I just don’t believe you.

Caution: Someone's about to get on it again.

 

 

Robert McKee and I were just rudely interrupted.

 

There we were having a robust one-on-one conversation about how I am going to become the greatest writer in this whole-wide bedroom of mine, all I have to do is listen to him, when some nugget actor popped up on my screen …

 

Ah! Busted!

 

For those of you who weren’t quite sure, Robert McKee is not at my house delivering private tuition in my bedroom. I know it sounds feasible. But it just isn’t true.

 

I was watching him speak on Youtube. There. Now you know.

 

Back to the nugget actor who interrupted me and ol ‘Bobby McKee’ (maybe he gave Janice some private bedroom tuition in the day? Inspired a song?).

 

He claimed to be from Vodafail, sorry, Vodafone.

 

He crap crap crap crapped on for twenty of the most boring seconds of my life as bright colours danced around him and he smiled through the words I’m sure were not in anyway slowly murdering his acting soul, that were basically designed to convince the viewer that Vodafone has changed.

 

 

Vodafone is cool! Vodafone is fair! Look I’m smiling! Look at the bright colours! Get suckered in!

 

Give me a break.

 

Sorry to make an example of Vodafail, sorry, Vodafone, and perpetuate my passionate hatred for every telco on the planet. Companies and advertisers on every square inch of the globe are doing the same thing.

 

 

 

They’re treating us like we don't know there is a solution beyond what they're offering - or that there isn't even a problem for them to solve in the first place.

 

 



 

 

 

I have worked in marketing roles and have marketing qualifications.  I know how things work from the inside. Strategy for change communicated with relevant IMC is great. No worries.

 

It’s when it gets passed over to the advertisers that bothers me.  

 

 

No. It’s when the advertisers get to people that bothers me.

 

 

 

I possess an average IQ, therefore, I am legally excluded from ‘idiot’ status. I can think beyond a twenty second ad! Horray! I implore fellow cognizants to do the same.

 

Yesterday, I turned on my television for the first time in three months to watch the news. I flicked through a dozen tv stations that were dominated by infomercials: Some new device to work-out on; some new appliance to cook with; some new piece of shit you’ll never use.

 

 

    ^What he said.

 

 

I know I said this in my last blog, but come on. If we buy this crap, people will keep making it. They will keep clogging up our tv screens and we will in turn keep clogging up our atmosphere with manufacture pollutants and our earth and sea with discarded useless waste.

 

Almost every ad patronises us or lies to us. Advertisers treat us like idiots, and that’s why I’ve stopped watching tv*.

 

 

 

The real reason this all bothers me, though, is that the likes of banks and telcos and insurance companies re-brand themselves to convince us they’re all customer-centric now and it’s safe to head on in to their murky, shark-infested waters, and when we take the bait, we all get stuck with another rubbish contract and rubbish time-wasting service.

 

Until I see unequivocal evidence of major corporations changing their cultural philosophy, I cannot reasonably believe any piece of marketing tripe I see from any of them. Tell me through filters that you're going to give me a fair deal after I've had nothing but the contrary for seventeen years all you want: You can't polish a turd, mate.

 

Companies who change their culture from the top/down and inside/out will be the prevailers of business in this fake world of transparent advertising fluff.

 

Practice consumer safety: Swim between the flags and yell loud as hell when you’re in trouble. Things will only change if we do.

 

 

*The real reason I stopped watching tv is the aerial broke.

 

 

We can be friends here.

We can talk shit here.

 

 

Another brick on the wall ... AKA: An alternative origin of Facebook

So, I’m back at uni. Golf claps for me all round. It’s only taking me one hundred years to get a Bachelor under my belt … and, come to think of it, a bachelor ‘under my belt’… but that’s another blog, I think.

 

Where was I? Oh yes; distracted.

 

I was distracted … in the toilet.

 

Let me explain.

 

 

I've been spending my days impounded inside the fortress of SCU's Library where I generally make a lot of noise about all the studying I'm doing but just sort paper and daydream about food and check Facebook compulsively.

   

Earlier this week my writing teacher shared a poignant article on why writers are the biggest procrastinators going. It couldn’t have been timelier, I thought, as I sat in a little cubicle, well beyond when the original purpose of the visit had been executed, amused, entertained – and somewhat nostalgic - for what lay before me.

