Don’t wear this @ AusPost

Yellow is not a good idea @ Ikea

Mistaken identity is not a concept that I’m unfamiliar with, from my school boy days of tireless “Mr Bean” taunts to my travels across the globe with an uncanny ability to be asked for directions in every city I visit it just seems to be one of those things I’ve become accustomed to. Today’s effort was without a doubt the most ludicrous to date, so much so that I just felt the need to share.

I had a few packages that required mailing, nothing particularly exciting there, in fact going to any post office within Melbourne’s CBD is like stepping in to a void where queues to tellers seem to grow longer rather than shorter and god forbid you visit one during your lunch hour because you’re bound to return to the office well beyond the hour you had to take in the first place! I’d done the right thing today, getting down to a new-to-me building as my working quarters has just relocated. It was much larger than my previous local, tellers at both ends of what seemed like an endless plateau of packaging wonders born down by eye piercing fluorescent light.

Collecting my required boxing materials I proceeded to one of the free “addressing areas” or as the casual observer may put it, “big black desk with pens on it” in the middle of the imaginary that is the Elizabeth St GPO. Two packages in to my five and an elderly gent beckons my attention wavering a scrawled shred of paper and looking clearly confused about where he was perhaps mistaking the brightness of lights for St. Peters gates.

“Excuse me, is this Bourke St?”
“No, this is Elizabeth St.” I replied.
“I’m trying to get to Little Collins St” he continued on, “Isn’t that it crossing over there?”

I felt sorry for the poor old guy he was practically entering cardiac arrest with confusion and being that this was, for once, the actual city I lived in where I was being asked for directions I didn’t mind helping him out.

“If you go back down this main street you’ll first cross Bourke Street and then the next one is Little Collins.” I explained.
Now as simple and clear as these instructions were there was a further five minute discussion detailing this sentence in perfect and repeated clarity until at some point the stars aligned themselves with Jupiter and a sense of calm broke out over his face with a sudden realisation that he didn’t have that far to go.

Satisfied with my good deed for the day I returned to my prior position behind the table picking up my pen to continue arduously inking addresses to cardboard, quickly flushing the warm glow that adorned me mere nano-seconds earlier.

“Excuse me, I just want to send…”

Looking up halfway through the postcode for Toowoomba (4350 by the way) across the black laminated surface of my desk stood not one, not two, but three complete strangers who had taken it upon themselves to queue for my rather inadequate postal services.

“I’m sorry, I…”
“I just want to send this to Sydney” she cut in, thrusting a yellowed envelope beneath my face.
“I’m sorry I don’t work here, I’m just trying to address some packages” I finally managed to say.
“Oh… I thought you did.” (well that’s kind of obvious really now isn’t it) “It’s that red shirt you’re wearing” she stated before trouncing off in disgust.
“You mean the red shirt with the giant logo looking like Colonel Sanders from KFC on it?” I thought to myself before looking up at the remaining pseudo queue with a comical shrugged look to which was returned, and I kid you not, a roll of the eyes and an audible “tsk”! I’m sorry Sir, the next time I’m trying to mail something I’ll be sure to make sure I’ve completed Australia Post’s induction course and can tend your enquiry in a more satisfactory manner next time. Moron.

I can’t blame them though, it’s like Christmas walking in to a post office and seeing no one in the queue I would’ve dove in like them too more than likely! The point is it was the shirt that did it, wearing a colour that was in some way reminiscent of the establishment’s uniform and that I should’ve been more aware of that as it’s not the first time I’ve had it happen, Ikea being the other major offender. Blue jeans and a yellow shirt in Ikea is either a recipe for constant annoyance or utter mayhem depending on your psychological stance. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve been asked for directions/building advice/to lift something/measurements/and alike in Ikea, one day I think I’ll jump behind a register and start scanning things while yelling “beep” and proclaiming the line to be “cash only”.

The moral of the story boys and girls is that all of this was clearly my fault for choosing to wear the wrong thing in the wrong place, god forbid humanity to be aware of their surroundings. I will endeavour to ensure my clothing better contrasting those places of chance social interaction to not confuse you world. My bad.

I’m a public transport user, it’s not something I’m particular proud of, nor ashamed for that matter; after all it’s saving the environment blah, blah, insert tree-hugging-soliloquy-here. The point is, and trust me I am getting to one, is that by being a public transport user you’re privy to some of the world’s more annoying and unhygienic (that’s another story all together) traits.

Lets ignore the fact that talking on your mobile phone whilst in a crowded public place is down right rude, obnoxious and always results in the person talking in excess of ten times the volume of a 747 engine less than a metre from your ear drum for just a second and examine the latest fashion of annoyance by utilizing your phone’s whizz bang speaker phone functionality.

Most phone’s these days have the ability to use them in a “hands-free” mode where the caller’s voice is pumped out for all to hear and the phone’s microphone is turned up a notch to capture your own voice the general idea being that the phone is not right next to your mouth. Makes perfect sense really, the functionality was ideally created so that you could use your phone in your car (legally) even though that too is now counted as illegal in South Australia, requiring your car to be equipped with a completely separate hands free device. What completely bemuses me, and this is where we get to this post actually meaning something, is why people feel the need to use their “speaker phone” in public places? Why would I or anyone else within a hundred feet feel the need to hear both ends of your conversation let alone just your side?!! If you absolutely *have* to take the call turn off the speaker you f@#king moron!

I might add that this isn’t limited to public transport by any means, lately I’ve seen it around every shady corner I turn. It makes no sense, these people hold the phone less than two inches from their mouths to ensure the person on the other end hears them properly so why not exert yourself that little extra and put the bloody thing next to your ear and save the world from your rather boring life. (OK, so that’s harsh, but someone has to make a stand here!)

The only thing more dumb (although slightly less annoying to everyone around you) is seeing people with the older style handsfree kits (you know, the ones that use a cord to attach to your phone and have a microphone about 3/4 of the way up that then leads on to an earpiece) and they have their phone in one hand whilst the other one has the microphone portion of the cord held up to their mouths because the thing cost $5 out of a discount bin and has the listening reach of an 93 year old woman that was born deaf! Unplug the stupid handsfree kit and put the phone up to your head, you’re just as likely to get testicular cancer as you are brain! Grrr!!