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I work for Phantom Billstickers, which distributes posters and fliers for all sorts of cultural events, concerts, sports etc. You know all the posters in town? Yeah Phantom does that. My specific job is retail manager, and I organise poster/flier distribution in shops around the city. Its pretty fun, and has some sweet perks. Like free tickets (big day out here I come). I also get to travel around the country a bit, and just before New Years I went up to beach towns in the North Island and put up posters for police recruitment.

The posters themselves were pretty fucking lame, and slightly offensive, but the trip was rad. I got to fly into Tauranga and from there I drove a rental car to Mt Maunganui, Waihi and Raglan, before leaving via Hamilton. It was a really fucking rad experience getting to witness areas of New Zealand that I had never seen, but heard so much about.

I meant to write something about the trip sooner, but procrastination settled in, and I never got around to it. Then, on Thursday last week I got called up by my boss, who tells me I have to go back up the next day to take down and replace some of the posters, because there was a public outcry over one of the messages (the one depicted about cougars), and there was a negative article about it in the Wellington newspaper. Since I was the one that put them up/knew where they were, I had to go back up and do another mission around the beach towns. I wrote some stuff while I was up there about the experiences, so here it is.

5am. Blink and I'm awake. The birds are mocking me with their cheerful cries. Semi-conscious shower and a rush to the shuttle. Catch the red eye and watch the world reluctantly wake up. Wellington provides a desperately quick breakfast in the form of a cigarette. Another flight, and the engine rumbles like a glorified lawnmower. The clouds sparkle with promise and I rest my eyes for a moment. Blink and its another airport.

The urban sprawl is daunting, as I'm swallowed in a crowd of beautiful and bogan. Raiding bargain bins in Mt Maunganui and having a serious Incubus relapse. Refueling at Burger fuel, and zig-zagging through anonymous streets in search of my next destination. Leaving smoke trails in Bethlehem.

Waihi is a ghost town, under the guise of historical significance. It's like Ashburton's slow cousin. The sun scorches and the streets slowly fill, until its bustling. Well, as bustling as two blocks between KFC and an old forgotten mine can be. I make haste out of there, and down to my cabin by the beach for the night.
Leftover Indian does not make for the best breakfast, and let's never mention this again.
Te Aroha, bitches! Walking a fine line between quaint and backwater. While the roadside stalls held my attention, an entourage of tractors filled with a groom and his best men march past. Best rural wedding cliche ever.

Raglan. After a 3 hour drive, I am saved by the buoyancy of citrus as a conveyor belt of hotness glides by. I might be the only person for miles that is wearing black jeans, and I quietly curse my decision to pack my bags in the dark while drunk. Raglan provides a beautiful backdrop to a tiring day, but its not over yet. A frantic race to the airport, arriving at exactly 420, and grinning at not being late. Wellington provides a plethora of turbulences, before the final flight home, as fatigue sets in.

Half a tab and many beers provide the best context for my return, and T54 rip through a vicious set in the wonderful El Santo. Watching my curtains breathe and watching the world twist and roar as I smile comfortably. Evolving has never been so much fun.