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Final Christmas Drinks

December 17th, 2010 by the_lifer
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Friday at Wazzer’s bar, and it’s getting weird before Christmas. People dash in and out, double- and triple-booked for the evening. After-work drinks at work get further drinks poured on top of them. It can be fraught.

Winona and Willow had been a peaceful oasis at one end of the bar, comparing office party notes. Then, Will arrived – with Ulrika. Ulrika, all smiles, brandishes a hand. “Look what Wayland gave me for Christmas!”

Winona swallows. “That’s not an engagement ring, is it?”

“No, no,” Ulrika laughs. “Blue topaz, he says, to match my eyes. So sweet. I can’t wait to meet his cousins in Kaitaia. So romantic, a real Kiwi Christmas! What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Eketahuna. Family. With Will,” says Winona, crisply.

“And you, Willow?”

Willow looks down and rubs her knuckles against a coaster. “Oh, well, Dad’s in Laos. He lives there with his wife now. And Mum moved to Perth after they split up, and she works for this mining company, and I thought I’d stay here.”

“No boyfriend? It might help if you had your hair cut, you know, properly.” She gestures at the long, natural ends of Willow’s hair.

And Willow snaps.

She bats Ulrika’s hand away, eyes suddenly hard. “I’d rather have no boyfriend than yours! I went out with him for four months. Has he borrowed money from you yet? Asked to move in? Maybe talked about moving to Europe?”

Ulrika goes white. “How do you – do you still talk to him?”

“I don’t need to, he does this to everyone. And – and  blue topaz is cheap as chips, it’s not natural, they treat it to make it that colour. And – it’s not just me! Tell her, Win.”

“We knew him when we were at uni, he’s rather dodgy, really. He dealt drugs. I wouldn’t go to Kaitaia.”

Ulrika’s lips move for a moment before any words come out. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier? And you – you’re still in love with him, to talk about him like that. It’s just sour grapes. I can’t believe this. Will, I’ll text you – from Kaitaia!” She turns on her heel and walks out.

For a moment, their end of the bar is a bubble of silence.

Finally, Winona huffs, “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Your hair is perfectly fine.”

Will, sweating profusely, adds, “The Wayland thing. It’s good she heard it from you. She and I are close – we work together – and she and Win are friends – right, Win? And, y’know, you had the experience. So, thanks. She’ll calm down. Right?”

Wazzer says, “You wanna join my folks for Christmas, Willow? All the ham on the bone you can eat.”

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Ready to Rumble?

December 13th, 2010 by admin
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Sometimes, when you live in the Hutt, you have to be hard as. No nonsense. Rough as guts. This is one of those times.

The black SUV circles the parking lot, then circles again, the driver spewing profanities. Finally, it wedges into a space and disgorges its passengers.  One, two, three tough-looking blokes, in stubbies and cut-off tees, emerge. Other groups eye them up warily. The ringleader steps down and flicks sunglasses away.  “You know the plan, mates.”

One of the blokes eyes a queue on the sidewalk and asks, wistfully, “Can’t we get a free snarler first?”

“No-ooo!” Helena Hutt shrieks. “Look at that line, you’re not six years old at the kindy fair. It’s bloody Christmas Club day and the sooner we get in and get groceries, the sooner we’re out. Oooh! Grab that cart!”

Inside the grocery store, a sweaty blonde wearing angel wings and halo hands them a list of the evening’s specials, For Christmas Club Members Only.  The specials are sincerely good, and through the customers’ weekly Christmas Club payments, it feels like the groceries are “free.”  This puts the shoppers into a carnivalesque frenzy, buying as if groceries won’t exist tomorrow. Their broods are hopped up on free-sample lollies. Towering couples cram their trolleys to the brim and above with crates of wine and beer, whole hams, five-pound bags of candy, and cheesecakes on special (limit 4 per customer). It’s like shopping in the Land of the Giants.  Small, round Helena is certain that families plan it that way. “Right, we’ll send Uncle Sid, he used to play rugby back, and is your Sharon still working security at that bar? If she goes with him then we’ve got a solid offensive action and a fighting chance at a full case of the sparkling wine.”

