in the air.
“Cheers to that,” Dad replied.
“So what are the papers for A Baby?”
“I’m looking in the job sections. To see what I can see.”
“Geez, you’re taking a lot of direction from this card lady. How much did she charge ya?”
“Fifty bucks.”
“Fifty bucks! Crikey! I coulda told you all that shit for free baby, then you could have bought two cartons of beer instead.”
“Yeah, and put them in the bar fridge so every bastage could pilfer them,” Kylie replied.
“Yeah, like we are,” her dad said with a laugh.
‘Yeah, like we are, I’m not that silly Rargee.”
“No, A Baby, you’re the smart one! Now get me another one please so I can wet my whistle just like how I wet that damn darling dawg Nigel before,” he said raising both eyebrows to Kylie then laughing his signatory laugh to himself.
“What are you doing tonight A Baby?”
“I am working from 5 to 10 pm and then, I am changing my outfit, touching up my war paint and catching up with Sophia from
Cloncurry.”
“Sophia? Have I met her?”
“Ah, no. You would remember meeting Sophia, Rargee. She’s the hottest little biscuit I know.”
“Hotter than you A Baby?”
“Shit yeah, next to her I look like a hairy armpit.”
Her dad burst out laughing. “Oh baby, don’t sweat it, you’re lovely.”
“Mmmm, spoken like a true jaded father who has to endorse his own kid’s attract–ability,” she replied sarcastically.
Kylie’s dad walked over to the washing line and picked up the long-handled tongs and started picking up dried dog turds from around the yard and putting them into a plastic bag. He chatted to himself in his character voice, “Dried, yep, fried, yep, shale yep, stale yep, all of the dags, into the bag, pick up the stools from your pet, whoa, hang on, this one’s still wet!” He turned to Nigel the dog and while pointing at the fresh and glistening brown mess on the lawn yelled, “This one’s still wet Nigel. It’s still got steam drifting off it ’cause you only just laid it, fresh for me to step into, damn darling dawg.” Nigel’s ears and chin pricked up as he looked at Kylie’s dad. When he saw the brown-tipped tongs pointing at the steamy heapy he had just disowned, he looked down and put his paws over his eyes, figuring if he couldn’t see nobody then nobody could see him and perhaps he could just get on with his life.
As her dad muttered about the messages the mutt had left him around the lawn, Kylie casually flipped through the Townsville Bulletin and continued to laugh and talk with her father. During any silence from chatter while he was out of earshot as he shifted hoses around the yard and moved beer bottles into the garbage bin, she would scan the employment pages a little closer from the top left column down to the bottom of the page and back up to the top again. Her whole head would move to follow the page as if she was painting a squiggle using an imaginary brush on her nose. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for but she had an intensity of wanting to find something, something that stood out and grabbed her attention. Suddenly, something caught her eye. In the middle of the paper was a large advertisement, a quarter of the page in size, with the proudest logo she had ever seen. Even though it didn’t have any proximity to water, it caught her eye and made her gasp.
The company logo was BHP. “Ahhhh! The Big Australian,” she said.
The logo was in a pattern of Australia. It made her heart swell with pride. Maybe it was because it was a company that had small beginnings but now ranked amongst the world leaders, maybe because Kylie had no ties to them and it all seemed glossy and new compared to the old mine she could see from her house and during her daily commute and from her current place of work in the middle of town. BHP was starting a mine only three hours away from Mount Isa and had taken the name of the cattle station that the mine was located on. Cannington. It even sounded prestigious to Kylie. The job ad listed positions from Site Administrators, Above Ground Operators, Under Ground Operators and Site Support Staff. Maybe they had a job at their new tailings dam for her? It was clutching at straws but she would apply anyway.
She read the advertisement then re-read it remembering every detail, then ripped it out and put it in her handbag. Her heart was racing and she started to rock from side to side in her chair in excitement. As she polished off the remainder of her beer she casually continued scanning the pages of the paper but without the same intensity and urgency that defined her previous search. Turning the page, her eyes widened to see another advertisement, this time for M.I.M. (Mount Isa Mines).
By day, the enormous sprawl of the mine made up the western backdrop of the city and at night the mine’s bright lights depicted a ship in the desert, they were continual reminders of the industry she so wanted to be a part of, but not in the office sense. Kylie wasn’t ever interested in furthering her education through university but had always felt there were ample opportunities in the mining industry in operational roles, where, if you were lucky enough to get a foot in the door, the possibilities were endless. But getting those opportunities in Mount Isa seemed very difficult as the employment process was run along similar lines to the pecking order in the school playground. If you didn’t know no-body, your career was going no-where.
On seven occasions, Kylie had applied for general administration and operator roles at MIM but had never even progressed to the interview stage despite talking with ladies who worked there who she knew had the same skills as she did. She was torn. It didn’t matter if you worked in administration or were a labourer, MIM was the best paying employer in town but without having someone in the know, you were faced with working on the other side of the railway tracks, working much harder and for at least $10,000 per year less. Kylie either had to start working the room, or get the hell out of dodge.
Kylie was aware of the group she needed to impress. But they were a tough crowd to say the least. At her second job as a barmaid, whenever she saw them, she would always serve them first with a cheery greeting, showcasing her vivacious personality. If she thought she was 100 per cent guaranteed to get a laugh, she would even throw in a witty joke. Alas, it had never worked. Kylie always had in the back of her mind, ready for delivery, what she called staple jokes. These were timeless jokes that were easily understood and almost certain to be received with a nice little chuckle. They were jokes that were instantly recognisable and could be personalised for specific people. Even her staple jokes bombed with this snobby mob. This happened on her very next shift that evening.
Kylie was working in the Terrace Bar in the Mount Isa Irish Club, and Cherie, the Employment Officer at MIM came to the bar with her friend Sharon. They ordered two rum and cokes. Turning to Sharon, Kylie asked, “Is that going to be a big enough drink for you baby?”
Puzzled, Sharon tilted her head and asked, “What do you mean?”
Straight faced and eyeball to eyeball, Kylie replied, “Well I heard you’re a very generous person, and that you love...Sharon your drinks.”
Bingo, Sharon laughed. She even added, “I’ve never heard my name used in that sense before! Nice one.” She winked then walked off. Her mate Cherie wasn’t fussed and refused to flash her fangs in support of Kylie’s little quip. She even pouted, to ensure she didn’t show any signs of enjoying herself. Unfortunately for Kylie, Cherie was the one she had to impress. With a hair flick that could put Justin Bieber to shame, Cherie took her drink, turned and toddled off from the bar.
“Tough crowd,” Kylie said to herself as she went back to the northern end of the bar and tidied up the fruity condiments that were used to dress the cocktails they served. Picking up the tongs, she rearranged the pineapple and lemon then picked up a glazed cherry by its stem and held it close to her face and whispered in a French accent, “Luck-ee I did not alert to Mon Cherie that after years of searchin’ under all de rocks in town, I had in fact, found