A sure sign

Have we humans got to the point where we have so little sense that we need to be constantly reminded of the most basic things?
Basically, I'm asking because of the sign onslaught in the bathrooms at work.  It struck me the other day that there's almost nowhere that I can look to avoid being reminded to behave in some way that should be automatic.

Inside the cubicle, two different stickers instruct me on what can go in the sanitary bin and what cannot.
I get out, and am reminded not to flush paper hand towels down the loo, as it causes blockages.  I'm not surprised, because even toilet paper seems to do that in this special ablutions block.
When I do put hand towels in the bin, there's a sign to remind me to compress them to save space.

The far wall reminds me to keep things tidy and be considerate, because this is a space shared with others (though hopefully not the same cubicle at the same time).  Given that women have a reputation for being the tidier sex, it makes me wonder how many signs there are in the men's bathrooms - not enough to find out for myself, though.

I head back to work, but not without a last insulting sign.  This one has the audacity to call my hands a  "germ farm."
I think I'll go back to my desk for some peace.

Teenage dream

There's nothing like a free event to get you out rubbing shoulders with the locals.  Strangely enough, the Night Glow last Saturday reminded me what it was like to be a teenager.  It also made me hope that, when I was, I showed a bit more wisdom than some young attendees.

Within seconds of getting off the bus, I wandered past a girl who was already wishing she had dressed for the conditions, instead of the boys.  She may have thought her singlet was hot, but she looked freezing as she stood with her arms wrapped around her shoulders.  And the sun was still up at that point so, unless she was planning to go home before the main event, she still had to staunch it out for a few more hours.

Around by the carnival rides, girls were sharing a can of goodness-knows-what - and perhaps they shared their leopard print outfit plans too.

Some young people came in pyjamas and onesies, clearly planning to use the Glow as a giant night light.

And then there were the teens whose excitement at being let out for the night was uncontainable.
"No touching!  No touching!" one girl screeched at the young man walking beside her.
He took it in good humour, raising his hands in surrender, and appearing almost as delighted as her.
"Because it might make people think things that we don't want them to think!"
To avoid this, and in case they hadn't seen, they immediately turned around to the gaggle of friends behind them.
"Guys!  Ok, guys..."

But the night was a let-down for some of the young'uns.  It wasn't because they didn't have enough money to go on the big slide, nor because they weren't allowed candy floss.  It wasn't even because they weren't impressed with the balloons.
No, it was simply because they checked their phone, and didn't find any messages.
"Oh my god!  I'm so unloved!"

If you're going to act this way, you had better hope that you have the excuse of being in your teenage years.  It's okay then, because the New Scientist (kind of) says your brain is still frantically trying to develop.

Tourist in the Tron

Everyone else in my journalism class seems to have a blog, so I guess I should have one too.

I'm not travelling Europe any more, which renders my previous blog addresses irrelevant, and makes the choice of subject matter less straightforward.  But, since travelling has been a theme of mine for the past couple of years, in a way, I'm a tourist in the Waikato.

Shortly after returning to New Zealand, I was happily living in Napier and (perhaps slightly less happily) working in Hastings.  We'll focus on Napier, shall we?  Seaside location, great weather, cafés every which way, wineries...  Perhaps the latter is straying into Hastings' territory, but the point is the same: it wasn't a bad
part of New Zealand to be in.

Then I decided that journalism was the way forward, and a variety of factors brought me to the city affectionately known as the Tron.
Just imagine me telling people in Napier that I was moving to Hamilton.  The more polite among them just said 'oh,' then changed the subject.  Some wanted to clarify, thinking they had misheard me.  'You're moving
from Napier to Hamilton?'  Others just laughed.
I think all of about three people actually gave me a positive reaction.  One liked the Sky City Casino, another was born in the area and owed it his loyalty, and the last was recently married to the Waikato boy.

I've only been here about two months but -hey- so far, so good.  I haven't found any good reason for the bad rap the Tron so often gets. Slowly, I'm starting to explore what the city and its surrounds have to offer - and Love The Tron is certainly helpful for pointing me in the right direction!