This story appears in today's 88th edition of Shift Miner Magazine. You can read the current issue, and a number of back issues, here.
I haven't had any hate-mail yet; but I'll keep you all informed.
Matt was happy to live in a rented house. He didn't plan to spend his whole working life in the mines, and there was less financial risk than buying. Matt was happy renting, but Jo, his wife, wasn't. "Rent money is dead money," she'd say.
After a few months of persuasion, Matt wasn't so happy to rent any more either. They'd been saving more money than he'd thought, and if the mining boom kept up they might even make a tidy non-taxable capital gain. They talked about what they wanted in a house, and started looking. Jo found a place on Maraboon Street that she liked the look of, and booked an inspection with Dawn, the real estate agent. Matt got off work early to come along.
Dawn was a plump, middle-aged lady in a slightly too small black skirt. She had a bubbly personality, and wore too much jewellery, perfume and make-up. She was too much all round, Matt thought; but he smiled, shook her hand, and got in the back seat of her car beside Jo.
In a few minutes they were outside the Maraboon Street place. "Can we go in now?" asked Jo, unlocking her seatbelt.
"No, this house is occupied. We need to give the tenants a few days notice first."
Jo said nothing. Matt was confused, and asked her, "Didn't you make this appointment last week, so we could look inside that house?"
Jo nodded and shrugged. Matt shook his head.
Dawn perked up. "I've got a great home I can show you around that I think is really undervalued. No tenants. I've got the keys here." She took them to a house near the river.
Matt looked suspiciously up an down the street. He'd seen the peak river levels in this area during the 2008 flood. "We're not interested in areas that were affected by the flood," he said.
Dawn said, "You can still get flood insurance for this property."
"Our flood insurance will be to buy a house that wasn't half filled with water."
She didn't seem to like that, but wasn't easily put off. She jostled out toward the house to open it up.
Jo shrugged again. "We may as well look inside while we're here."
There were a lot of things that Matt felt like saying, but he held them all in, and was almost immediately glad that he had. He let Jo lead him by the hand into the house.
Dawn showed them around. The place had two bedrooms and a two-way bathroom. They wanted three bedrooms and an en suite.
"I should tell you, said Dawn, "that there was termite damage found during the repairs after the flood."
Matt snorted, and got two dirty looks. He commented that it didn't look like a very big block. "How many square metres is it?"
"I'm not exactly sure," said Dawn.
"Approximately?"
"I've got all that in the car," she said. "I'll look it up for you. It has a lovely gourmet kitchen."
Matt thought his head was going to explode. "Hold it right there," he said, raising his hands in the air. "I really need to clear some things up."
Dawn looked at him expectantly; plastic smile in place.
"We may not have been clear enough. We are interested only in three bedroom houses, with an en suite, on at least a 700 square metre block, in areas not affected by the 2008 flood. Do you have any houses meeting those criteria?"
Jo looked either embarrassed or about to laugh. Matt could see Dawn's mask slipping.
"Yes," she said after a moment. "The home on Maraboon Street."
"Great. And when Jo called you last week, did she say that we wanted to inspect that property during this appointment today?"
"She was certainly interested, but they really are asking too much for that place. Especially for a lovely young couple like yourselves, buying your first place. This home here is really affordable, and I think, quite undervalued."
Matt realised that his prejudice against estate agents had just became a genuine loathing. He took a deep breath in, and then out. "I think we're done here," he said at last, and walked out of the house towards the car.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
A Good Book
The word for Sunday Scribblings No. 218 is "mess". This is my micro-sized story.
He went to his bedroom and made his bed. He made it very neatly, so that the blankets were tight across the mattress. He picked up all of his toys and clothes from the floor. Clean up your mess, he said to himself, over and over, as he worked. He said this in his head, not out loud. He was careful not to make much, but was very quiet as he tidied and sorted.
When the room was perfect, he sat on the floor in the corner and read his book. The book was good. He could imagine himself as one of the people in the book, in another place. When he was reading a good book like that, he couldn't hear the real-world sounds, like his parents yelling at each other.