 

Friends, I was looking at a good ol fashioned graffitied-to-buggery toilet wall in an educational institution!

 

 

I don’t think I have seen one of these since high school (284 years ago, give or take)!

 

I couldn’t help myself but get caught up in the chain reaction of conversations smeared from brick to crevice to next brick. All the while losing sense of time and the fact that I was indeed, using this ancient past-time as a procrastination tool - just as all the authors who had come before me in this stall had.

 

One comment invited a counter-comment, followed by an even more obnoxious remark. Fights flared up between strangers: Duels of the pens ensued.

 

As someone else used the platform to assert their political opinion.

 

 

 

And over in another corner of the wall, some creative personality had spent time anonymously doodling a detailed other-being's face with nothing more than a blue pen. What were they avoiding out there in book-world?

 

 

There was the philosopher.

 

 

The distressed reaching out to the ether.

    

 

 

Over in another area was the peace-hippy spreading the ...

 

 

 

 

Then there's deviant who just can’t keep their mouth shut/over-shares.

 

 

 

The bore who clogs up space with pointless crap (and attracts interaction through said pointless crap).

 

And the clever guy (or girl…I hope).

 

 

 

The indulger.

  

 

 

 

The more I read, the more I realised that I was being sucked into the original Facebook: the original ‘wall’ where people splash one-way comments for all to see. The only difference is this medium was anonymous. And no-one was making advertising money out of it.

   

Considering the similarities of the toilet wall graffiti and Facebook, you're thinking what I am, aren't you ... you are wondering if, perhaps the story of a steely unlikable computer geek designing Facebook to wield his petty wrath on an ex- girlfriend, might be a diversion of the fact that maybe – just maybe – one of the most successful empires in history was actually conceived in a toilet stall ...?

 

The great philosopher and conspiracy theorist, Monzanious, signing off as she leaves you all with the image of a nineteen year old Mark Zuckerberg taking a dump….

   

 

 

I know. Slow news day.

But if I've achieved nothing else today, I can confidently assume I've out-procrastinated you all.

 

Dating tips for Telcos and Techos that could save the world

I’ve had a pretty stressful day.

I thought, this afternoon I might take myself for a walk on the beach to help shake it off/sweat it out, as we do.

But I can’t. I just physically can’t leave the house, without first churning out some hate mail.

 

You, see I’m so mad at my phone that I have been forced to vent my outrage online (in attempt to instigate some sort of new trend, I thought).

 

I have had a pretty unprepossessing relationship with several tech-like companies - in particular those of telco variety - in recent years.

 

Out of the nine technical devices I have purchased in the last three years, not one of them has seen life passed its warranty date.  

 

 Source: Google images

 

These are all of different price ranges, brand names, and retailers. Purchases have been based on educated decisions, advice of friends, comparison sites like Choice, and the occasional rush purchase out of necessity.
 

I’ve spent hours on websites, live chats, on hold, getting cut off, reading manuals, and mostly just getting blown off with a ‘oh well, that’s what you get’ dismissal – as the complimentary kick in the arse for being a customer.

 

 

 

I’ve battled for my rights via phone, email, post, visited them in-store, revisited the nineties and sent a fax even.  In short, I’ve been proactive in my attempt to not only make myself heard, but to come to a resolution to my grievances so I can get on with my life, and they can get me out of their hair.

I think they might like me…though, because they just don’t seem to want the conversation to end. I think one particular telco might be taking dating tips from seventiesmysoginistsareus.com and applying the mantra ‘Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen’ on the desks of their call centre staff.

Well, I’m flattered….I think. No wait! Ha ha, almost got me there with your ‘So, what you’re saying your problem is’ and then repeating what I just saidback to me in some patronising slow-arse, waste-my-time monotone droll as I stamp my foot and grit my teeth; and the smoothness of the ‘I am sorry but all I can tell you is you’re wrong, I can’t tell you why or justify it, you’re just wrong’.

Oh you.

Smooth Operator.

(pun intended).

 

We then move into the stage of the relationship where I’m getting the cold shoulder!

Customer service 101 – Respond! Within twelve months preferably! It baffles me that one of Australia’s largest corporations that, more specifically has built its very fabric on communications cannot master the basic principle of communication.

