As the windows rattled and the hostesses put away the drink trollies I began searching for my life jacket. It was clear that things had turned to crap and that this flight was going nowhere but down.
I searched and applied for jobs like some kind of job maniac. I spoke to many friends, family and potential employees. I also built a gate for the front yard, but in hindsight that was my mind's way of creating a distraction. And that's another story.
But all was in vain. While my new gate stood proudly on its hinges in the front garden I was unable to achieve my ultimate aim of bailing out of this doomed flight. I knew then that I just had to skull another beverage and hope to survive the impact.
Sunday passed by and with dread lapsed into Monday. My first day in a new role didn't feel quite as exciting as it should but I packed my new bag, jumped on a tram and decided to meet my fate head-on.
I had received a timely email on the Friday before telling me that the organisation did in fact have an office and I was duly provided with the address. This was my destination but upon arrival I found there to be no sign of any such company on that floor. It turns out that this office was a rented space and was in fact only accessible for five days each month. This I wasn't told.
The plane began to take another dive as I received a phone call and was told 'meet me downstairs, I'm in a red hatchback and we're going to Dandenong for the day'. I don't presume that everyone knows what Dandenong is like, but let me disabuse you from a theory that it's a lovely place full of happy people and the smell of success.
On the way to this heaven on earth I was informed that the topic for research that I'd be doing today is sexual wellbeing products. A fancy name for condoms, lubricants and toys. Enough to make anyone blush, but I don't think it really sunk in for me as I was still getting over the fact that I didn't have an office and was instead going to be outside Dandenong plaza for the whole day.
Halfway through my first Subway cookie (which was admittedly moist and delicious) one of the pilots began talking to a large and unattractive Dandenong local about her bedroom habits. My digestive system was kind enough to process this cookie in the face of adversity, but the gag reflex almost let it all out when I was told that I was to run the next interview with a gay male from Heidelberg.
The rest of my first day was a blur, but I did note that smoke began flooding the cabin at this point. I'm not sure if it was the numbing cold of Dandenong at that time of year, the sickeningly pungent smell of Subway bread or the ongoing sense of menace from legging-wearing bogans, but things were looking grim indeed.
Through a mist of sensory confusion I waded and only once I had reached the relative safety of inner Melbourne did the doubt about my ability to last the crash in one piece descend upon me.
The second day saw much of the same, although through the smoke I did note that we went to Waurn Ponds instead of Dandenong. Oh, and that the pilot started driving erratically and almost caused a series of accidents on the Princes Freeway by driving at 60km per hour and then speeding up again.
At this point an engine had fallen off and things in the main cabin had got fairly raw. Abuse was flying around the cabin and as the pilots were seemingly absent I was asked over the P.A. to travel to Ballarat to stand in the condom aisle for four hours. Like a market research pervert.
Accepting my fate and knowing full well that this would be the last day my career would have on earth, I bravely fuelled up the Golf and drove into the abyss. Ballarat is cold at this time of the year. Seven degrees in fact.
An explosion was imminent as I stood in aisle 12 of Ballarat Coles. Many things passed through my mind in the last moments before the impact.
Could I actually intercept fate and kill myself before the crash? Well, Aisle 12 had lots of Panadol and I thought that at a pinch I could choke myself on one of the cords from the private label brand electric kettles they sell. Or eat enough tins of Karicare Gold Plus for me to be driven crazy from the sounds of weird children laughing.
But that was the easy way out - I'm anything but gutless. Although the more I heard Natalie Imbruglia's 1997 classic 'Torn' blaring out of the crackling supermarket speakers (I counted one per hour) the weaker became my resolve.
The last thing I remember before the plane was torn asunder was a homeless man coming up to ask me where the vegetable stock was. I didn't ask whether he meant cubes or powder. I could easily have told him where Coles's surprisingly good range of torches was, but vegetable stock eluded me.
As I clumsily replied in the negative, something made me wonder whether that man was once a market researcher like me. My condoms and lubricant was his stock powder, but the bad music and seemingly pointless work was the same.
He may have started out a young and ambitious man like me but instead of his plane crashing it was repaired and refuelled in the air, like some endless loop of confusion and pointlessness.
I was awoken from my musings by the crash of the impact. Sparks flew, well overloaded baggage fell on heads and there was general chaos. In the midst of this chaos my resolve became set. I was to resign and was to do so straight away.
