Desperate Housesitter
My 92 Toyota Corolla trundled along the dirt road while I merrily belted out eighties tunes in heartfelt exuberance. Suddenly there was a bend in the road and I pitched into gutters that tossed my car back and forth. The cd stopped mid-song and so did I, silently chastising myself for going so quickly down a dirt road when my shock absorbers were about to give way.
I was on my way to see a man about a horse. And some chickens. And some alpacas and dogs too because I was applying to be a housesitter for his idyliic sounding property in the bushland. I had begun early because I knew that with my tendency to instinctively turn in the wrong direction that I needed to allow enough time to find this place. The turn-off should be any moment now...I was still saying that to myself in growing apprehension as the dirt road steadily grew steep and the bush around me more dense. In optimistic perseverance I pushed on, convinced that I had not missed the turn-off to their property.
Half an hour later I was deep in no-automatic-car-land hesitating in front of a water crossing. It had rained the night before causing the dips to fill with opaquely brown water. It didn't look too deep but I hugged the shoulder and kept it in first - just to be sure. It was the third water crossing that really worried me. I checked my phone but I was out of range. There was a niggling doubt now that I had somehow missed the turn-off but with the road so narrow there was no possibility of turning around at this point...
The heat was too much for my air-conditioning which tends to give up after the temperature gauge hits 25 degrees. In dismay I could feel my clean skin become wet with perspiration - not a good look for a first impression at any interview. I kept stopping to check if I had reception and pushing forward as my appointed time of arrival slid by...
Finally, I came to the top of a crest where a four-wheel-drive was coming from the other way. I stopped him but before I could open my mouth he asked me, "Do you know if this is a private road?" I sighed and replied, "I'm new here too - if I keep going where will I pop out at?" He told me that if I kept on for another 10k or so I'd hit bitumen so I decided it would be better to reach glorious asphalt than risk sending my sedan back the way I had come.
When I did reach a bitumen road I was grateful I wanted to get out and kiss it. Instead I perused the options - left or right. Choosing left I was disappointed to find the bitumen mysteriously ended after only fifty metres. To my rage, I found that going right had the same result. Presently an older couple on bicycles pointed me in the right direction and I finally reached the highway once more. Speaking to the owners I asked if it was still worthwhile to see them today (secretly hoping that I had missed out and could go home). Instead they said they had barely begun for the day and would love to see me. Damn it.
After another hour I finally reached their gate on a dirt hill. They had expressly instructed that I close the gates behind me so the horses wouldn't get out so I diligently parked my car on the other side of the gates and went to close the gates behind me. But there was a problem. Through my heatstricken glaze I grabbed one gate and pushed it closed then looked at the other gate which had also swung wide open. It was about three metres away. Letting go of the gate I held onto which swung back to its original position I pushed the other gate closed and looked at the other gate. It was, as before, three metres away. So I tried swinging the gate I held the other way, wondering if it would hold fast at some point at a reachable position. Neither of them would. The windless, dry heat was playing tricks with my head I thought - how could they close the gates if they were alone? Was this some sort of Chinese puzzle which I had to pass before they would give me the keys to the house? Why did I come out here anyway? Finally, I grabbed a large tree branck from the ground nearby and propped it up against one gate and was then able to fetch the other one to close it.
I parked my car and opened the door. Suddenly, my face was blanketed in fur as an over-grown alsation jumped onto me in exuberant curiousity. I manufactured some adoring comments as the owner appeared. He offerred me a drink. I said yes. He asked if I wanted juice or water, I said yes. He asked if I wanted tonic water in my juice, I said yes. I couldn't say any more yeses due to the dryness of my parched throat and I was fairly close to knocking him to one side, turning on the tap and sucking the water out of the facet. Smile politely, smile politely.
The couple were city-people turned feral as they put in their own words and had a solar-powered home with rainwater. They had plenty of animals to keep them too busy to worry about the fact they had bought 160 acres of the scrubbiest, driest, bushland around that would never produce feed for the livestock they had invested in.
Surprisingly, they were only just ready to begin administering the alpacas with their monthly injections. After two hours of helping to corner the beasts and holding them in a headlock while they jabbed and soothed I began to wonder if the timing of our appointment had been at all contrived make full use of my presence. It was past 1 o'clock and we were only halfway through the herd. The final straw was when a female alpaca delivered a vigorous spray of spit square into my face. Laughing on the outside I anxiously wondered if they had been vaccinated for rabies. Wrestling alpacas under a tin roof was making my head swim and I felt nauseousness creep into my insides. After mumbling an excuse I quickly left. And that's the beauty of housesitting. Whatever alternative lifestyle I agree to undertake I can always look forward to...leaving it!