   

 

Well, it doesn’t baffle me, really. Because I know their game. The aim of the game is to quite literally treat you mean. They rely on customers taking no for an answer; especially when it comes to account disputes. It is worth more to them to say no a few times and hope you’ll give up, than develop a reputation as a company that will simply give in every time someone wants something back. They don’t want to get the reputation as the industry harlot; The Kevin Rudd of telcos, if you will.

 

In research for their 2009 Science Direct paper, Lai, Griffith, and Babin found that:

“Service quality directly influences both perceived value and image perceptions…and that both customer satisfaction and value are significant determinants of loyalty”.

It really couldn’t be more obvious than dog’s balls, could it.

 

 

Provide quality products, provide value, provide high-quality service, and you won’t have to go into damage control on your social media sites every six months; nor put your poor service staff through hell dealing with cranky beasts like me. But for some reason, the major telcos in this country, seem to be digging their heels in on the game of it all.
 

I know what you're thinking: 'First world problems!'. To which I say three things:
 

1. Thank you for your input Original McOriginality;

2. I have the talking stick;

3. It is indeed, a very big problem - first world and beyond.

  

The planned obsolensce of technology these days should be of great concern to us all - manufacturers; consumers - all. It’s not only disrespectful of your customers expecting them to fork out hundreds of dollars every twelve months for an ‘upgrade’ of your product (you know who you are), it is one of the major perpetuators of the burgeoning technological wasteland floating around in our oceans and clogging our soil.
 

 

Source: Science.howstuffworks.com

 

I do not accept that because pressure to make more money for shareholders these days equates to ripping your customers off, feeding slave labour, and being egregiously irresponsible with the environment.

  

 Source: Inhabit.com

 

That’s me putting it to the man. However, I hate to turn it back on you; on me, and remind you that ^ is our fault. The consumer. As long as we’re buying, ^ that is happening. I know we all want the lifestyle we’re accustomed to, but it is not sustainable. It is up to the people with the real power – the customer – to tell companies like these what they want from them.
 

 

“Every time you spend money, you are casting a vote for the kind of world you want to live in” (Anna Lappe).

 

 

 

Whilst I’m now playing angry threaten-to-throw-you-across-the-room wrestle games with a device that has decided to give up on life inside of six months and another tech company starts to feel the brontide of my wrath rolling toward a call centre near them; regarding the perpetual battle with the telco, I stood my ground and after a twelve month battle I received a refund for $1200 of unwarranted extra data charges.
 

And then I changed carriers.
 

If I had have been given what I asked for in the first month – maybe in the first six months of complaint -  I would have piped down and continued indefinitely with the company, giving them far more revenue than they lost. The cost of my time and energy on a service that failed expectations means a lot to me. I give my hard-earned money to companies who prove they deserve it: through high-quality service, high-quality, value-laden products, and a visible investment in loyalty and the future: to the customer and the earth.

In this girl’s case: Treat 'em mean, they leave.

 

 

Splitting hairs - Beauty vs Fundraising

Last weekend I embarked on a significant personal journey: I travelled from my home town of Brisbane to Mission Beach (FNQLD) to shave all my hair off. Yes. You read right. I’m a mad woman. I’ve been told – more than thrice.


Let me explain myself:

Earlier this year I became a campaigner for 100 Things and wrote out my list of things I want to do before I die. Number 6 on that list was to cut all my hair off. I’ve always had long hair, and, in the spirit of 100 Things, this really pushed me out of my comfort zone. A very close family friend, Scotty, passed away on the 6th June this year from Cancer, and in my heart, I quietly felt I would do this as a nod to him.


A couple of months ago, I received an invitation from a colleague to attend a ‘Clip for Cancer’ fundraiser as moral support. It was in memory of his friend who passed away on 9th June this year.

I figured, this was the perfect opportunity – I would join in on the big clip with eight other people; tick an item off my list and do it for a good cause = Perfect. I was excited.


My initial logic was “I’ll just have a short do for a while, No big deal”. But I was profoundly surprised at the enormity of this experience through reactions of those around me, and the experience itself.