Helena has fought fire with fire, recruiting her husband and his brothers as muscle. Once they’re through the all-important wine and beer section, she lets the blokes go free-range. One of them suddenly decides to do all his Christmas shopping. The other one is collecting every free sample going, whether he’ll use them or not –  packets of pomegranate granola, sanitary pads, and cat food find their way into his stubbie pockets. She doesn’t protest. They’ll need the rations to survive the epic check-out line.

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Some Junket?

December 8th, 2010 by the_lifer
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Willow, a laptop tucked under her arm, is  traversing more rarefied environs of the University of Victoria. Finally, she comes to a room full of people wearing rumpled shirts and eyeglasses that, one way or another, are straight from the 1950s.  This, she thinks, has to be the place.  She’s right.

To freshen up her curriculum vitae, Willow is speaking at a small academic conference. She slips among her colleagues for lunch and starts chatting. There is a friend from university; there is another work acquaintance; there is her old lab supervisor. They make a little cluster as they go listen to a dull keynote speaker.

In the auditorium, Willow clocks up the bums in seats against the speakers in the program. Sure enough, most of the attendees are speaking. At afternoon tea (just as lavish as lunch) several people confide in her that their own universities or employers, often amazingly far away, have paid for the conference. “I did want to see Wellington,” they admit, comfortably.  Willow nods, enviously. Of course the best way to see a new city is on someone else’s credit card. But her Ministry is being very tight at the moment, and she knows she only wrangled the day and a half off and the registration fee out of expenses because it was local.

She only has a moment’s wistfulness for the full junkets of yore before a happy distraction arrives: a tray of hot sausage rolls. Immediately, the crowd divides into suddenly-intent Kiwis and bewildered overseas visitors. They’re even the good kind, crisp pastry and little flecks of herbal green in the probably-identifiable meat. Willow tells the visitors what they are, but she doesn’t surrender any of her own handful, dunked in tomato sauce.

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The Do

December 6th, 2010 by the_lifer
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This week and next, spare a thought for all the service staff and restaurants hosting Wellington’s annual “dos”. They’re playing to a tough crowd. As budget belts stay tightened around town, staff have often contributed out of their own pockets to these events. Wellington is the wrong size for falsehoods, and it’s too easy to put the lie to any alibis. So, along we all go to our work Christmas Celebrations.

Seeing no other option, having dragged themselves along,  when they arrive at the function venue, the Departments and Ministries and Organizations suddenly expect to have wonderful fun. Drinks are demanded, buffets are ravaged, dietary restrictions are suddenly outed as servers wander around asking, “Who had the halal gluten-free?” Fighting boredom in the company of co-workers already experienced for a full 45 hours that week, scrutinizing their partners is the name of the game.

Winona is fascinated to meet the partners  in person. Her co-worker Jennifer’s partner, big and beaky in cellphone photos, unexpectedly glows with the charisma of a footy star and is a major flirt. Even he is intimidated by the bluff Mrs. Largeman. Their department manager must have learned his slyness from a lifetime of negotiating around her.

Mrs. Largeman’s gimlet eyes take Winona in top to toe. “And where’s your husband?” she booms.

Winona skips over the fact that she and Will aren’t married. “He has his work function tonight.” This is the pure truth; both of them agreed that, at this point in their revived careers, they couldn’t not go to their own work party.

Going “to the loo,” she whips out her phone and texts Will. How’s yours? This is OK but not staying late. Wayland with Ulrika?

Alas, there is no swift reply: a sure sign that Will is having a good time without her.

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O Hypno Tree

December 3rd, 2010 by the_lifer
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Winona has had an excellent day. For once, she managed to get a Jewish holiday right, winning a real smile from a dry manager and a squealing hug from a labile American co-worker.  It’s a dazzling evening, and her friends are all around her. Her partner Will, sweet geeky Willow, Will’s best mate Wayne and his wife Henny, lugging their toddler. They are all lolling on the grass near the Telecom Tree as it flashes Christmas light patterns into their brains.