He went to his bedroom and made his bed. He made it very neatly, so that the blankets were tight across the mattress. He picked up all of his toys and clothes from the floor. Clean up your mess, he said to himself, over and over, as he worked. He said this in his head, not out loud. He was careful not to make much, but was very quiet as he tidied and sorted.
When the room was perfect, he sat on the floor in the corner and read his book. The book was good. He could imagine himself as one of the people in the book, in another place. When he was reading a good book like that, he couldn't hear the real-world sounds, like his parents yelling at each other.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Legend in His Own Lunchbox
I wrote this story, published in Shift Miner Magazine, as a response to a challenge. I blogged about this story here, but only provided a link to the on-line version of the magazine. By popular request, the full text of the story appears below.
"So, how's business Nathan?" asked Julie. Nathan had been her boss until he'd left to start his own company just over a year ago. Julie had stepped up to take his old role as Maintenance Superintendent of Freshwater Coal. Nathan was a bit of a diamond in the rough, but she still cared enough to ask how things were going.
Nathan smiled and smoothed his hand over his mostly-bald head. "Fantastic," he said. "Can't get the men or materials to meet demand." He added with a bit of a smirk, "You must be pretty jealous, huh Julie?"
Not again. She'd thought Nathan was just cruising around site, flying the flag and trying to win some more work. Instead, he was starting his "small cog and big wheel" routine. Julie was sick of it. "Why would I be jealous, Nathan?" she asked.
"I know what it's like in that job," said Nathan. "You're a small cog in a big wheel, inside an even bigger machine. It's the same with all the multinationals. Unless you're head of Australian operations on a million bucks a year, you're a nobody."
"And you're not a nobody, I suppose?"
Nathan looked shocked at the thought. "Of course not. I'm numero uno: the man in charge. I run my own company, and I'm my own boss. I'm not hidden away in a big corporation reporting to numb-skulls any more." He pointed vaguely towards the administration building.
"No, now your hidden away in your own company."
Nathan's jaw began to hang a bit low. Julie had never talked to him like that when he was her boss, of course. Poor bloke; she almost felt sorry for him. "It's not like you've become an international super-star. You're a legend in your own lunch box. You've got ten blokes working for you now, right?"
"Eleven, actually." Nathan pulled on his goatee.
"Fine. With supervisors, planners, engineers, trades and others, I have 23. What's your annual turnover: one and a half million dollars?"
Nathan's forehead was covered in sweat. "Just under $1.7 million."
"Great. My budget this year is $18 million. How much of your work this last twelve months came from just my department? Fifty percent?"
"More like forty," said Nathan. His face was red.
Julie thought it was probably more like sixty, but she let it go. "That means that I'm your boss 40% of the time, and I can sack you at any moment by only inviting quotes from other suppliers. You're not your own boss: your customers are your bosses now."
Nathan looked like he'd had enough. "Look, what's your point," he said softly.
"My point?" said Julie. "My point is that there's nothing wrong with being a lowly superintendent, or a fitter, or an operator in a multinational mining company. I – we – like to be a small part of something big. That doesn't make our part any smaller than yours. You've chosen to be a big part of something small. If what you're doing makes you happy, that's fine. Just don't assume that the rest of the world is insanely jealous and wants to be like you. And please, don't try to put me down for what I've chosen to do." Julie smiled, then added, "Especially when I'm 40% of your boss."
Nathan slunk out of her office. They got on fine after that.
"So, how's business Nathan?" asked Julie. Nathan had been her boss until he'd left to start his own company just over a year ago. Julie had stepped up to take his old role as Maintenance Superintendent of Freshwater Coal. Nathan was a bit of a diamond in the rough, but she still cared enough to ask how things were going.
Nathan smiled and smoothed his hand over his mostly-bald head. "Fantastic," he said. "Can't get the men or materials to meet demand." He added with a bit of a smirk, "You must be pretty jealous, huh Julie?"
