I started work in April, 1969 and my letter of appointment told me to start my first day in the Rates Dept, but when I arrived through the Adelaide Street entrance of City Hall I was told that I would be working in Cashiers. The girl I was replacing had taken the job in Rates. I didn't really care at that stage, but with the clarity of hindsight I can see that my life would have been entirely different if I had never met P. I would also have never met the best friend in my life, L. I started off sitting at the desk beside P learning B's job, which was to collect all the cheques from the cashiers on a regular basis during the day, use an electronic adding machine to total the amounts then to cross-check this figure against the cashier's total. I became very good at touch-typing the keys and could always "feel" when I'd hit the wrong one, so my totals were usually correct.
I'd then run all the cheques and the adding machine tape through a Microfilm camera. At the end of the day, I would prepare the enormous deposit slip, with a carbon copy, to accompany the cheques and cash to the bank. Even back then, the totals were a staggering $1million + per day. These were the days of micro-mini skirts and I wore the first pair a platform shoes in the office, earning ridicule from my workmates, but the effect displayed lots of bare, shapely leg. I spotted L across a waist high divider in the Licensing & Metered Parking section. She also subscribed to the long, shapely leg philosophy and I knew she was a kindred spirit before we even met. For some reason, the "boys", including P, delighted in flicking rubber bands at my legs, but I was damned if I was going to let them know it bothered me.
On 20th July 1969 we watched Neil Armstrong step onto the surface of the Moon on multiple TVs set up in the City Hall's main auditorium.
B moved on to some other department and I took her place. I seemed to be the only one to notice every time I had to collect money for a birthday, engagement, wedding or baby, some of the cashiers would take the money straight out of the till. I asked one day out of sheer curiosity and was told they all received an allowance for "unders". Crooks! I also noticed that the boys who counted the 20c pieces from the parking meters, also left at night with bulging pockets ... nobody else seemed to care. The most amazing sight was the absence of male staff from lunchtime onward on Friday. They all went to the pub and never came back. I used to feel quite conspicuous, being the only one left outside the boss' office, but he obviously knew and took no notice.
Easter weekend 1970 saw Twin and A in the front seat of his panel van, four others including me crammed into the back and two others riding pillion on the two accompanying motor bikes, as we headed off first to A's brother's place in Sydney, then out to Bathurst for the races. We were all hopped up on NoDoz (caffeine tablets) and drove straight through the night then crashed on the floor of D's house in Paddington. When we got to Mt Panorama A took us out onto the track and tried to make his van fly, but it didn't really have the engine for it. It was so funny that every guy we met just happened to be a "racing driver" as if this was a magic formula to get a girl hot and bothered! ☺
As night fell, Twin and A made it very plain that nobody else was welcome in the back of the van, so the rest of us spread out a ground sheet and tried to sleep on the cold, hard ground. I've never been so bone cold in my life, then or since and I'm not sure if I went off to sleep or slipped into a state of hypothermia. I woke with a rude shock, to find one of my male travelling companions with his hand in my panties ... to get there he's unzipped my jeans! After I'd thumped him away and demanded to know what the hell he was doing, his pathetic excuse was a plaintive ... "I thought you were awake". Yeah, right! I bet he was sorry I woke up. The racing was pretty boring and time dragged. We were supposed to head back early on Monday, but Twin and A were having too much fun. Nobody seemed to care that I had to be at work on Tuesday morning, our birthday. Twin phoned Mum and Dad and told them the van had broken an axle and to make my apologies at work.
When I got back to the office on the Wednesday, I'd been transferred into the Licensing & Metered Parking section, because a supervisor BK who lived not far away from me, told everyone I had big parties at my house every night. He was not only an idiot, he was wrong. We lived on the widest part of the winding street, so everyone parked in front of our house as it was the only place buses wouldn't have to squeeze past. He assumed these people were hanging out at my place constantly!