Whilst the majority of responses I received were a mixed bag of support, excitement, encouragement , and even indifference; I did get the occasional horrified loved one negotiating my decision, and in the final hours, desperately turning the negotiation into the actual length of the cut itself.


As the date drew closer, and more conversations were had on the topic, it became clearer to me that this was a bigger deal to those around me than I had ever imagined! People told me I was “brave” and “generous”…and “crazy”. I’m not the first person to do this; but the idea (particularly for women) of losing their hair was anything from laughable to mortifying.


Having always had long hair, and just going with the default style I presumed always suited me, it’s not something I’ve ever really thought about before, but it has left me pondering what it is that is so important about our hair?

My friends thinking about me with short hair.

One of the most common questions was “What does your partner think of this?”. He, of course, is fine with it, and pulled out some safe chestnuts like “She’s beautiful no matter what” and “90% of her is still going to look the same!” (God bless his cotton socks), but after a while, that question became quite offensive to me.


People genuinely thought my boyfriend would find me less attractive with short hair! I am not my hair! Having a haircut won’t automatically morph my face into that of some unrecognisable wilderbeast! Yet, people thought it was perfectly natural for both of us to kiss my femininity goodbye and get used to a sub-standard version of my aesthetics. Odd.

An artist's impression of what Richard's mates and my Mum imagined I would look like post-clip

On the day, I travelled to Cairns and drove myself 2 hours south on what was one of the most beautiful drives I have ever done (complete with sun showers, and tropical greenery) and arrived tired, hot, and dusty at Castaways Resort. Opening my hotel room door I was welcomed by one of the most blissful views – 50 metres away was a lining of palm trees and the beach. Just stunning.

View from my hotel room...Ahhhh.

Only a few minutes to soak in the little piece of paradise I was blessed to be in, before I was to start getting ready for the cocktail party where the ‘big clip’ was taking place.


I started to get nervous. I spoke with two family members before leaving my room – one was for, one was against. I didn’t need the eleventh hour discouragement but before we hung up I was told I had support. Thank you.


I chose to wear a silk navy dress that my niece gave me for my 30th birthday; the same dress I wore to Scotty’s funeral. That choice was easy. I toyed with the idea of doing something fancy with my long blonde hair, considering this would be the final formal occasion I would have such an opportunity for quite some time. But I rationalised it was getting cut off anyway. Plus it was hot. And frankly, at this point in time, I was genuinely sick of my hair. I was happy about the idea of no longer having to wrestle with it every day. I pulled it back in a pony. Asked for strength, and headed out on my own.


At the party I sought out my work mate, Saul, who was the entertainment for the night. He was the only person I knew in a crowd of approximately 200, and he would be busy all night. We had a quick chat before he went on stage, and then I assumed my default position at the bar.

 

 

Me & Saul before the clip

 

 

 

 

Patiently seeking out the host of the party, Katrina, and trying not to get in anyone’s way, I felt like a charlatan. The odd one out. I was at an event that was a partial fundraiser for Melanoma and part memorial for the brother of the host who passed away earlier this year. I had never met him. Every person attending the event was family, friend or a member of the closely knit Tully community. I just had to throw myself in make conversation.


As I moved through the crowd, I was introduced to Katrina. Half expecting an “Oh hi. You’re the crazy Clip Crasher”, I put on my best, humble smile that said “Thanks for having me in this very private, emotional event”. As soon as she saw me her eyes beamed, her smile wide and genuine. She threw her arms around me and gave me a hug as though we were long-lost friends “Monique! It is so good to meet you! Thank you so much for being here and for everything you’ve done!” She then enthusiastically reached to people around her; her best friend, her Mum, her father, her husband; to introduce them all to me. It was a relief, a joy and privilege being part of this amazingly heart-felt community spirit.


I eased in and chatted with many people – every single one of them was just lovely. I met the other people who were also having their hair shaved that night – all immediate family of Glen’s. Even though they welcomed and accepted me with open arms, I was still the odd one out! Still, I was really glad I was doing this with other people, and not alone.


Katrina’s friend, Tina, and Saul’s roadie, Josh and I hung out a lot as the three of us didn’t know anyone - Turns out I wasn’t alone!


