Cross-Cultural Conversations

Observations by a Malaysian studying in Australia

The Last Day
It was my last day as a Sales Promoter. I decided to resign 2 weeks early so I can concentrate on settling my visa and various other documents to secure my place at university. (This turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made, because at time of writing, 5 days before I fly to Australia, and a month after my resignation, I’m still busy sorting out the last details).

Being the workaholic-wannabe that I am, I resolved to work doubly hard and not slacken off for even a single minute, although I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, with it being the last day and all.

I reported at the ticketing office at 7 am sharp instead of the usual 8. My manager looked sick, and eventually it took him double the time it normally takes to issue the tickets and float money necessary for me to start work. “What a great start to a supposedly productive day,” I thought.

At around 10 am, we received instructions by the Head Manager to stop selling all tickets. There was a technical problem caused by a faulty wire and the train service had to be grounded.

First the sick manager, and now this?! I felt certain some sinister forces were preventing me from selling tickets on my final day of work. After almost 3 hours, the train service was restored. I set off to sell my remaining tickets, and I swear I was so resolute and determined, nothing could stop me. Nothing, except for the fact that there were no air passengers to sell to… Midday is always the quietest time at the arrival hall, and, with no potential customers around, I decided to just enjoy my last lunch hour as a Sales Promoter.

Up to this day, 2 months after I took on the job, I still remember the face of the woman who bought my first ticket; but I have no recollection of my last customer. That last ticket signalled the end of my first ever work experience, but the significance stops there.

All in all, my last day was a largely uneventful one. But part of me wanted it to be that way. It makes the parting process a whole lot easier.

*I’m now no longer part of the Malaysian part-time workforce as I prepare for university life in Australia.

 

posted by: Tembaga2 at 15:51 | link | comments (3) |

One Coincidence Too Many

I was waiting at the airport for the train to KL Sentral when 2 sweet and cheerful girls, donning the bright red Hotlink prepaid service t-shirt, came walking towards me. “Oh, no...promoters!” I sighed, temporarily forgetting that I’m in the same line of work, except that I get to face people wearing a purple blazer, the colour of choice among fashion rejects and flamboyant attention seekers.

“Hello!!” the bubbly voices greeted me, and automatically handed two glossy pamphlets for me to browse through. Because I know - from my own work experience - how devastating it can be to get the brush off from total strangers, I decided to just indulge them, even though I wasn’t particularly interested in the Hotlink service.

They started explaining the merits of using Hotlink while I pretended to peruse the pamphlets with the diligence of a high school student crashing for his exam. I told them I wouldn’t be using this thing much since I spend most of my time in Australia, to which they countered by enlightening me of yet another service by Hotlink that solves the inter-continental challenge between Asia and Australia. “These promoters have thought of everything… there’s no way to escape” I sighed silently.

One of the girls asked me where I lived in Australia, to which I replied Melbourne, because I know they wouldn’t have a clue where the small regional town of Geelong is. “Oh really, I’m going there too!” she replied, with the bubbly enthusiasm you’d expect from a promoter. “Oh really?” I enquired. I was getting curious. It turns out she’s going to Melbourne to further her studies and eventually we both found out we were going to the same university. “What a coincidence!” she reflected. “Yes…what a coincidence...” I lamely repeated. After the blue-haired guy incident*, this is just one coincidence too many for me.

We promised to meet up again in Melbourne, not as part-time promoters, but as full-time students. Besides, I would never want her to see me in those shocking purple blazers again.

It’s amazing sometimes how closely linked you are to total strangers. All that’s required is a little bit of introduction.


*read earlier post, What A Small World (and the generalisations I make of it)

 

posted by: Tembaga2 at 10:37 | link | comments (2) |

It’s A Small World (and the generalisations I make of it)

Today I wasn’t in a particularly ‘aggressive-marketing’ mood, so I decided to just watch the world go by as the time ticked slowly until my shift ended. Although it means that I wasn’t going to reap a lot of profits, it gave me a rare opportunity to observe people closely, when I would otherwise be busy selling tickets to them.

From my observations, I realised just how popular those Louis Vuitton traveller’s luggage are with air passengers. Everywhere I turn I’m bound to see someone carrying those identical brown or white bags, with the ubiquitous LV logo spots all over it. So popular are these carry-ons that they seem to be the airport equivalent of plastic bags. I wondered how many of them are genuine, since Louis Vuitton is not only admired by wealthy jetsetters, but Asian counterfeiters as well.

I also noticed (and I may be making an unfair generalisation here), that Russian travellers never ever smile. Maybe the extremely cold weather back home, coupled with the dark wintry nights has something to do with it. However, the few Swedes that I met were surprisingly very pleasant, and you can’t get anywhere colder than Scandinavia.
A guy in blue punk hair was walking towards me, and I decided to enquire whether he would be interested in buying a ticket. From my experience with friends and my visits to Camden in London (the punk centre of the city), punks, and people with alternative-fashion in general, are much friendlier than mainstreamers, despite their intimidating appearance. Even if this guy wasn’t going to purchase a ticket, I had a gut feeling I wasn’t going to be subjected to a harsh rejection, which I quite regularly get from middle-aged travellers.

It turns out he did intend to buy a ticket. “Nice hair, man”, he said before leaving. I get that a lot, from children to adults, men and women. “Oh, you too”, I said, staring at his bright blue hair for the last time.

The next day I took leave as I was bribed by my mum into attending a lunch gathering of students and ex-students of Geelong schools, organised by one of the parents. I wasn’t particularly eager to attend these sort of social events, but my mum promised that the food will be good, so I figured, oh what the hell.

It turns out the food was good. As I was busy enjoying the baked potato and roast beef, a guy with blue punk hair entered the restaurant and sat beside me. Hey, how many blue-haired people are there in Malaysia? I asked him if he bought a train ticket recently. Of course, he did. It turns out he was an ex-student of a Geelong school, which happened to be my own school’s arch-rival, and is now studying at the same university I am about to attend in a few weeks’ time.

What a small world we live in. 

posted by: Tembaga2 at 17:11 | link | comments |