I was on my way to see a man about a horse. And some chickens. And some alpacas and dogs too because I was applying to be a housesitter for his idyliic sounding property in the bushland. I had begun early because I knew that with my tendency to instinctively turn in the wrong direction that I needed to allow enough time to find this place. The turn-off should be any moment now...I was still saying that to myself in growing apprehension as the dirt road steadily grew steep and the bush around me more dense. In optimistic perseverance I pushed on, convinced that I had not missed the turn-off to their property.
Half an hour later I was deep in no-automatic-car-land hesitating in front of a water crossing. It had rained the night before causing the dips to fill with opaquely brown water. It didn't look too deep but I hugged the shoulder and kept it in first - just to be sure. It was the third water crossing that really worried me. I checked my phone but I was out of range. There was a niggling doubt now that I had somehow missed the turn-off but with the road so narrow there was no possibility of turning around at this point...
The heat was too much for my air-conditioning which tends to give up after the temperature gauge hits 25 degrees. In dismay I could feel my clean skin become wet with perspiration - not a good look for a first impression at any interview. I kept stopping to check if I had reception and pushing forward as my appointed time of arrival slid by...
Finally, I came to the top of a crest where a four-wheel-drive was coming from the other way. I stopped him but before I could open my mouth he asked me, "Do you know if this is a private road?" I sighed and replied, "I'm new here too - if I keep going where will I pop out at?" He told me that if I kept on for another 10k or so I'd hit bitumen so I decided it would be better to reach glorious asphalt than risk sending my sedan back the way I had come.
When I did reach a bitumen road I was grateful I wanted to get out and kiss it. Instead I perused the options - left or right. Choosing left I was disappointed to find the bitumen mysteriously ended after only fifty metres. To my rage, I found that going right had the same result. Presently an older couple on bicycles pointed me in the right direction and I finally reached the highway once more. Speaking to the owners I asked if it was still worthwhile to see them today (secretly hoping that I had missed out and could go home). Instead they said they had barely begun for the day and would love to see me. Damn it.
After another hour I finally reached their gate on a dirt hill. They had expressly instructed that I close the gates behind me so the horses wouldn't get out so I diligently parked my car on the other side of the gates and went to close the gates behind me. But there was a problem. Through my heatstricken glaze I grabbed one gate and pushed it closed then looked at the other gate which had also swung wide open. It was about three metres away. Letting go of the gate I held onto which swung back to its original position I pushed the other gate closed and looked at the other gate. It was, as before, three metres away. So I tried swinging the gate I held the other way, wondering if it would hold fast at some point at a reachable position. Neither of them would. The windless, dry heat was playing tricks with my head I thought - how could they close the gates if they were alone? Was this some sort of Chinese puzzle which I had to pass before they would give me the keys to the house? Why did I come out here anyway? Finally, I grabbed a large tree branck from the ground nearby and propped it up against one gate and was then able to fetch the other one to close it.
I parked my car and opened the door. Suddenly, my face was blanketed in fur as an over-grown alsation jumped onto me in exuberant curiousity. I manufactured some adoring comments as the owner appeared. He offerred me a drink. I said yes. He asked if I wanted juice or water, I said yes. He asked if I wanted tonic water in my juice, I said yes. I couldn't say any more yeses due to the dryness of my parched throat and I was fairly close to knocking him to one side, turning on the tap and sucking the water out of the facet. Smile politely, smile politely.
The couple were city-people turned feral as they put in their own words and had a solar-powered home with rainwater. They had plenty of animals to keep them too busy to worry about the fact they had bought 160 acres of the scrubbiest, driest, bushland around that would never produce feed for the livestock they had invested in.
Surprisingly, they were only just ready to begin administering the alpacas with their monthly injections. After two hours of helping to corner the beasts and holding them in a headlock while they jabbed and soothed I began to wonder if the timing of our appointment had been at all contrived make full use of my presence. It was past 1 o'clock and we were only halfway through the herd. The final straw was when a female alpaca delivered a vigorous spray of spit square into my face. Laughing on the outside I anxiously wondered if they had been vaccinated for rabies. Wrestling alpacas under a tin roof was making my head swim and I felt nauseousness creep into my insides. After mumbling an excuse I quickly left. And that's the beauty of housesitting. Whatever alternative lifestyle I agree to undertake I can always look forward to...leaving it!