Not again. She'd thought Nathan was just cruising around site, flying the flag and trying to win some more work. Instead, he was starting his "small cog and big wheel" routine. Julie was sick of it. "Why would I be jealous, Nathan?" she asked.
"I know what it's like in that job," said Nathan. "You're a small cog in a big wheel, inside an even bigger machine. It's the same with all the multinationals. Unless you're head of Australian operations on a million bucks a year, you're a nobody."
"And you're not a nobody, I suppose?"
Nathan looked shocked at the thought. "Of course not. I'm numero uno: the man in charge. I run my own company, and I'm my own boss. I'm not hidden away in a big corporation reporting to numb-skulls any more." He pointed vaguely towards the administration building.
"No, now your hidden away in your own company."
Nathan's jaw began to hang a bit low. Julie had never talked to him like that when he was her boss, of course. Poor bloke; she almost felt sorry for him. "It's not like you've become an international super-star. You're a legend in your own lunch box. You've got ten blokes working for you now, right?"
"Eleven, actually." Nathan pulled on his goatee.
"Fine. With supervisors, planners, engineers, trades and others, I have 23. What's your annual turnover: one and a half million dollars?"
Nathan's forehead was covered in sweat. "Just under $1.7 million."
"Great. My budget this year is $18 million. How much of your work this last twelve months came from just my department? Fifty percent?"
"More like forty," said Nathan. His face was red.
Julie thought it was probably more like sixty, but she let it go. "That means that I'm your boss 40% of the time, and I can sack you at any moment by only inviting quotes from other suppliers. You're not your own boss: your customers are your bosses now."
Nathan looked like he'd had enough. "Look, what's your point," he said softly.
"My point?" said Julie. "My point is that there's nothing wrong with being a lowly superintendent, or a fitter, or an operator in a multinational mining company. I – we – like to be a small part of something big. That doesn't make our part any smaller than yours. You've chosen to be a big part of something small. If what you're doing makes you happy, that's fine. Just don't assume that the rest of the world is insanely jealous and wants to be like you. And please, don't try to put me down for what I've chosen to do." Julie smiled, then added, "Especially when I'm 40% of your boss."
Nathan slunk out of her office. They got on fine after that.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Jack be Nimble
"I've got a theory about women," said Allan.
"Do tell," said Reg.
"All women hate me," said Allan. He lit a smoke. "They've made some sort of pact."
"You idiot."
"What?"
"That's not a theory," said Reg. "That's a hypothesis."
"You're red hot, you are."
"What?"
"I'm pouring my heart out here," said Allan, "and you pick on my grammar."
"It's not your grammar what's wrong; it's your choice of words."
"You never give, do you?"
"I consider myself to be most generous," said Reg, "but, if I'm right and you're wrong, I will not budge."
"Forget women; I need a theory about you."
"You mean a hypothesis?"
"You need to loosen up. You need to be kinder, and a bit more flexible; not so quick to jump on people."
"Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick."
"You are certifiably insane."
"That's a theory."
This story was written with the inspiration of Three Word Wednesday Issue CXCII. The words are: budge, nimble and theory.
"Do tell," said Reg.
"All women hate me," said Allan. He lit a smoke. "They've made some sort of pact."
"You idiot."
"What?"
"That's not a theory," said Reg. "That's a hypothesis."
"You're red hot, you are."
"What?"
"I'm pouring my heart out here," said Allan, "and you pick on my grammar."
"It's not your grammar what's wrong; it's your choice of words."
"You never give, do you?"
"I consider myself to be most generous," said Reg, "but, if I'm right and you're wrong, I will not budge."
"Forget women; I need a theory about you."
"You mean a hypothesis?"
"You need to loosen up. You need to be kinder, and a bit more flexible; not so quick to jump on people."
"Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick."
"You are certifiably insane."
"That's a theory."
This story was written with the inspiration of Three Word Wednesday Issue CXCII. The words are: budge, nimble and theory.
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