“It’s hypnotic, isn’t it?

“Mmmmm. It’s the Hypno-Tree. We will accept Telecom as our new corporate overlords…”

Some of the  tree-watchers in other groups, overhearing with giggles and dilated eyes, may have helped themselves to a little extra Christmas magic. Winona, however, eyes the light patterns sharply. “I’m still bothered after brunch last weekend. Wayland’s up to it again.”

Willow sits up, and a green flash from the tree catches her sickly expression.

The males murmur assent. “I’d like to talk to Ulrika,” Winona states, and their murmurs deepen into approving bloke grunts.

“Good way to handle it. Secret women’s business and all that,” says Wayne.

Everyone looks at him. “You’re not going Australian on us, are you, mate?” Will asks.

“I lived in Sydney for five years. I’m allowed.”

In quiet agreement, they let this slide and watch the dusk nestle down around the lights.

Finally, Will says, “I feel brainwashed enough, what about you?”

“Yeah, we need to get the littlie home.” Everyone stands, brushing off bits of lawn, blinking and squinting.

Light patterns still flickering across their retinas, one of them says, “D’you know, they actually have a decent data plan now?”

“You don’t say. I suppose I should check it out.”

Thanks to Rhiannon and Nicola for letting us borrow “The Hypno Tree!”

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The Beating Heart

December 1st, 2010 by the_lifer
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All around Wellington for the past few days, our cast of thousands got up, looked out the window, and smiled. There it was! One of the Good Days! It could all end tomorrow, time to get out and enjoy the sunshine. No need to pick up the phone and see where their friends were going, or might be. For those free of children, there was only one destination: Cuba Street.

No Wellingtonian worth their windproof polarfleece would deny that Cuba Street is the heart of their city.  As a tender heart should be, Cuba Street is shielded by a tight ribcage of buildings against the worst windy blasts off the harbor. This allows the city’s bohemian lifeblood to flow up and down it in all seasons. And it’s between the brains of Lambton Quay/The Terrace and the lower functions of Courtenay Place.

Is it that bohemian, really? You can get an $8 kebab and a $10 T-shirt, but if your budget extends to a filmy couture wrap and truffled hand-cut chips, Cuba Street is there for you, too. There’s a niche for every demographic, grey hairs and wry eyes behind the registers, well aware of two great truths. The more things change, the more they change the same; and money spends just the same no matter who enables the EFTPOS transaction.

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Winona’s Weekend 2: Brunch And A Young Man’s Fancy

November 23rd, 2010 by the_lifer
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Winona’s Saturday had all the components. A morning snuggle, a late start, peeping out at the weather, brunch.

Brunch was the Ulrika-and-Wayland show. They were an appealing couple to look at, Ulrika’s pale and dark beauty lit up with love, Wayland all cheeky grin, crinkled eyes, and floppy hair. Everyone in the cafe was smiling indulgently at these springtime lovers. Winona couldn’t look away as her rival went gaga over her troublesome, long-ago ex.

“So for Christmas we were thinking of going to Northland! Where was it? Kaitaia? You’ve got cousins there. They will lend us motorcycles and we can explore. Then maybe next year we go to Europe and we can meet my family.”

“Or they could visit us, y’know, show them around here. Take yer dad out fishing with a box of beer, like.”

Ulrika dimples. “Such a Kiwi ‘bloke’,” she coos. “I’m going to the loo!”

When she leaves, Wayland’s expression shutters. Eyes hooded, he asks Will, “You got a connection?”

Will’s neck turns red. “Gave it up ages ago, mate. You outgrow it, you know?”

Wayland shrugs. “No worries, mate, if you’re looking, give me a text, eh? I’m crashing at ‘Rika’s. Just for a bit, y’know. I’ll find a place proper after the holidays.”

As they left the cafe, Winona muttered, “I feel sick.”