In Licensing & Metered Parking I started off creating files for all complaint letters, then moved over to conduct searches and type summonses. Parking regulations at that time gave a person 14 days in which to pay their ticket, then the charges would escalate as we incurred search fees from the MRD (Main Roads Dept). The parking officers, who had engineered their uniforms to look as much like the police as possible, were a bunch of swaggering jerks. There were three copies of every ticket. The orange card was affixed to the windscreen wiper, the white original and blue carbon copy stayed in the filing cabinet. As the paid tickets were received, the copies were removed to another area. After the due date, I had to separate the unpaid originals from their copies, bundle them up and take them around to the EDP (Electronic Data Processing) Dept. Here operators would key punch all the information onto cards and these cards were then read by the massive computer. A few days later I would return to pick up the originals and an enormous printout produced by their line printer (a multi-part sheet with an original and two carbon copies). I would then manually de-collate and burst these sheets into separate, matching stacks and walk the original to MRD. Everyone around me hated these days, because I filled every available waste paper bin with sheets of carbon paper.
MRD would send me back a stack of Statutory Declarations, naming the vehicle's owner and giving address details. After I matched them with the original unpaid tickets, I would take them up to the huge, grey Xerox copier. It had a curved glass and instead of a hard, flat cover it had a rubber mat that I would lay over the glass before hitting the start button. I used a form letter that was embedded in a piece of curved perspex to exactly fit the copier's glass. There was a cut-out piece on the back of the perspex that allowed me to place the original copy of the ticket before making the copy. So I would stand there for an hour or more, lifting back the rubber mat, removing one ticket and replacing it with the next before hitting the start button. These letters were sent to the owners demanding immediate payment of the fine plus search fee and threatening court action if the new amount remained unpaid.
After two weeks, I would match the Stat Decs with the unpaid tickets so all the typists could start work on summonses. These long documents also had multiple carbon copies, which were a real pain to correct as we had to place cardboard under each sheet of carbon paper, then rub out the error on each page before retyping (the CC always smudged or if you rubbed too hard, a hole developed). It was a legal document so no liquid paper was allowed and it wasn't until after I left work in 1973 that they brought in word processors to make the job easy!
The parking officers had to record every word of abuse the driver had said to him by writing on the back of the white original. In turn, this horrible writing had to be deciphered by us, so we learnt all the four-letter words under the sun. One pathetic driver actually used his parking ticket as toilet paper, then sent it back to us through the mail. The stupid idiot left all the vehicle's details and ticket number in place so it was easy for us and Australia Post to trace him and bring charges.
Although my new section was in the same large office and only separated from Cashiers by a waist-high divider, it was another world. Our boss was a little man, in body and spirit, who wouldn't let a woman smoke within sight of the public counter, but a guy could walk up and talk to the public with a smoke hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Mr K would never speak to you at his desk, because he didn't like being stood over so he'd say, "Talk to you in a minute" and when you sat down, he would come over to stand beside your desk. He made all the women work out a roster for making the morning and afternoon tea/coffee. We would have to serve the men at their desks.
One sleazy accountant made the mistake of running his hand up the back of my leg, so that afternoon I doctored his coffee. I emptied a large blob of glue into the bottom of his coffee then emptied an entire glass bowl of pins into the glue ... well, I didn't want him to swallow the pins! I kept my eyes on him as he took his first couple of sips and watched the colour drain out of his face. He never touched me again and even went so far as to ask me out. What a freak!
L and I got our revenge on Mr K by meeting in the ladies room, where we'd sit on the couch and smoke a few cigarettes together. Each time we walked out, we were gone for about 30mins, so he lost a lot of productivity with his sexist attitude. We also had lunch together over at the Carleton's Ladies Lounge. In those days, it wasn't really acceptable for women to drink with men in the Public Bar. We each ordered toasted ham and tomato sandwiches (45cents) with a Blue Lagoon (Gin + Blue Curacao) cocktail (45 cents). The barman loved experimenting on us, so we tried Black, Red, Mauve and Green Lagoons too.
We didn't do this every day, because after 6 cocktails at lunch we could barely walk back to the office ... remember we were wearing platform-soled shoes. We would spend a blissful afternoon not getting any work done, phoning each other to have a quiet giggle or carefully walking around to the ladies for a smoke. I don't know who lead who astray, but we didn't really care. We made plans to buy a VW Kombi and just travel around the country until L met K, a budding cop (meaning he still had a neck).
Twin wanted to marry A, but Mum and Dad wouldn't allow it so she deliberately set out to get pregnant. She and A were married in September 1970, renting a house in Ashgrove and baby H was born in February, 1971. Twin was a bit overdue, so A decided a good fright was in order and took us for a midnight walk through a large cemetery. They visited the spot where they first kissed, in a rather large tomb. It worked remarkably well. ☺ Let me point out that although we visited several cemeteries at night, we were not vandals and never did any damage.
