I, like pretty much everybody who comes to Sydney, have been asked all the relevant questions.
“Where do you live?”
“What car do you drive?”
“Do you own your house?”
“How much money do you make?”
I know what I would sometimes like to answer, but I more often than not tell the truth. I live in the north-west, rent my house and drive a Honda Jazz.
Those factors, coupled with what I earn, probably have me pidgeon-holed firmly in the middle class. Those in the upper class probably don’t want to associate with me, and those in housing commission probably feel uncomfortable around me – just as I should feel around those who drive a Mercedes Benz and live in a penthouse on the North Shore.
Detect the sarcasm folks. It’s there!
A friend – a high-ish ranking journalist – applied for a house recently. He saw 10 people lodge applications, yet the agent called him the next day to ask if he would be applying. So much for the process being fair and equitable.
Similarly, after producing a business card at another property, the agent revealed there was a better house next door, but that inspections were a little harder to come by. Regardless, would he like to have a look?
Ah but of course, it’s not WHAT you know in a big city.
This whole class thing doesn’t mean Sydney is a bad place. There is a strong sense of community, particularly in the outer suburbs. There are some wonderful people.
But why the judgemental snobbery? Can anyone tell me, because it’s letting our city down in a big way?