I may yet be able to salvage something from this flaming wreckage.
I searched and applied for jobs like some kind of job maniac. I spoke to many friends, family and potential employees. I also built a gate for the front yard, but in hindsight that was my mind's way of creating a distraction. And that's another story.
But all was in vain. While my new gate stood proudly on its hinges in the front garden I was unable to achieve my ultimate aim of bailing out of this doomed flight. I knew then that I just had to skull another beverage and hope to survive the impact.
Sunday passed by and with dread lapsed into Monday. My first day in a new role didn't feel quite as exciting as it should but I packed my new bag, jumped on a tram and decided to meet my fate head-on.
I had received a timely email on the Friday before telling me that the organisation did in fact have an office and I was duly provided with the address. This was my destination but upon arrival I found there to be no sign of any such company on that floor. It turns out that this office was a rented space and was in fact only accessible for five days each month. This I wasn't told.
The plane began to take another dive as I received a phone call and was told 'meet me downstairs, I'm in a red hatchback and we're going to Dandenong for the day'. I don't presume that everyone knows what Dandenong is like, but let me disabuse you from a theory that it's a lovely place full of happy people and the smell of success.
On the way to this heaven on earth I was informed that the topic for research that I'd be doing today is sexual wellbeing products. A fancy name for condoms, lubricants and toys. Enough to make anyone blush, but I don't think it really sunk in for me as I was still getting over the fact that I didn't have an office and was instead going to be outside Dandenong plaza for the whole day.
Halfway through my first Subway cookie (which was admittedly moist and delicious) one of the pilots began talking to a large and unattractive Dandenong local about her bedroom habits. My digestive system was kind enough to process this cookie in the face of adversity, but the gag reflex almost let it all out when I was told that I was to run the next interview with a gay male from Heidelberg.
The rest of my first day was a blur, but I did note that smoke began flooding the cabin at this point. I'm not sure if it was the numbing cold of Dandenong at that time of year, the sickeningly pungent smell of Subway bread or the ongoing sense of menace from legging-wearing bogans, but things were looking grim indeed.
Through a mist of sensory confusion I waded and only once I had reached the relative safety of inner Melbourne did the doubt about my ability to last the crash in one piece descend upon me.
The second day saw much of the same, although through the smoke I did note that we went to Waurn Ponds instead of Dandenong. Oh, and that the pilot started driving erratically and almost caused a series of accidents on the Princes Freeway by driving at 60km per hour and then speeding up again.
At this point an engine had fallen off and things in the main cabin had got fairly raw. Abuse was flying around the cabin and as the pilots were seemingly absent I was asked over the P.A. to travel to Ballarat to stand in the condom aisle for four hours. Like a market research pervert.
Accepting my fate and knowing full well that this would be the last day my career would have on earth, I bravely fuelled up the Golf and drove into the abyss. Ballarat is cold at this time of the year. Seven degrees in fact.
An explosion was imminent as I stood in aisle 12 of Ballarat Coles. Many things passed through my mind in the last moments before the impact.
Could I actually intercept fate and kill myself before the crash? Well, Aisle 12 had lots of Panadol and I thought that at a pinch I could choke myself on one of the cords from the private label brand electric kettles they sell. Or eat enough tins of Karicare Gold Plus for me to be driven crazy from the sounds of weird children laughing.
But that was the easy way out - I'm anything but gutless. Although the more I heard Natalie Imbruglia's 1997 classic 'Torn' blaring out of the crackling supermarket speakers (I counted one per hour) the weaker became my resolve.
The last thing I remember before the plane was torn asunder was a homeless man coming up to ask me where the vegetable stock was. I didn't ask whether he meant cubes or powder. I could easily have told him where Coles's surprisingly good range of torches was, but vegetable stock eluded me.
As I clumsily replied in the negative, something made me wonder whether that man was once a market researcher like me. My condoms and lubricant was his stock powder, but the bad music and seemingly pointless work was the same.
He may have started out a young and ambitious man like me but instead of his plane crashing it was repaired and refuelled in the air, like some endless loop of confusion and pointlessness.
I was awoken from my musings by the crash of the impact. Sparks flew, well overloaded baggage fell on heads and there was general chaos. In the midst of this chaos my resolve became set. I was to resign and was to do so straight away.
I may yet be able to salvage something from this flaming wreckage.
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