What To Expect When You're Done Ex-pat-ing

We left in our thousands, disillusioned and clinging to the dream of greener grass further afield.  Clutching our hard-earned, useless degrees, we booked our one-way tickets and our visas. We cast our hopes and dreams across the continents, desperately believing there was more to life beyond these borders. Then, we were away so long we forgot how bad it had been.

And gradually, we returned.

I am one of those reclaiming my Irishness. I was in Melbourne for almost four years and have just returned to Tullamore in Offaly. The two are literally urban opposites.

 It hasn’t been smooth sailing. In fact, it’s been one big, long, rocky period of fuckery. And yet, here I am, obstinately hopeful.

Here’s a list of helpful hints/cautionary tales for anyone considering a similar move.

1.     The Food Is Just As Good As You Remember

No other nation quiet grasps the importance of a crisp sandwich, a grisly pork sausage or a strong, milky cup of Lyons tea (you heard me, you Barrys-swilling philistines)

2.     Nothing Else Is

All the reasons you had for leaving are still probably there. Bear that in mind when you’re envisioning your triumphant return.

3.     You Should’ve Gone To Specsavers

Take off those rose-tinted glasses. You have definitely idolized Ireland, regardless of your protestations to the contrary. You’ve matured somewhat in your time away – you had no choice – but you are not the all-knowing, open-minded, culture-embracing individual you think you are. There are those who know better than you – listen to your parents and peers when they tell you what it’s like in Ireland. Don’t shrug off their firm reminders of what modern Irish life is. They aren’t being negative – they are sharing their wisdom.

4.     Take out Life Assurance Before Applying For Car Insurance

If you’ve been away for more than three years, prepare to sell your kidney to the black market to afford the compulsory vehicle insurance. If you’ve only got one kidney left, have a toilet nearby because involuntary bowel movements are pretty much a given. In the case of an ex-pat returning from Australia, all driving experience from that particular country will be rendered null and void by the chortling, hardly-legible country bumpkins manning the switchboards at AXA, FBD and all the rest. In fact, most companies will flat out refuse to insure you at all.

5.     Banks

My local Permanent TSB branch opens at ten o’ clock in the morning. The cash desks are promptly closed at three in the afternoon. I think that’s enough said about that – the vein throbbing in my temple has had an adequate workout this week and needs no further strain.

6.     Job Envy

The majority of the people you have left behind will have jobs, or will be making serious strides towards figuring out a decent career path. You will have to endure their standard work-related moans and groans while receiving rejection letters from Topaz for fifteen-hour night shifts. Try clenching your glutes during this inevitable conversation– this exercise is doubly beneficial, helping tone your ass cheeks and preventing grievous bodily harm befalling the ones you hold dear.

7.     Transformation Nation

Small town syndrome is alive and well.  The place where you grew up will be simultaneously unrecognizable and familiar. Everything  - and nothing – will have changed. Your business will soon be public knowledge. Your previous anonymity is gone. Revel in your notoriety.

8.     Friends

If you’re lucky enough to have real ones, it will be as if you weren’t away at all. The banter and craic will come flowing from all directions, shots will be downed, embarrassing tales will be reminisced, nicknames will be cat-called, hangovers will be suffered and you will feel right at home almost instantly.

9.     Fictionalized Family

While abroad, you will create an utterly delusional picture of your family. You will block out the bickering. You will excitedly promise trips away, meals out, poker nights, extravagant Christmas presents and a general Seventh-Heaven-style familial bond upon your touchdown. And then, your parents will ask you what you plan to do with your life and your brother will flip you off and the new cat will piss on your hand and you’ll morph back into your over-dramatic, self-pitying fourteen-year-old self.

10. You Have Been Warned

Every second person you meet will ask the reasoning behind your decision to return. There will be days - when you have clumps of your own hair in your balled-up fists and foam fizzing through your clenched teeth – when you yourself will forget why you got on that homeward-bound plane.

