Get Those Shrimp on the Barbie…..or Ken..
Well, it’s been fun, it’s been grand and, well, I have to say that I am going to miss you guys something fierce.
Six years ago, this little Aussie duck stepped off the plane at O’Hare International Airport in Chicago and promptly emptied her stomach on the shoes of the nice young lady standing at Customs.
(For those of you who may already know this from my previous article “Dazed and Confused in Smalltown USA”, Customs had advanced warning this time about my inability to fly without hurling. The security guards came running with the bucket, but alas, it was too late.)
Three years later, I will be stepping back on a plane (with a large percentage of the Homeland security task force in tow, as my stomach has now been officially listed as a WMR: “Weapon of Mass Regurgitation.”) and heading back to the little sunburned country I call home… Australia.
In the time I have lived stateside, I have been given a wealth of issues to write about and, more importantly, poke fun at.
To be fair, I thought I would take this opportunity to fill you all in on a few of the quirks and oddities that can only be found “Down Under.”
For starters, we Aussie folk are world renowned for our drinking habits.
This is possibly because.. a) Beer is cheaper than bottles of “Dasani” water. b) We cannot turn on the TV without some glimpse of our Ex-Prime Minister’s eyebrows and beer is cheaper than Prozac. c) We are simply a nation of alcoholics.
I hail from the Eastern State of Queensland. Our state brews its own beer which has the swanky label “XXXX” emblazoned over the can in big, red letters.
There have been many jokes about this of course. The most common one is that Queenslanders like myself cannot spell “BEER.” This is untrue and quite offensive to our people.
We know how to spell “beer,” it’s just that we are often too tiddly to bother pronouncing it.
My sister-in-law from Indiana had a slightly different interpretation when she came to visit five years ago.
We were driving past many a pub with the beer’s label flashing innocuously in the windows when she turned to me, horrified, and said “You certainly have a lot of places with extra, extra porn available don’t you?”
Another habit that we Australians have adopted over the years is the shortening of names and words so that they have a familiar and fond ring to them. (Actually, it’s done so we can understand them.) This is usually achieved by adding ‘ies’ to any inanimate object we lay eyes on.
BBQs: barbies
Underpants: undies
Tins of beer: tinnies
Biscuits: bikkies
Postmen: posties
The garbage collectors have also been awarded a fond name of their own: “Garbos.” I doubt, however, that there is a metaphorical link to the sweaty men in blue overalls and the famed, reclusive movie star.
If you do happen to visit our fair shores, don’t be alarmed if you hear people calling each other “Bazza,” “Gazza” or “Shazza.”
No, they are not the victims of parents who decided to name their children after drinking several ‘tinnies’ of ‘XXXX.’ They are just affectionate terms for people who happened to have been christened “Barry,” “Gary” or “Sharon” (after their parents had polished off a couple of ‘tinnies’ of ‘XXXX’.)
You also needn’t concern yourself about the number of times you hear someone saying how ‘pissed’ they were. (As in, “I was sooo pissed last Saturday night,” “How pissed was Gazza after drinking twenty ‘tinnies” of ‘XXXX’?)
Unlike our American friends, Australians use the verb ‘pissed’ to articulate exactly the level of drunkenness they achieve on any given day. So, don’t go out arming yourself with the biggest stick you can find. We are not an angry race of people; we just like to have a lot of fun (usually to the detriment of our kidneys).
No, we are definitely not an antagonistic society.
We are all “mates” to each other.
You will hear us calling each other “mate” as if it were actually a period at the end of a sentence. (‘G’Day,mate.” “How’s it going mate?”)
In fact, we are “mates” even if we hate each other’s guts. (“Touch my ‘tinnie’ of ‘XXXX,’ mate, and I’ll knock you from here until next week!”)
On a more serious note, Australians do, in fact, involve themselves in world issues outside of the corner pub.
We have whipped the British and Pakistanis at the cricket pitch for nearly a decade now, not to mention holding some sort of record for playing one of the most violent and brainless sports around: Rugby League.
None of this helmet and crotch guard stuff for us…pads are for ‘bladder control’.
We will chase, tackle and basically attempt to break every bone in your body to stop you from getting the ball from one end of the field to the other.
So, as you can see, I am not biased- I think all countries are weird and quirky at times, including my own.
I don’t know how much will have changed when I return. One of the things I have often found myself pondering in Chicago, where I have been living, is why people hang “WE CALL POLICE” signs in their windows (to which I say “Jolly good. I call pizza delivery and occasionally my Nanna on a Sunday.”)
It may well be that when I arrive in Oz there will be windows sporting similar warning signs like “WE CALL RUSSELL CROWE.” (That ought to scare off any intruders, or, well, any gladiators anyway.)
I hope to bring you some more news and interesting facts from the Great Southern Land in the near future. For now though, I am going to crack a ‘tinnie’ of ‘XXXX’ open, call my good friend ‘Shazza,’ and tell her to fire up those shrimps on the ‘Barbie’ for my hallowed pilgrimage home.
Until next time mate…
About the Author
Kylie is a well travelled free-lance writer who has been published in several magazines in Australia and the United States including “Honestly Woman” and “Third Coast Marketing”.
Come on in..sit down and enjoy…bring your prescription drugs if necessary.
Jim Chaddock @ Goose Island Brew Pub, Chicago 05/30/08