“Me, too,” said Will, queasily. “I didn’t know they were living together. I mean, uh, must have been…that bacon?”

“Something was too greasy.”

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Winona’s Weekend 1: Friday Night Barbie

November 22nd, 2010 by the_lifer
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Come Monday morning, Winona collapses gratefully at her desk. Her weekend has put her through the wringer.

Friday night, there was no escape from taking her JAFA cousin Angela around the bars of Courtenay Place. When Winona describes Angela to her friends, they invariably protest, “But not all Aucklanders are like that! My Auckland friends are lovely!” Winona is quite sure that they are. However, they’re not Angela.

Angela might have become the capitalist stick insect she is today to rebel against her sweet artsy mother, Agatha, Wilhelmina’s sister. Or it might have been the cumulative effects of growing up in “Remmers” and going to Auckland Grammar. She may even be a cyborg under the platinum hair, eyelash extensions, nail extensions, and spray tan – who can tell any more?

With the two of them being like chalk and very spoiled fromage, Winona was hard put to it to show Angela a decent time out. Until she realized that all she had to do was…the opposite.

So, Angela got taken around all the bars and hangouts that Winona and her mates have slated as too dull, too pretentious, or too expensive. The kind of places that catered to out-of-towners. Perfectly plucked eyebrows lifted in appreciation (only slightly due to her early start on Botox) as Angela checked out stratospherically priced cocktail menus, and was checked out in turn by dull men in suits or Ed Hardy shirts. She didn’t seem to want to be entertained. Being dressed up like Friday Night Barbie, in a short black dress and tall black heels, and given her due as the hottest in the room, was  enough. At their third bar of the night, a windowless box charging $22 for a sickly pousse-cafe, Angela hit it off almost too well with a few blokes.

Thinking that, perhaps, if she put her foot in it, they’d be able to leave these bores, Winona had asked loudly, “Won’t your fiancee mind?”

“I’m texting him right now! Here, take a picture of us and I’ll send it to him.” Winona complied, stunned with disbelief. Fortunately, she was able to pour Angela into a taxi soon after.

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Defending The Pa

November 17th, 2010 by the_lifer
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Spring has reached the irritating point in Wellington.  Everyone is trying to cram in social engagements and important work tasks before the start of the “silly season” . Willow is about to have words with her flatmate, Wazzer, who has started to bring home the pick of this year’s handsome drunk backpackers at 2 AM. Winona and Will are being prickly, Will with spring libido and hay fever, Winona aching more than ever for a baby to dress in cunning summer onesies. Then, something happens to unify them.

Winona flicks her phone onto mute. “Will, can we have brunch with Ulrika and Wayland next weekend? I’m trying to get out of seeing my cousin Angela too much.”

Will freezes. “Angela? Angela from Auckland? Awful Angela? Christ, I can just see her contorting her trout pout to sneer at our car.  Why’s she condescending to leave the Big Smoke?”

“She’s selling pharmaceuticals now. Apparently they hire stunners like her to talk the doctors into them.”

Will, well aware of Angela’s pulchritude, remains unmoved.  To a bloke like him, that polished daughter of Auckland commits the cardinal sin: being high-maintenance. Winona’s tousled hair and chipped nail polish are suddenly dearly beloved. “Yes, let’s do that brunch, take them out to Eastbourne and see Nan on the way back.”

“Brill, Will! Mum can’t say no to that.” Smiling cheekily, she flicks the sound back on. Will strategically heads to the bathroom for a few minutes. When he emerges, Winona looks deflated.

“I got us out of anything over the weekend. But Angela wants to do Courtenay Place with me on Friday night.”

“D’you have to? She’s a grown slapper.”

“Aunt Agatha up there’s been so good to me for years.” Winona sighs, recalling pick-ups from the airport, shopping fun, and long dreamy stays at Agatha’s rambling Matakana bach, marred only by her cousin’s whining and bullying. “Maybe Willow has a salsa dancing thing we can go to?” She picks up her phone again, typing this time.

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