Following are some of Twin's wedding day photos, showing our entire family. At this stage, she worked in a bridal store and designed both our outfits ... she had so much artistic talent and such potential!
I'd then run all the cheques and the adding machine tape through a Microfilm camera. At the end of the day, I would prepare the enormous deposit slip, with a carbon copy, to accompany the cheques and cash to the bank. Even back then, the totals were a staggering $1million + per day. These were the days of micro-mini skirts and I wore the first pair a platform shoes in the office, earning ridicule from my workmates, but the effect displayed lots of bare, shapely leg. I spotted L across a waist high divider in the Licensing & Metered Parking section. She also subscribed to the long, shapely leg philosophy and I knew she was a kindred spirit before we even met. For some reason, the "boys", including P, delighted in flicking rubber bands at my legs, but I was damned if I was going to let them know it bothered me.
On 20th July 1969 we watched Neil Armstrong step onto the surface of the Moon on multiple TVs set up in the City Hall's main auditorium.
B moved on to some other department and I took her place. I seemed to be the only one to notice every time I had to collect money for a birthday, engagement, wedding or baby, some of the cashiers would take the money straight out of the till. I asked one day out of sheer curiosity and was told they all received an allowance for "unders". Crooks! I also noticed that the boys who counted the 20c pieces from the parking meters, also left at night with bulging pockets ... nobody else seemed to care. The most amazing sight was the absence of male staff from lunchtime onward on Friday. They all went to the pub and never came back. I used to feel quite conspicuous, being the only one left outside the boss' office, but he obviously knew and took no notice.
Easter weekend 1970 saw Twin and A in the front seat of his panel van, four others including me crammed into the back and two others riding pillion on the two accompanying motor bikes, as we headed off first to A's brother's place in Sydney, then out to Bathurst for the races. We were all hopped up on NoDoz (caffeine tablets) and drove straight through the night then crashed on the floor of D's house in Paddington. When we got to Mt Panorama A took us out onto the track and tried to make his van fly, but it didn't really have the engine for it. It was so funny that every guy we met just happened to be a "racing driver" as if this was a magic formula to get a girl hot and bothered! ☺
As night fell, Twin and A made it very plain that nobody else was welcome in the back of the van, so the rest of us spread out a ground sheet and tried to sleep on the cold, hard ground. I've never been so bone cold in my life, then or since and I'm not sure if I went off to sleep or slipped into a state of hypothermia. I woke with a rude shock, to find one of my male travelling companions with his hand in my panties ... to get there he's unzipped my jeans! After I'd thumped him away and demanded to know what the hell he was doing, his pathetic excuse was a plaintive ... "I thought you were awake". Yeah, right! I bet he was sorry I woke up. The racing was pretty boring and time dragged. We were supposed to head back early on Monday, but Twin and A were having too much fun. Nobody seemed to care that I had to be at work on Tuesday morning, our birthday. Twin phoned Mum and Dad and told them the van had broken an axle and to make my apologies at work.
When I got back to the office on the Wednesday, I'd been transferred into the Licensing & Metered Parking section, because a supervisor BK who lived not far away from me, told everyone I had big parties at my house every night. He was not only an idiot, he was wrong. We lived on the widest part of the winding street, so everyone parked in front of our house as it was the only place buses wouldn't have to squeeze past. He assumed these people were hanging out at my place constantly!
In Licensing & Metered Parking I started off creating files for all complaint letters, then moved over to conduct searches and type summonses. Parking regulations at that time gave a person 14 days in which to pay their ticket, then the charges would escalate as we incurred search fees from the MRD (Main Roads Dept). The parking officers, who had engineered their uniforms to look as much like the police as possible, were a bunch of swaggering jerks. There were three copies of every ticket. The orange card was affixed to the windscreen wiper, the white original and blue carbon copy stayed in the filing cabinet. As the paid tickets were received, the copies were removed to another area. After the due date, I had to separate the unpaid originals from their copies, bundle them up and take them around to the EDP (Electronic Data Processing) Dept. Here operators would key punch all the information onto cards and these cards were then read by the massive computer. A few days later I would return to pick up the originals and an enormous printout produced by their line printer (a multi-part sheet with an original and two carbon copies). I would then manually de-collate and burst these sheets into separate, matching stacks and walk the original to MRD. Everyone around me hated these days, because I filled every available waste paper bin with sheets of carbon paper.
