Things I've learned from working in an unnamed Lebanese Restaurant on King Street in Newtown.

The bread is not fresh. No. Not even then. It's not.

When employees that aren't from the developed world use the term "friend"... it usually means that they're about to totally screw you over.

The baklava isn't fresh either.

Yelling is the only means of communication. They will yell at you to "FILL THE WATER. FILL IT UP!!!" and "ANSWER THE PHONE!! ANSWER IT!!!"... but don't be confused by the notion of 2-way yelling. That doesn't fly.

I hate pan flute music. A lot.

Don't ever ask to get paid. Getting paid is not always part of the job description.

If you don't order the banquet- don't worry. That's what they'll order for you anyway.

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I'm not going to go into too much detail about the rest of the things that happened to the food there-- just... don't. Just.

... don't.

ANYWAY, on another note- I'm happily removed from that fucking hellhole of a job, and have relocated to the sunny (albeit chilly) country-side town of Echuca, Victoria. That's right- boguns, billy-goats, and (strangely) a lot of bars. Happily, that makes a girl of my waitressing experience a precious commodity. I've never had such an easy time finding work (albeit it's only been for a day or so at each place- sighs-). I've been spending my mornings sleeping in, and my nights warming myself with meat pies. It's been comforting.

Still broke, but that's not new news... wonder if maybe I should have gone to Brazil instead of trying to work. Might have made more sense. Headed to Adelaide in mid-August, then Queensland, then PERU afterwards though... suppose it's good to stay somewhere where hygiene is up to the international standard. I'm spending oodles more than I'd be in any developing country... but then again, a shitty hostel here is the equivalent of like, a 4-star hotel in Ethiopia. Suppose it's a decent trade-off.