Day Twelve

Something I have already remarked on here on my blog is how friendly everyone is. I keep being assured by the Aussies I know that this is not always the case, and was even told by a friend that she thinks people in other countries are much friendlier than here, but I have only encountered one person who could be called grumpy, and even then she was probably on the more pleasant and friendlier end of what I've encountered back home at, say, Home Affairs or the local Pick 'n Pay.

This week I signed up for Medicare which is the health system here, and the gentleman who helped me was just the sweetest public servant I've ever met. Super-friendly, helpful, gentle and with almost a spring in his step (when he tootled off to make a photocopy of my passport), he made me feel looked after and made the whole thing quick AND painless. I was pretty stunned. I've always hated government department visits, terrified I'll stand in line for two hours only to be grunted at that I don't have the right something or other and then gruffly sent away. The Aussie experience was like having a beloved uncle on the inside. (Of government, not jail. That would be a totally different story!)

Another example of this almost fairytale friendliness came at the bank, that other bastion of long queues and mind-numbingly complicated hoops to jump through. I had opened a bank account at this specific branch a few days earlier and now popped in to collect my card. I happened to get the same man helping me, and he immediately recognised me and knew exactly why I was there. When he couldn't find my card, he tapped away at his computer for a moment before saying, "They've posted your card..... to South Africa." Then he waited a moment before he let out a little giggle. "Only joking." It was cute. And can you believe my card was already waiting for me in the postbox when I got home? Yup, me neither.

And lastly there was the government worker, standing right next to a slightly overflowing drain cover in his bright orange vest, who cheerfuly told me to watch my step and then poited out the driest spot to stand on as I walked around the puddle that was developing. DocCoffee pointed out it was sewerage and that was why he suggested we be careful, but seriously, it was barely worth worrying about as it was easy to avoid. I just chuckled and noted "I love your country."

People here don't seem to be defined by their jobs. In South Africa what people do for a living often has so much to do with their race and class, whether intentionally or not, that what people do effectively let's others know who they are in society. By treating people who have particular occupations in certain ways we are indicating a person's value in society. Therefore lawyers are of higher value than cleaners, regardless of who they are as people. Here, this seems to be different. From where I see it, people's jobs do not define them or who they are in society. I've seen twenty-somethings covered in tattoos with dyed hair and piercings in jobs with a lot of responsibility. Glamorous young foreigners chatting to each other in a European language while emptying ashtrays and pushing around cleaning carts. Even if you're on the dole here you have to work in a menial job in order to receive it.

So it's not what you do or whether you look the part, but rather who you are and whether or not you are any good at your job that seems to be what matters. And, work is a means to an end. It helps you do what you love after hours: have a nice house, drink great coffee, see your favourite band in concert. It's a refreshing way of looking things.

#work #jobs #friendliness #publicservants