MRD would send me back a stack of Statutory Declarations, naming the vehicle's owner and giving address details. After I matched them with the original unpaid tickets, I would take them up to the huge, grey Xerox copier. It had a curved glass and instead of a hard, flat cover it had a rubber mat that I would lay over the glass before hitting the start button. I used a form letter that was embedded in a piece of curved perspex to exactly fit the copier's glass. There was a cut-out piece on the back of the perspex that allowed me to place the original copy of the ticket before making the copy. So I would stand there for an hour or more, lifting back the rubber mat, removing one ticket and replacing it with the next before hitting the start button. These letters were sent to the owners demanding immediate payment of the fine plus search fee and threatening court action if the new amount remained unpaid.
After two weeks, I would match the Stat Decs with the unpaid tickets so all the typists could start work on summonses. These long documents also had multiple carbon copies, which were a real pain to correct as we had to place cardboard under each sheet of carbon paper, then rub out the error on each page before retyping (the CC always smudged or if you rubbed too hard, a hole developed). It was a legal document so no liquid paper was allowed and it wasn't until after I left work in 1973 that they brought in word processors to make the job easy!
The parking officers had to record every word of abuse the driver had said to him by writing on the back of the white original. In turn, this horrible writing had to be deciphered by us, so we learnt all the four-letter words under the sun. One pathetic driver actually used his parking ticket as toilet paper, then sent it back to us through the mail. The stupid idiot left all the vehicle's details and ticket number in place so it was easy for us and Australia Post to trace him and bring charges.
Although my new section was in the same large office and only separated from Cashiers by a waist-high divider, it was another world. Our boss was a little man, in body and spirit, who wouldn't let a woman smoke within sight of the public counter, but a guy could walk up and talk to the public with a smoke hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Mr K would never speak to you at his desk, because he didn't like being stood over so he'd say, "Talk to you in a minute" and when you sat down, he would come over to stand beside your desk. He made all the women work out a roster for making the morning and afternoon tea/coffee. We would have to serve the men at their desks.
One sleazy accountant made the mistake of running his hand up the back of my leg, so that afternoon I doctored his coffee. I emptied a large blob of glue into the bottom of his coffee then emptied an entire glass bowl of pins into the glue ... well, I didn't want him to swallow the pins! I kept my eyes on him as he took his first couple of sips and watched the colour drain out of his face. He never touched me again and even went so far as to ask me out. What a freak!
L and I got our revenge on Mr K by meeting in the ladies room, where we'd sit on the couch and smoke a few cigarettes together. Each time we walked out, we were gone for about 30mins, so he lost a lot of productivity with his sexist attitude. We also had lunch together over at the Carleton's Ladies Lounge. In those days, it wasn't really acceptable for women to drink with men in the Public Bar. We each ordered toasted ham and tomato sandwiches (45cents) with a Blue Lagoon (Gin + Blue Curacao) cocktail (45 cents). The barman loved experimenting on us, so we tried Black, Red, Mauve and Green Lagoons too.
We didn't do this every day, because after 6 cocktails at lunch we could barely walk back to the office ... remember we were wearing platform-soled shoes. We would spend a blissful afternoon not getting any work done, phoning each other to have a quiet giggle or carefully walking around to the ladies for a smoke. I don't know who lead who astray, but we didn't really care. We made plans to buy a VW Kombi and just travel around the country until L met K, a budding cop (meaning he still had a neck).
Twin wanted to marry A, but Mum and Dad wouldn't allow it so she deliberately set out to get pregnant. She and A were married in September 1970, renting a house in Ashgrove and baby H was born in February, 1971. Twin was a bit overdue, so A decided a good fright was in order and took us for a midnight walk through a large cemetery. They visited the spot where they first kissed, in a rather large tomb. It worked remarkably well. ☺ Let me point out that although we visited several cemeteries at night, we were not vandals and never did any damage.
Following are some of Twin's wedding day photos, showing our entire family. At this stage, she worked in a bridal store and designed both our outfits ... she had so much artistic talent and such potential!
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