← PreviousOur first friends at the other end of the worldAfter two weeks of holiday and adjustment, it was time to think about the real purpose of this trip. We could very well have come to Australia on holiday, but we wanted to live there. Change countries, join the workforce, share the lives of real people, the ones you never see, or only on the surface, when you travel. I'd done my research before leaving and learned that forklift drivers were in high demand and well paid. So I'd booked a course to get the licence, and after two days of training it was done. Things promised to be harder for Cassandre.
She wanted to break completely with the world of finance, at least for a while, and gain new experiences. Hospitality was a booming sector; the vast majority of women on working holiday visas went into it, which made it very competitive, with wages pushed down.
It wasn't unusual to see ads on popular sites offering pay below the minimum hourly rate, which was obviously completely illegal, but nobody seemed to be outraged.
After all, the only people affected were immigrants, and the government didn't seem too worried about it. I combed through ads on specialist sites, and Cassandre dropped off CVs at restaurants around our house. I had more success than her and got a few calls. I even had two back-to-back interviews for forklift driver positions and was promised work fairly quickly at a decent hourly rate.
Cassandre had had a call too. One of the restaurants a stone's throw from the house offered her a trial of a few hours the following Monday morning. But when we woke up on Saturday around 10, she saw missed calls and a text sent at five in the morning on her phone. The owner was asking if she could come in… at 6 that same day. She replied that she'd been asleep and was busy all day anyway. This man's manners already seemed a bit dodgy to us. On Monday at 9 am, Cassandre turned up at the café.
The boss sent her straight to April, an American who'd been working there for two weeks, to be trained. She showed her the basics: where things were, the table numbers and anything else useful. April had grown up in New York and already had plenty of hospitality experience, as like many Americans she'd worked as a waitress for some years. So when Cassandre learned she was paid only 15 dollars an hour, she immediately advised her to leave.
An English speaker with waitressing experience could get much better in Sydney. When she had to go into the kitchen to collect trays, Cassandre realised the cook and his kitchen hand were making fun of her because she had some trouble understanding the chef's very strong Australian accent. Not exactly a dream welcome for a potential new hire.
A table of old ladies sat down and she happily looked after them. They were pleased with the service, leaving a four-dollar tip. When April saw it, she advised Cassandre to pocket it quickly and say nothing to the boss. This charming man kept all the tips for himself without sharing them with anyone, so you were better off keeping them.
After four hours of unpaid trial instead of the two originally planned, Cass went to ask the boss when the trial would end. "Oh, you can leave whenever you want," he replied with a smile. Of course he'd never have told her before; he was pushing his luck. During those four hours, several other young backpackers had come by — to collect money the owner owed them.
They all gave the same advice: "Don't work here." For peace of mind, she asked the boss how much she'd be paid. "I'll test you on a day when the restaurant is full and we'll see." After more than four hours of work, she felt he should be able to name a wage, and she decided not to get in touch again after she left. The first experience wasn't a success.