The Time I Bought a Face Mask

So... the airport.

It was about 12.20pm.

I was walking through the airport with dad, picking out stuff to buy at duty free.

'Malibu! Woohoo!'

Then, graciously, dad give me the change and said.

'I've gotta go get on the flight now. Use the rest of this kiwi cash'

$25 to spend!!!

So, I browsed several stores, hurrying, because it was actaully bording time for my flight, and eventually I bought some rotorua, al natural, facial mask. So basically, face mud.

So, really hurrying now, bording time was 12.30, I scurried to my seat in the terminal. My new purchase, my face mask, was clenched tight in my hand. I sat down and released a sigh. They hadn't called me up yet.

I finally began to take notice of my surroundings and noticed that sitting directly opposite me was a indian family, each dressed in their traditional clothes with a red spot on their foreheads. They were eating burger king and the smell of their burgers was wafting over, engulfing me. I couldn't ignore it. I couldn't ignore them.

I looked up, and glanced away quickly.

I looked up again.

I noticed one of the men staring at me a little intently...

I decided to challenge his gaze and hold eye contact. Instead of embarressing him, it was the chance he'd been waiting for.

Man (in a thick Indian accent) 'Hello. Excuse me. Where did you get the mud?'

Me: 'oh, just upstairs'

Man: 'upstairs?'

Me: yes. Just upstairs.

Man: oh.

Man: and how much did you pay?

Me: (a little taken back) oh, like, twenty dollars

EVERYONE SUDDDENLY SITS UP A LITTLE BIT STRAIGHTER

Man: TWENTY DOLLAR?

Me: yes

Man: Twenty?

Me: yes

Man: ...so. (Looks at wife) twenty dollar. Upstairs.

Me: yes

Man: (looking intently at me) shambu tghe shay use it sha tarahat

Me: mmmm! Yes!

Man: before? Harabushi shi tamakains

Me: I'm sorry. What?

Man: Shara hi she bo. Before?

Me: I'm sorry what?

Man: sha-hari. Sho, have you ushed it beshore?

Me: I'm sorry. I can't hear you!

Man: (looks at wife in confusion who in turn gestures towards me) HAVE YOU EVER USED THE MUD?

Entire terminal falls silent and evesdrops in on our conversation.

Man: THE MUD. HAVE YOU EVER USED THE FACE MUD BEFORE?

Me: … uh. No

Man: No?

Me: no

Man: YOU KNOW. WE SEE MUD FOR 29 DOLLLAR

Me: oh?

Man: YES. MUD FOR 29 DOLLAR

Me: oh

Man: YOU GET FOR VERY CHEAP

Me: Yes

Man: UPSTAIRS YOU SAY?

Me: yes.

He nodded to himself, then began to speak rapidly in Indian to his wife, then, like an intense game of chinese whispers, she turned her head to the woman sitting beside her, pointing and gesturing in my direction. That lady then turns to her husband.Amidst the babble of excited indian, I heard the words 'twenty dollar', and 'face mud' over and over.

The second man turned to face me with an intensity which rivalled all the intense gazes I was getting from everyone else in the terminal.

2^nd Man: “You say you buy face mud for twenty dollar?”

Me: *siiigh* Yes.

2^nd man: Can I see?

Me: ...

2nd Man: Can I see mud?

I make eye contact with the old white grandma beside me. Subtly she shakes her head. But the 2^nd indian man is insistant. Resigned, I hand over the mud. I watch as he excitedly shows it off to both sides of his extended indian family.

2^nd Man: two. Oh. Twenty. Twenty you say?

Me: look. Just take the freaking receipt.

I hand him the recipt and it is studied just as, if more more intently, than the actual packaging.

Indian men: Look! Look! $1.18 GST! Twenty Dollar!

Finally, FINALLY. They tire of it. I get my purchase back, AND the receipt. The two men confirm once again that, I bought it for twenty dollars, just upstairs. And they set off, taking two of the many surrounding Indian women with them, on a hunt for the twenty dollar face mud. And everyone in the whole terminal breathed a sigh of relief and went back to whatever else it was they were doing.

The Time I Wrote a Letter to My Face (Warning, kinda gross)

Dear Face.

I have a complaint to make.
Now, I'll accept that on the whole, you've treated me rather well. I've never really had too many complaints with you, maybe except the fact that no matter how much sunscreen  put on you, the ridge of my nose still always gets sunburnt.
But enough is REALLY enough.

These pimples.
Oh my God.
What the hell are you thinking?

Okay. I get it. People get pimples.
We all went through our thirteen year old breakouts. And we cried and sobbed and gripped about which products we were using, to clear, cleanse and cover these godawful little face invading aliens.
But then, life started looking up.
Hitting fifteen/sixteen you began to get things right. You began to clear. On some days I'll even give you that you looked marvellous. So fresh and clean. Good Job Skin!!

Was that the problem Face? Did I never praise you enough? Is that why you're doing this now?
Because that seems a bit extreme skin.