And then there will be days when you’re following a bi-polar sat-nav through a backwards village you can’t pronounce with your suddenly-adolescent little sister crying with laughter in the passenger seat. And there’ll be days when you share a sneaky cigarette over a super-bitch-fest with your best friends. And there’ll be days when your mother makes you laugh and gives you a tight hug after your third disastrous interview. And there will be days when you get up at six in the morning and see a blanket of thick, white fog clinging to the fields and trees stretching for miles either side of you.

And on those days, you’ll remember. And you’ll keep going.

How Not To Be Murdered By Wait Staff

I've worked - albeit reluctantly - in hospitality for years. I genuinely enjoy it, because you get to meet all sorts of people and every day is different. I've picked up a few pet peeves along the way, and - being the charitable soul that I am- I've decided to share those frustrations in a bid to avoid such behaviours in the future.

1. Don't snap your fingers.

I will snap off said appendages with my teeth and decorate your kid's hot chocolates with your pinkies. It's rude and unnecessary. 

2. Keep an eye on your wayward, sugar-fuelled children.

I'm bringing hot beverages and steaming meals from kitchen to table - it's a dangerous environment in which  to let your offspring wander unsupervised. And yet, there is little Mary, waltzing clumsily around strangers’ tables in a purple princess dress, eyes closed, caterwauling some key-less song at the top of her lungs; a three-foot-tall, mobile obstacle course. Don’t come crying to me if she gets a blackened eye from a teapot spout. Mary is your responsibility.

3. Don't bother me when I'm on my break.

I make small talk with people all day long. I drink two litres of water every day to keep salivating. If I'm sitting down, with an apron draped behind me on the chair and my eyes glued to a newspaper, take it for granted that I am not all that interested in the new jogging pants you bought for seventy percent less than your sister-in-law did four months ago. Take the hint and piss right off back to your table.

4. Don't order whatever you “had the last time.”

You are not that memorable.  Leave your delusions of individuality at the door and tell me what you want so I can promptly deliver it.

5. Be ready.

It doesn't bother me if you aren't ready to order. The establishment will not cease to exist if you don't make up your mind within a certain time frame. Peruse the menu at your leisure and of what you want. Don't call me over and then proceed to dilly-daddle between two different options. While you dawdle, the stack of dishes I have to wash pile ever higher, the tables are left unattended  a little longer, the stock grows lower; the job entails more than scribbling in a shorthand the chef can understand. The longer I’m stood waiting, the longer you’ve to wait for your order to arrive.

6. If you wear glasses to read, bring them with you when you dine out.

I'm not your personal automated reading service. Holding the menu as far away from your eyes as possible will not ensure legibility. Just bring your specs.

7. Never ask for a discount.

If you're a close friend or family member, maybe the boss would be so kind as to knock a bit off the original total. If  our only mutual friend on Facebook is the social media page of a local pub that's been out of business for several years, open your wallet. 

8. Don’t expect me to cater to your latest  fad diet.

“I want the fat free option. That means that I don't want there to be any fat in it. As in, put proportionate amounts of the same ingredients from this dish on the plate – except without fat.  I need to lose weight for a wedding in September, so it has to be without fat.”

Enjoy your plate of lettuce.

9. State your allergies  before placing your order.

There's little I can do to avoid a reaction if you inform me of your chilli-intolerance after ordering the sweet chilli chicken wrap. If your allergies could turn to elegies, it's best you ask all the questions pertaining to your particular condition before any food is prepared. 

10. Never underestimate your waitstaff.

I've worked alongside nurses, travel agents, I.T. consultants and psychology graduates. I’ve worked with natives and foreign nationals alike. You should never talk down to your waitstaff, or make assumptions about their culture. We are not slaves, paid to do your bidding. We are hard-working, tax-paying employees.Treat your server with respect and dignity. 

After all, little  Mary in the purple princess dress might need a job someday and she's sure as hell not going to make it as a waltzer.