ANZ. Remember those three letters guys because they will be printed on my death certificate under ‘Cause of Death’. ANZ – or the Australia and New Zealand Banking Group – are the people kindly looking after my funds while I’m here in Australia. They were partnered with my currency broker and could open my bank account before I even landed in the country. Great, I thought. The office in London could even order my debit card so it was ready for me to collect on arrival. Even better.
It has been a week now and is the card ready? Simply put – no. It wasn’t even ordered.
I was meant to leave Sydney on Friday, but I now have to extend my stay until Monday, in the hope that the card will be ready then. It might even be later than that. Everybody else has gone with the other banks in Australia and ALL of them have their cards and are ready for action. Damn it. They were also mailed their cards, whereas I have to pick it up from the branch. Double damn it. So, ANZ, if you happen to be reading this then let it be known that you can kindly suck it and I hope you contract some form of banking herpes.
ANYWAYS….
Other than my rage inducing morning, the rest of the day was pretty uneventful….that was until 5:30pm when a local bar has its ‘Happy Hour’. $4 for a beer for two hours. Fuck yeah.
Our beloved Belgian friend, Tom, invited us out for dinner and a few beers over Happy Hour – a nice quiet evening I thought. 11 happy hours and 11 gallons of beer later and our evening finally came to a close. Battered, bruised, and with yet another goddamn kebab in my stomach, I’m not feeling my finest. I don’t do hangovers, but this morning I managed to make an exception.
I’m such a dorm-star
After the Happy Hour at the bar, we stopped off in the local liquor store and headed back to the hostel. Much to my surprise, most of the BlueParrot were in the dining room drinking and laughing. We even had a good chat with Nils and Lars, the two German guys I mentioned once before. They are a little quiet, much like I was on the first day here, but thanks to Lucy reaching out as she often does, we now get along with the guys pretty well. We’re even friends on Facebook now. Proper bromance.
I wish we would have stayed in the hostel really, but Peter, our new American friend, wanted to go to a techno club he knew about. I’m partial to a bit of techno so I thought it would be a great idea. Turns out I’m not always right.
The club, and every other place we tried thereafter, wouldn’t let Peter in because, basically, he has a dodgy face. That may sound hilarious but it’s kinda true. He always looks partially stoned, even though he’s not. The doormen here ask you if you’ve been drinking (a bit of a redundant question really – you’re trying to get into a bar…) and no matter what answer Peter gave, they turned him away immediately. Not the rest of us, mind you, we’re all sweet and innocent enough to sail past the door Nazis unimpeded.
So all in all it was a pretty mixed-review ending. Poor Peter had to stay out on the street like a dirty dog, but we made sure to have fun in his absence. It’s not all bad though, he has just told me he got a job after searching for one day. Feel free to rub some of that California luck on me, Peter.
Tomorrow beckons to be a good day. Lucy and I (and maybe Tom) are taking our new German friends – Nils and Lars – out for a night in Sydney. Look out Australia, it’s going to be a European invasion. Hopefully my liver won’t be too mad at me.
But for now, as always, stay frosty, internet…
Scott Christiaan 