My horoscope didn’t mention interviewing for a job next to the morgue
This is how you remind me of what I really am.
Me: “And why do people freak out when I say courgette or aubergine? It’s like saying ‘the red of the egg’. What else could it be?”
The boyfriend: “You also said you were eating peaches when they were nectarines.”
“Oh - My - God! It’s literally the same thing! All peaches are stone fruit! Jam is marmalade!”
“Jam is most certainly not marmalade. You can’t have strawberry marmalade!”
“I can’t? What, is it venomous?”
“Why would it be venomous? It’s not going to bite you.”
“What does that have to do with strawberries?”
“The jam would, if anything, be poisonous. Not venomous.”
“That’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
“Like peaches and nectarines? It’s not the same thing! You ingest poison, and you’re usually wounded with venom.”
“That’s still a toxin in your body. If I’m in the hospital because a spider bit me, I don’t think doctors would care if I said poison or venom.”
“What’s with you Italians and your one-word policy to indicate different things.”
“We so don’t.”
“Why must you sing Nickleback every time you pick between ‘remind’ and ‘remember’?”
“They sound the same and mean the same thing in Italian. It’s a mnemonic act!”
“ ‘Why’ and ‘because’? ‘Please’ and ‘you’re welcome’?”
“That’s just being efficient, plus you forgot ‘I pray’. Oh, that’s our stop. What’s the time? I’ll write it down.”
“10:46. As I said, it’s roughly 40 minutes.”
“I just need to get the route down and the timing right. I don’t want to mess up on the day of my interview. So from this bus stop, where’s the closest tram stop to the hospital?”
“Why, did marmalade bite you?”
Days before my interview for the hospital job, I dragged him out to rehearse my commute. This is one of the many ways he indulged my perfectionist inclinations. I had a notebook and pen in hand, ready to jot down times, locations, and directions. I knew how prone I was to getting lost in Melbourne and I didn’t want to take any risk.
The morning of the interview
The insider friend who got me this interview met me at the entrance and emotionally, also a bit physically, carried me to the right office door that I would have never found without her help. It wouldn’t be anyone’s first instinct to walk past an elevator and take the dark staircase to the basement of a Hospital to find the Medical Records office. We also walked past the morgue, which was not on my horoscope for the day.
At that point, I’d met her only a few times and I could already tell we’d be great friends. There was something about her that made me think she was ‘one of us’, meaning one of the alternative kids, picked last during p.e., goth-adjacent. You probably know the type.
I stood outside the interview door, with my suit, power stance, and a mid-ponytail. Because a high-pony is not suited for a job interview, and I was not Mormon enough for a low-pony. Waiting for my turn I glanced at a pamphlet explaining some new Freedom Of Information rules and responsibilities. Looking around, I realised nobody wore corporate clothes. When the manager, who was not wearing a suit either, opened the door I shook his hand and took a seat.
My inner Ravenclaw had its moment to shine when he asked me about Freedom of Information and why it’s important for the Health Information Service department, specifically.
I got this. I thought to myself.
I also felt very proud of how I answered the everpresent ‘predicted challenges’ question. I was honest in saying I never worked in a hospital, and on the plus side, I wouldn’t have to re-learn processes and regulations that might be different between Italy and Australia. I also added that having studied Greek and Latin I was familiar with scientific medical terminology and English as a second language wouldn’t pose a concern given the healthcare context.
Drop mic.
I walked out a bit nervous but overall positive that I made a good impression. Outside the building, I took in the beauty of the city around me. Buildings were reflecting sunlight in a multicoloured mosaic and there was sky everywhere, from the ground up.
The sky. What a strange thing to notice.
Growing up in a valley means that you are, quite literally, stuck between mountains. Any amount of visible sky requires a 45-degree incline of your head, and the most exciting thing would be a Mondrian of chemtrails.
Europe, as a subjective centre of the World map, had planes travelling above all the time and in any direction. I doubt I’ve ever seen the sky without at least five chemtrails. Now that I was at the opposite end of the world, at the very bottom, closer to Antarctica than to the northernmost city of Australia, there was no reason for anyone to fly above.
Sorry Lana, no chemtrails over our country clubs!
I was making my way to the bus stop, considering stopping for a coffee and feeling my corporate fantasies in the city.
All pretences of dignity failed when the manager called me right away and I found myself jumping up and down in the middle of an alley because I had a job. A real 6-month contract with the largest and oldest Hospital in the city!
Welcome to Season 1 of ‘Barbs and the City’
It had a nice ring to it, much better than ‘Melbarbara’.
Directly from the archives, please enjoy this authentic photographic evidence:
Also, congrats on getting the job back then. You look beautiful with the low pony. Very neat post-it and how fascinating re the root words and your understanding of Latin meaning you can decipher medical terminology.
Always love your writing and humour. 🫶🏻
If you’re funnier in Italian you must be very funny indeed. 🤔😂😅
Congrats on the job! Rehearsing the commute is some next level of prep 😅. Looking forward to the new Barbs in Melbourne series.