Preston Markets

Preston Markets

This is about my fifth blog post I’ve written in a sitting, over ninety minutes, so it might give you an idea of how the old filing cabinet that is my brain works and I haven’t had a day to sit and write for maybe a month, so I’m way behind.

But I just wanted to circle back briefly to my adventures to the Preston Markets on the Saturday mornings with the then boyfriend.

While I was working in the area, I would prefer to go after work on a Thursday or Friday night to get “just a few things” and carry them home on the train. Early evenings were really quiet and it was a nice way to finish the day after work.

However, as you might recall, going on a Saturday, I had a strict time schedule that I wanted/needed to go because and this is the main reason. I think the boyfriend did not like going and that is because he hated the ‘wogs’.

What? Shock horror! That sounds racist. However, he was not from Australia, he was from the States and he didn’t understand “wogs”.

Preston and other areas around Melbourne have a long history of wogs (Italian/Greeks etc) and while the ex was tall, he didn’t cope with the masses of Nona’s pushing their way in and around him and their shopping carts into him.

He would often let out a noise of displeasure in a fruit and veg stall and I would look over at him. A Nona had pushed her trolley into him as if he wasn’t there. He was just in their way and they didn’t much care.

He obviously just needed to give them the European stare. Yes!

Judgement – Part 2

 

Judgement – Part 2

On a more humorous front and when I do so call “Judgement” I do it with subtlety. This is a watch and learn teaching moment. But in reading form.

About ten years ago, I was on a train on a Saturday morning with my then boyfriend, going to Preston to the markets. Saturday morning’s I set the standard if we were going, we would have to be there by 10am and out of there by 11am.

After that time, it was pointless being there because it is full of bargain hunters who try to get that last-minute special. My plan is to get there, hit it hard, then get the hell out of there and get home.

When I do the market, it’s generally vegies, meat, fresh pasta, rice, nuts, passata, meat, coffee/fresh biscuits, deli olives, cheese, fresh bread and did I mention meat? If I don’t spend at least $100 and stock up my fridge and freezer, I’ve wasted my time. Remember, I’m making my Nona proud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My boyfriend hated going because he couldn’t work out where everything was and he had the job of pushing the shopping trolley (which you could easily wheel it behind you on its two wheels) but he was a little too tall and because literally five minutes after we got there he would need to use the bathroom. He had the ‘bladder like a sieve’. I mentioned his sense of direction, I would walk behind him and call out directions like a military Sargent, “Left” or “Right” when it was necessary for him to change directions.

I always found it quite humorous although he obviously hated being micromanaged as men do. However, I used to make our adventures so he would cope better.

Usually I would have to convince the boyfriend to return to the Preston Markets, which we would generally go once a month and I did this by way of his pocket. As it’s the language that directly speaks to men. “We can go to the supermarket and spend $200 or we can go to the Market and spend only $100, so we would go to the markets.

I would go to the supermarket weekly to get the groceries and he would refund me. I digress, oh my God, went way out of left field on this on. Kinda feel like the judgement part” is the punch line.

On the train journey there, we went five or six stops from home in Clifton Hill at the time, we encountered all kinds of people. People going to work, people going home, people going home from clubbing the night before. The really seedy types who looked like they had slept in their clothes on a park bench in the city, who looked a little worse for wear for their efforts.

One morning, a guy in his 20’s walked down the train isle towards us, who fitted into the latter category. T-shirt (dirty), jeans (dirty), messy hair and runners. As he headed in our direction, I turned my head slightly towards my right (where my boyfriend was seated) and muttered “haircut and belt.” He had seen him coming, also and made a little noise.

See? Subtle! (bitchy, sure) but subtle. And not every bit of commentary is for public consumption.

 

Racism

Racism

Years ago, I worked in a Northern Suburb called Preston, back then it was a few years after 9-11. I like to visit Preston, the market, shops etc. But I don’t really want to live there and I worked there for about four years.

On a Friday after work, I was on the train heading home, the train carriage was not very full and I was tired after a typical busy week. There were the standard array of passengers heading home from work, maybe heading to the Friday night football or to meet up with friends for drinks or had started drinks already.

In front of me, sitting opposite me was a young woman shrouded completely in black, she was wearing a Burka, by some referred to as the “Letter Box” where you can only see their eyes.

I know ‘wrong’ again, but I didn’t make it up and by putting it in context, image you will appreciate me using it just this once. So off we went to the city. A young man (note no use of words like ‘Gentleman’) stood and started to verbally abuse the young Muslim woman. I don’t recall what he was saying exactly, but it was repulsive. He was suggesting she take off her Burka and hated words in Australia, that she go back where she came from.

Oh, so I did recall. Bit hard to forget.

The young woman shrank into her seat, nervous eyes darting around the train carriage. I moved my bag from the seat beside me to my lap and I patted the now spare seat and invited her to move over next to me.

I gently touched her leg with the back of the hand and told her the best thing to do was to face him. She didn’t want to, so she kept her back to him and I told her to not react to him. Although, it’s not what I did admittedly.

First, I simply tried to educate and reason with him. I asked him where his parents had come from because he looked like he was more Italian than I am. I told him my father was from Italy, but I’d been born and raised here.

I attempted to enlighten him that every new culture that came to Australia, enriched us with their foods and styles. Now, you know, he argued and debated back with me and maybe I had not expected that, but the temperature in the train carriage changed and I had really had enough anyway. He was beyond my help. A guy was sitting facing me on the other side of the isle. He wore black slacks and a white shirt. He looked to be a Security guard, but slim build, presumably off to work in the city. His left hand dropped down to his side, dangling into the isle. His fingers twitched in a shaking negative motion. Without looking at him, I inclined my head a little and blinked my eyes, I just subtly let him know I understood. I confess to say when I ‘growl’ people learn not to mess with me.

So, I growled!

“Enough” I told him. I told him to sit down, he immediately made a move to sit opposite me in the seat the woman had vacated. Seeing this was his plan, I growled again, ‘NO’ and pointing sternly, I told him to “Sit there” and indicated the seat he had been in earlier and so there was no doubt, I told him to face the other way. We did not need him facing us.

I think there was a moment where the whole of the occupants of that carriage shared a ‘sigh’ and I’m sure we were all relieved, we all think shit like this happens elsewhere.

I don’t know if I hadn’t spoken up, if someone else would have, I want to imagine ‘Yes’, but you never know until you are in that situation.

Another moment went by and we were closer to my home suburb and still a few suburbs from the city. Most smaller stations are unmanned day and night. I wondered what would happen to my passenger, when I got off and hoped that she would still be safe. I politely asked her if she was going to the city and did she have friends to meet her?

She said yes to both queries. I suggested she text her friends to meet her on the platform. The whole time she has spoken to me, it was a soft voice that only I could hear. She was polite, calm and neatly presented. She didn’t have an unpleasant odour, I hope you hear me when I’ve expressed my opinions about Muslims and Terrorists and none of this should impress or surprise people, however my part is.

Despite my disability and what others would perceive as a weakness, in a similar situation I would not be intimidated or fail to come to the aid of someone if I felt they were being unfairly persecuted and I would like to hope others would come to my aid if I needed it.

Then that leads me to the end of my topic, for now about my exposure to Muslims and Terrorists.