8:30pm. Clock out. Not home yet. First, the gym. Forty-five minutes. Sometimes an hour. By the time I leave, Spring Hill is quiet. The hospital stays behind me. I walk down past Roma Street Parkland. The road slopes down. The city goes with it. Then Roma Street Station. First the coach stop. Long-distance coaches still … Continue reading Seventeen Minutes Home
Knock Knock, Food Services
Knock knock. Food services. May I come in? Same words, every door, every shift, my floor. PM shift starts at 1.30. First job — water jugs, room by room. Fresh water, if they want it changed. Some say all good. Some say the nurse already did it. Some say nil by mouth. Some say I'm … Continue reading Knock Knock, Food Services
Two Pairs of Hands
The hostel in Brisbane that's been home for years now has a laundry room. Washers, dryers, right there. I've never touched them. Next door — same owner, different building — there's another room like it. More machines, even. But that's not what I go there for. It has a proper ironing board. A sink big … Continue reading Two Pairs of Hands
The Time I Carry
I used to move. Now I stay. Same hostel, years running. No more checking out. Something carried over though. Not the road. The way I count an hour. Coach. Train. Overnight, back then. Lights out. Sleep apnea does its job — I'm gone before the highway even gets going. No scenery. Just snoring. All states. … Continue reading The Time I Carry
Check-ins and Check-outs
Thursday. Same desk. Same question. "Add one more week?" Yes. I pay. I hand over the key card. I go back upstairs. No party. No goodbye. Just another week, bought back. Some guests check out for good. New city. New visa. New life. Almost seven years in this hostel. Days off, sometimes I'd disappear — … Continue reading Check-ins and Check-outs
Shared Kitchen
"Do you want to try an arepa?" Paulita was an international student from Colombia. We were both staying at Joe's Place Backpackers in Brisbane. She was making arepas from scratch in the shared kitchen. I'd never tried one before. That evening, we talked about Colombia, Australia, Indonesia, study, work, and hostel life. Finding the right … Continue reading Shared Kitchen
Hostel Conversations
"Where are you from?" It's probably the question I've heard most in nearly eight years of hostel life. One conversation lasts until midnight. Another ends before the kettle even boils. Nobody plans any of it. Someone is making instant noodles. Someone else is washing a frying pan. Another guest pours a glass of goon. Before … Continue reading Hostel Conversations
People Still Surprise Me
Around 9 pm, a Brazilian guest came back from her shift at Krispy Kreme at Brisbane Airport carrying two boxes of donuts. She placed them on the hostel common area bench and left a handwritten note beside them: "From work. Please help yourself." By midnight, the boxes were empty. The next morning, someone had added … Continue reading People Still Surprise Me
Name Tags
Some places ask for your name before anything else. A hospital shift. A hostel check-in. A new job. An event. You say your name. You write it down. It appears on a roster, a sticker, or a food bag. For a while, that label becomes part of your day. At work, people know my name … Continue reading Name Tags
Waiting Rooms
Most people think waiting rooms are places. A train platform. A hostel common area. A hospital corridor. A government office. Aged care often comes with long waiting lists. But waiting rooms are not always rooms. A visa application can be a waiting room. So can a relationship. A casual job sometimes becomes one. Retirement isn't … Continue reading Waiting Rooms
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