Everything was in order. I had my large coffee from a rather friendly European lady and I was feeling jolly. As I approached the building, I thought to myself what a great day it was going to be, the people I was going to meet, the stories I would help write and of course seeing what an actual newsroom looked like. Oh, boy was I pumped!
As I opened the door, nothing happened. It was locked. There didn’t appear to be anyone inside either.
“Oh deary me, is it Sunday?” I thought to myself as I tried once more to open this door.
It clearly wasn’t Sunday, but a public holiday. I did remember reading I was supposed to come in today… but what if I read the date incorrectly?! What if it was tomorrow I was supposed to be coming in. After all, journalists need days off right?
After speaking with John and seeing someone drift past the door, I decided there were people inside. After knocking a few times, I decided to try the numbers I had on my handy, dandy iPhone.
Sadly, first number had no response. Second number had a pre-recorded message telling me they were closed.
Suddenly I thought I’d dreamt this person appear behind the door. I thought perhaps my coffee was laced by the unsuspecting European and that maybe by this afternoon I’d be in a ice bath with one kidney.
Luckily, by the third call someone answered. That someone was my editor for the next week, the lovely Kylie Knight. We exchanged pleasantries and I was introduced to the other staff. Nearly all ladies, which surprised me as I did imagine the office to be something out of Mad Men with a dashing Don Draper schmoozing past, telling me when they held “meetings” and where my desk would be, all fitted with a personalised ash tray.
So, I finally got to my new home for the next 5 days and got myself settled. I had a press release to decipher about waterski championships which was quite enjoyable to condense and turn into a story.
A few more press releases and it was time to have lunch. I wandered down to the ever reliable Subway and thought I’d step outside my usual comfort zone of roast chicken and stray into unchartered territory; chicken parmagiana.
Wow. What a shock. This had to be the worst sandwich I’ve ever eaten. Honestly I’ve had a better servo or dare I say it, 7/11 sandwich. And those are some incredibly awful sanga’s.
But this one, my friend was on another level of awfulness. It was layered with tomato paste, dry ham, watery chicken (clearly this chook had been poolside most of the morning) and a not so tasty cheese.
After my bad sandwich experience, I felt let down. I needed a pick me up. I decided chocolate was out of the question as I needed to use up my energy from the sandwich for the next few hours. Unfortunately, Subway let me down and I was eagerly looking around my bag for something to satisfy my cravings.
I was given another story to write up on. This time I was to contact a lady called Belinda regarding her new business venture of Sports Yoga. Interesting concept. Basically, this form of yoga could be combined with any form of sporting activity and it didn’t involve any loud chanting or 100 degree rooms. It was simple, easy to do and didn’t involve much ability.