space travel
At the top end of Bourke St, near the Hard Rock Cafe, there's a travel agent called Space Travel. They opened a few days ago. In the window display, there are pictures of couples and families and friends enjoying drinks in space station bars, and cardboard cut-outs of planets dangling down the glass, and there's a backlit board listing destinations and current full-fare and concession prices for one-way and return flights.
I went there last night. It's a small shop with one extra large desk and two computers, a large wall map of our solar system, ad posters, brochure stands, and some two-meter-high foam space rockets. The staff have neat uniforms with neck scarves like flight attendants.
I browsed through several brochures and the lady at the desk checked if I was happy browsing, and offered her help with any questions that I might have. I flicked through "Adventure Resort Digby IV", "Jupiter Summer Fun Hotel" and "Quick Trips Round the Neo-European Andes Moons" before asking the lady about the average round-trip time it would take to get a good look at space without feeling like I was a fleeting tourist. She asked me to take a seat and said she'd bring up some options on the system and print them out for me. I sat down and while she was typing, she said that a year was generally a good length of time - anything less than a month would be a waste - but some people suffered homesickness after a month - and that she'd show me some possible packages based on one, six and twelve month holiday stays.
As she finished talking, a door opened at the back of the shop and another lady, dressed in the same fashion, walked out and began to say something - except she saw that she had interrupted us, and she apologised and shook my hand, introducing herself as Daly, "like the week, without the i".
Daly asked the first lady - whose nametag said Jack - what we had been discussing, then asked me if I was familiar with space travel - the company or activity. I answered "neither," and she suggested that if I had ten minutes spare, she could show me their video promotion in the lounge, because it had fine footage of their interstellar partner resorts and hotels.
I had no idea what was going on. But if I was ever going to be murdered, it may as well happen at a place called Space Travel. And if it was all a big scam, then I admired the crazy setup, and I only had $200 dollars in my everyday account.
So I said sure, I'd love to, and Daly ushered me through the door. Where there was a small lounge area, with a sofa, pot plants, tea & coffee, bar fridge. And through another door. And down a bright white staircase. To a space bar. About six people, including the bar staff, turned around to look at me, and one by one they shook my hand and introduced themselves. Daly stayed by my side and when she had my attention again, she handed me an electronic passcard with the word "Drinks" on it, told me it had $40 credit and allowed me free wireless, then asked what's my favourite animal. I said: doggies and unicorns, I can't decide which. She entered something on her sidekick and then took my snapshot, glanced at the screen, and told me my password, and said that it's linked to my photo, so it can only be used by me. OK, I said, and asked if they are open every night. Sure, she said. She excused herself and went back upstairs.
I left a few hours later, and on my way out, I passed a couple in the Space Travel shop, belligerently asking Jack questions about the shop and what it was there for. They saw me coming through the door at the back of the shop and went over to see what was behind it, while demanding to know where I'd been and what I'd been doing. Jack gracefully answered that there was a staff area in the back, and that I'd been there for a job interview. Daly appeared behind me, at the back door, and said, "See you Kate, it was lovely to meet you. Hope your interview went well? And that we'll see you soon."
I went there last night. It's a small shop with one extra large desk and two computers, a large wall map of our solar system, ad posters, brochure stands, and some two-meter-high foam space rockets. The staff have neat uniforms with neck scarves like flight attendants.
I browsed through several brochures and the lady at the desk checked if I was happy browsing, and offered her help with any questions that I might have. I flicked through "Adventure Resort Digby IV", "Jupiter Summer Fun Hotel" and "Quick Trips Round the Neo-European Andes Moons" before asking the lady about the average round-trip time it would take to get a good look at space without feeling like I was a fleeting tourist. She asked me to take a seat and said she'd bring up some options on the system and print them out for me. I sat down and while she was typing, she said that a year was generally a good length of time - anything less than a month would be a waste - but some people suffered homesickness after a month - and that she'd show me some possible packages based on one, six and twelve month holiday stays.
As she finished talking, a door opened at the back of the shop and another lady, dressed in the same fashion, walked out and began to say something - except she saw that she had interrupted us, and she apologised and shook my hand, introducing herself as Daly, "like the week, without the i".
Daly asked the first lady - whose nametag said Jack - what we had been discussing, then asked me if I was familiar with space travel - the company or activity. I answered "neither," and she suggested that if I had ten minutes spare, she could show me their video promotion in the lounge, because it had fine footage of their interstellar partner resorts and hotels.
I had no idea what was going on. But if I was ever going to be murdered, it may as well happen at a place called Space Travel. And if it was all a big scam, then I admired the crazy setup, and I only had $200 dollars in my everyday account.
So I said sure, I'd love to, and Daly ushered me through the door. Where there was a small lounge area, with a sofa, pot plants, tea & coffee, bar fridge. And through another door. And down a bright white staircase. To a space bar. About six people, including the bar staff, turned around to look at me, and one by one they shook my hand and introduced themselves. Daly stayed by my side and when she had my attention again, she handed me an electronic passcard with the word "Drinks" on it, told me it had $40 credit and allowed me free wireless, then asked what's my favourite animal. I said: doggies and unicorns, I can't decide which. She entered something on her sidekick and then took my snapshot, glanced at the screen, and told me my password, and said that it's linked to my photo, so it can only be used by me. OK, I said, and asked if they are open every night. Sure, she said. She excused herself and went back upstairs.
I left a few hours later, and on my way out, I passed a couple in the Space Travel shop, belligerently asking Jack questions about the shop and what it was there for. They saw me coming through the door at the back of the shop and went over to see what was behind it, while demanding to know where I'd been and what I'd been doing. Jack gracefully answered that there was a staff area in the back, and that I'd been there for a job interview. Daly appeared behind me, at the back door, and said, "See you Kate, it was lovely to meet you. Hope your interview went well? And that we'll see you soon."