The sense of community, spirit, support, and love from everyone was amazing. It was reminiscent of how I felt at wakes I have attended in the past. Through melancholy and grief, people are united – even complete strangers. I was overwhelmed at how welcoming and loving these people were to me – Someone they had never met, and they treated me as though I was a member of the family.


Katrina had her hair shaved first, and along with every person after her, went completely bald – razor and all. She was brave, and as I watched with a smile on my face, I was feeling her mixed emotions – a high from the night, and what she was accomplishing – but also sadness for her brother; the reason she was there doing what she was. She looked beautiful, and carried a bald head so well! Her entire family followed, including a late entry by their grandmother (well into her eighties, I’m told). What a legend! That was so cool.


At around 9pm it was my turn. I sat on a chair reserved for me on the dance floor and met the Barber and Hairdresser who had volunteered their services for the night. I asked to play Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop me Now’, as that was Scotty’s song.


All the girls with long enough hair had their pony tails auctioned to be cut off. Saul put a $50 note in my hand and had the privilege of relieving me of my trusses. I don’t know if the scissors were blunt or that my hair is just that thick and stubborn, but it took a long time to saw through it, and to be honest it hurt quite a bit. I was trying not to be a sook, but whoever was taking photos at that time would have got some doozies. I heard some clapping. 200 odd faces were looking back at me. My pony was bagged up and dropped in my lap. “Holy shit”. I just stared at it. I have no idea what I felt at that moment. Apprehension? Shock? Numb?


“No turning back now”. The hum of the razor honed in closer to my head. I could hear Freddy Mercury in the background “Don’t stop me now….” It couldn’t have been a better fit of a song, but it did make me sad. I thought about Scotty. I wouldn’t allow myself to cry. I didn’t want people thinking I was crying for my hair!


Then I turned to see someone sitting next to me. It was Josh – he decided at the last minute to go the clip too! Now I wasn’t the only non-family member in the group!


Before I knew it the cape was being torn off me and I was the new owner of a Number 4! Yeah! People clapped and came up to congratulate me. I was overwhelmed with compliments. I felt relief, and also a little bit flat – after such a long build up – that was it!

First pic of me post-clip

When I first went to the bathroom after the cut, I avoided looking at myself in the mirror. I think a part of me was sacred that I wouldn’t like it. But I eventually did, and yes it was very weird. I didn’t recognise myself. “What have I done?” I shook my head and smiled at myself.


All the baldies had our photos taken together, and the rest of the night was spent chatting and soaking in the beautiful views. I took my shoes off and walked out to the water’s edge. I needed a couple of minutes to myself to let what had happened sink in.

'Team Paradise' - Post clip

I looked out at the pictueresque setting of the ocean, the palm trees, and the full moon reflecting on the water. The feeling I had all night, was even though it was a leap and uncomfortable to start with, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be at that time in my life. A lot of people thought it was strange that I was travelling so far to be with strangers, to have my hair chopped off! I can’t argue that it was an impractical and strange decision, but I followed my gut and know I did the right thing for myself.


The next morning I enjoyed a swim that, for the first time, wasn’t followed by a 30 minute production of shampoo and hair drying and frustration. In the shower, though, I did shampoo it, and it felt so weird! You already know I’m crazy, so this won’t surprise you, but I started laughing at myself. I just stood there shampooing my hair laughing hysterically. Me and my hair are funny.


I had breakfast with the Knights and Eadies and bid farewell to a beautiful group of people I now consider great friends. I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to share this experience with.


So, one week into my new ‘do’ and I am still glad I did it. I have received more compliments in the last five days than I have in the last five years! For some reason people don’t feel strange complimenting a girl with short hair, when they would think it inappropriate to gush over someone’s’ looks with longer hair. Either that or they just feel sorry for me, and feel they need to overcompensate. I don’t care though. I’m sticking with the former :)


I do actually feel more beautiful, funnily enough. Having been relieved of the drama of long hair, I’m freer to just be me. I have no choice – nothing to hide behind. I like it!


I still haven’t figured out the reason for our attachment to hair and why this is such a big deal. But it is a big deal. Just not for all the reasons people talk about. I’m glad I did it.




You can still donate to Katrina Knight’s fundraising page here.


Seek out facts & learn about early detection of Melanoma here.


Check out my 100 Things list here.