home earlier than usual.
The lift door opens and I get a surprise. My asshole office mates arrived for work. I give a cursory nod, but he looks away and continues the phone call he’s on. Dickhead.
Back in the basement, I lay my mug on the desk, recheck my computer, and take out a log sheet of requirements I work on daily. Tedious work, and mind-blowingly numb, but its part of the process that keeps us running.
Two and a half hours later I’m done, leaning back, I feel a slight crack in my back. My neck pops also and I twist to get more comfortable.
My office mate has been, on the phone nonstop. In between patches of the dialect he’s speaking, the one or two English words he’s popped give me an inkling of the conversation. He’s in debt, and the loan sharks are coming. I’m not sure they’re the same ones that sprinkle the nearby roadside market or from somewhere else, but there’s been a fair bit of cajoling throughout his dialogue.
I’m glad I owe no one.
With this morning’s tasks done, an empty coffee mug and no further emails, I’m ready for lunch. Clearing up my space, I sling my bilum about me, grab my headphones and prepare to walk out.
From the dank cold office, I step out into blinding bright sunshine and soaring temperatures. My sunnies help, but I know I’ll have a headache before long.
The markets across the road. We don’t have a crossing, so its look left right left, then a quick dash to relative safety. The market is a string of long tables set up by various vendors, offering buai, cigarettes, the odd fresh fish and lots of cooked meals that you can pick up for a small amount.
I like the lambflaps. Juicy morsels of fat roasted over a hot plate, salted, with crushed ginger and barbecued greens alongside. A nutritionists nightmare, our country’s number one recommended fast food item, suitable for any occasion. I’m hard pressed to find someone who hasn’t tried it yet. I pick up two palm-sized pieces going for 6 bucks a pop, pick up some onions too. Wrapped in greasy newspaper, I cling to my lunch and find a bench under the trees. Its breezy here, the heat of the day dissipates under the shade.
A few people from my office are here, along with other workers from adjoining buildings. Much of the talk is on the strike slash protest march. A handful want to join in, others are more concerned with the opportunists that we all know will be lurking, hoping to cause trouble for the sake of it. Every one feels wary. On more than one occasion that this has happened, the busses stopped running, and it’s a long walk home.
I listen attentively, I’m one of the youngest here, so don’t really have much to say, plus my mouth is full of food, and chewing takes so much more energy.
In between mouthfuls I soak in the news. The strikes over pay, or housing and retirement benefits with another big organization. Thousands of workers are unhappy that profits aren’t being filtered downward. I can relate, being on minimum wage is a perk of where I work. So, some union or other is demanding a stop-work, but the government’s been mum on it.
Parliaments in a few days, and there’s bound to be an outcome. When politicians are involved, the promises flow like honey.
Still though, one of the guys in front of me is adamant joining the strike will benefit us all, saying a policy shift or something along those lines. I’m wary of it. I’ve much to lose if things go south, and finding a job in this city with the pandemic going on is a tough ask.
I’m done with my ‘flaps’. Tasted good. Wiping my fingers on the remnants of the oily newspaper I reach into my bilum for my lime. A good buai before I head back to work. Checking my phone, I sigh. All that talk and its now minutes to one. I chew quickly. The buai is a good stimulant, I just wish you could chew away the depression. My phone buzzes. Its one.
Crossing the road, I head back to work. The building I’m in stands out from the others, and the entrance is a through a series of walk-ways designed to fuck up anyone in heels. I Cut through the carpark instead. The cool of day has long gone, and the city is bracing for a burning afternoon.
I’m sweating by the time I get to my workstation. Its empty. Yet again I’m not surprised, my colleagues gone. Its only the first month of the year but, old habits do die hard.
Still though, I’m left alone, and checking my emails something piques my interest. There’s an invite for a basketball tourney and if I’m keen on attending, I fly off a swift response, checking my relatively empty yearly planner and gleefully penciling it in.
Leaning back, I peruse a handful of documents left over from yesterday. An unfinished task I’d left purposely to end today.
It’s a long tedious list of additional data entry. That should hold me for an hour and a half or so. It takes two. By 3pm I yawn. Stretch my legs. Make a scan and send it off on email. Time for another cup of coffee.
I head up the lift, hit the same coffee table, AND meet the same mob from this morning., including slogan guy.
I nod in courtesy, he smiles back and while my coffee’s pouring in, slides beside me
“I’m going to a bar after work, would you like a drink?”
“I’d love a drink,” I reply,
Though the smile melts off his face a moment later – “can I bring my boyfriend?” He says no, and walks off.
Stirring my cup, I take a sip and close my eyes, inhaling the aroma, I don’t have a boyfriend by the way. Only an hour left to leave and I can’t wait, drowning my cup, I head back to the lift, killing time leaves me only 40 minutes till clock out. I smile, though partially I’m dreading the crowded bus stop after work.
Slogan guy approaches me as the lift door opens, I step in and he follows. I key in my access card for the basement and wait as the lift descends.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” he asks
I smile smugly “Oh I don’t mind, but my boyfriend would”.
I can tell he’s hesitating, calculating what to say next, but the lift opens and I step out, turning away before he can respond. I may seriously need to consider that billboard.
Entering my office space, my office mate is back. There’s a faint smell of alcohol about him.
Hi – greets me, I Hi back.
Here, he says and slides a fifty in my hand.
Whats this I ask perplexed.
Pokies he smiles. I had a good win today.
I cock an eyebrow, smiling back – congratulations I say.
He says thanks, slings his bag out the door and just like that, I know I’ll see him in a week.
Still though, I’m grateful. I could do with clothes shopping at the thrifty second-hands that dot the city, maybe pick up another novel to read this weekend.
Giving my computer a perfunctory look, I begin packing my own things. Everyone will clock out at six minutes past four – I’ve always wondered why though, not that it occupies the more important things to think about. Reminds me, chicken, for dinner tonight and I need to pick up some greens on the way home as well.
Well, everything’s packed, my bilum is heavier than this morning, with the two additional books I’ve stuffed into it. Slinging it over my shoulder I check my phone, 4:04pm. Yep. Almost. I log off my computer, and reach behind the desk for the switch.
THUNK!
Happens every time.
I check around the room, all seems well… and slowly, place my sunglasses on before stepping into the warm afternoon sunlight, to begin my weekend.