It's like, as soon as I went to America you were like,
'BAM'

Yes. That IS pus dripping from my face, into my hand... :S

And, to be entirely honest with you, I really think it is overkill. I mean, I feel I have produced enough pus in these past 6 months to power and run a small car. The world does not need an alternate energy source that badly Face!!!

I've been through the different steps with you.
I've shown remorse:

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I never moisturise. I repent! I promise I will next year. It'll be my new years resolution, honest"




I've tried bargaining:

"Okay Face. It's 2.00am. If I finish this essay in the next 40min, no more breakouts. okay? Okay"




I've tried rationalising with you:

"C'mon Face. We're in this together. Let's WORK together. Stop trying to sabotage me!"






Finally I have just reached a point of frustration and rage...


F*******************CK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU FACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Please! Get over your God complex. You do not control me and you can NOT behave just 'however' you like. Work out what the hell is going on back there and sort that sh*t out.

Much appreciated.

Sincerely,
Elyse

The 5 stages of being locked in

My Last Full day

So, it began as a sombre morning. To be perfectly honest, I didn't have much of an appetite as I headed to the dining hall for breakfast with my friends. When I sat down I didn't really feel like talking and neither did they. Breakfast was morose.

Then, somone received a message which whipped us all into an agitated frensy.

'A bank's been robbed. Gunman on campus. We're in lockdown'.

And this is a documentation of how we passed out time over the next 3 hours.

The Five Stages of being in Lockdown

1. Fear.

We realised we were locked in

Alone...

There could be a crazed gunman on campus. We could be his next targets. We know nothing! We are helpless. We begin scheming and scouting places we could hide if it becomes necessary. We also formulate a list of who amoungst us are the weakest and least valuable to evolution and the human race. If (when!!??) it comes down to it, who is the first one we will use as a human shield?

2. Realisation.
   
   
   We realise we are locked in.

Alone...

All exams cancelled

... and all the food on campus

This quickly leads to a celebratory feast

3. Pain

Celebratory feast is swiftly followed by serious food regret, many food babies, and many trips to the bathroom

4. Boredom

Serious bordom begins to descend. A killer all on it's own. 

Scott and Olivia form plan of escape.

It is swiftly foiled by the door guards

There was some entertaining discourse

Much facebook checking and updating...

3 hours in and it is just starting to get too much, even for the best of us.

But worst of all was being able to look out at people who had been 'trapped' outside. 

They are relaxing and smoking in the sunshine. I begin to consider taking up smoking just so that I have a 'legitimate' reason to leave.

5. Relief
   Rachel and I decide enough is enough. When we see random hungry stragglers being let into the dining hall without receiving a second glance from the door guards we decide to make a break for it – by strolling gaily and calmly in the sunshine. 5 mins later the lock down is lifted. They got him.

I proceed to head to my exam and answer questions like this...

What a day!

The Time I had the Weirdest Conversation

The weirdest, most disturbing conversation I ever had.

It was a Monday.
My editing team and I were about to leap headfirst into our brutal assignment, something we'd been working on for weeks already.
I had arrived before the others, blurry eyed at 10am, and went to Mr Ankle's office to retrieve the keys for the lab.

The following experience proceeded as follows.

*knock knock*
Mr Ankle: Hello?

Elyse: Hi, it's just me. Can I just grab the keys for the lab?

Mr A: Oh sure

 I enter the office to  retrieve the keys.

Mr A: So, you're leaving soon I hear.

Me: yes. I'm pretty sad about it. I've had such a good time here

Mr A: Yes? What do you think of your classes?

Me: They're great, really, I've learned so much. I think I'm really going to have an edge over the people back home now.

Mr A: Oh good. And how do you find the editing class?

Me: Oh, that class is terrible. haha!

Me:...I'm joking?

Really long awkward silence

Me: seriously, editing is great. It's the most practical class I do. It's great.

silence

Mr A: What College are you at back home?

Me: The University of Technology.

Mr A: In North Tasmania???!!!

Me: ...uh. what!? no. Sydney.

Mr A: (disappointed) oh. 

more silence

Mr A: I had a girl friend once from Tasmania.

Me: oh? (trying to recover from the shock that he's actaully ever had a girl friend)

Mr A: Yes.

silence.

Mr A: You kinda remind me of her.

Me: ...

Mr A: Yes. She was tall as well. And I don't know if all Australian women look like they can chop wood...

Me: What?

Mr A: I said, I don't know if all Australian women look the same, like, look like they can chop wood...

silence

Me: uh

silence.

Me: Anyway. um, I was wondering if you might be able to write me a reference...

Mr A: what for?

Me: for the editing class

 silence

Me: Uh. Is that okay?

Mr A: Can you send me an e-mail on what you want me to say?

Me: like... just, how i'm going, my work and...stuff

Mr A: Well... send me an e-mail on what you honestly expect me to be able to say.

Me: um, okay.

silence.

Mr A: Because, I mean, you're competant. But I don't think you're great.

Me: ...um. Okay.

silence

Me: thanks