Liaisons with Maz.
Maz was a prostitute. I crossed paths with her a few times during the year I spent in New Zealand. I even lived with her briefly. She had a very unique name, something like Masandria [long, Dutch sounding surname] but she introduced herself to me as Maz and that’s all I can remember now.
I’d recently arrived in New Zealand, looking to escape the London rat race for a while, explore the country and hopefully meet some fun people along the way. I planned to base myself in Auckland for the first few months so after a week or two living in a hostel, I started looking for some semi-permanent accommodation.
I posted messages on the backpacker’s forums, something that made me sound like the ideal person anyone would want to live with, something like ‘Easy going, super laid-back, fun loving traveller and all round cool guy from UK, looking for shared accommodation with Kiwis or other backpackers.’ It worked. Maz responded.
We met at her place in the Eden Park district of Auckland. The girl who was moving out was also there and they were both lovely. We chatted for a while and seemed to hit it off, so I said well, if you want to give me the room, I’ll take it.
Two other guys who lived in the house weren’t at home but it seemed Maz had the final say and I wasn’t too concerned about not meeting them beforehand. I figured they must also be cool to be living with such charming, friendly girls.
Maz wasn’t around when I moved in a few days later and I was greeted by my new housemate Jason.
“Hello. I’ve already taken all the furniture from your room”, was the first thing he said, grinning at me from behind a scruffy beard.
“Oh, er... hello, I’m John. Er... actually the girl who moved out bought the furniture herself and I gave her some money for it so, er... it actually belongs to me now.”
“Oh right, I didn’t know that.” Jason disappears into his room. Doesn’t come back out.
Okay. Solve that problem later.
Another guy came home. “Hey man, nice to meet you. Let’s go get a beer.” He didn’t say that. “Oh jeezus, Maz found another pommie.” He said that. Went into his room. Didn’t come back out.
Nice welcome. I hoped things would be a little more social when Maz got home but she never appeared.
Next day, I went grocery shopping with Jason and asked him where Maz was. “I dunno, she’s not around very often. She’s got loads of hot friends. You’re gonna be having a lot of sex while you’re living here.
Ohhhh....kaaaaay. That was the second thing Jason, who still hadn’t returned my furniture, said to me.
Maz reappeared a day or two later and was just as friendly and chatty as she’d been the first time I met her.
“Oh helloooo, you’re here, great. Let’s make some dinner.”
“So where have you been?” I asked. “Away for work or something?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m a prostitute by the way. I didn’t mention it when we were discussing the room because it shouldn’t be an issue. I’m not ashamed of it.”
Ohhhh....kay.
She elaborated a bit more during the evening when I finally sat down for a drink with one of my new housemates. She wasn’t a street hooker, she had regular clients who would call to make appointments with her, which explained why she wasn’t home most evenings.
“When I was thinking about going on the game, I discussed it with my mum and that was the only way she was comfortable with it. Don’t worry, my clients never come here. Hardly ever.”
“Er, okay. So is this a long term career plan?“
“For now. In the fall I’ll be going back to university to repeat my final year.“
“Oh no, did you fail?“
“Yeah, kind of. I overslept on the morning of my final exam.“
I’m not making this up.
I didn’t like living in that house. I’d envisaged evenings spent hanging out with a bunch of fun, stimulating people but the only person fitting that description was hardly ever there. The others weren’t just unsocial, they were active arseholes. I didn’t even bother to tell them I was leaving, I just packed my stuff one morning and walked out. I did feel bad about Maz but I was in NZ to do my own thing and I certainly wasn’t high on her priority list. They could sell my furniture if they needed to cover rent for a few weeks.
A few days later, I was playing pool in the bar of the hostel I’d moved into when in walked Jason and his beard. You wouldn’t credit it would you. He sat at the bar with his beer, grinning over at me. Shaking my head in disbelief, thinking this would never happen in London, I went over and apologised for my dick move. Or, more accurately, my dick move out.
He just shrugged. “No worries, cuz. If you didn’t like it, you didn’t like it.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t but sorry for just walking out without a word. Er… was Maz pissed off?”
Another grin. “She doesn’t know yet.”
I got an email from her soon after. ‘Hi John, can I have my headphones back please.’
At some point she’d given me an old pair of headphones which I’d forgotten about. They were still buried in my backpack somewhere. And that was it. No you could have given us some notice, or you could have said something if you weren’t happy. Just, please can I have my headphones back.
In truth, I was too scared to face her so, choosing a time I was confident no one would be home, I dropped round and left the headphones on the back doorstep. Lame, I know.
I soon found a flatshare with 3 other travellers who became lifelong friends. This was what I’d been looking for. My adventure in New Zealand was finally getting started.
Almost a year on, after travelling the whole country, I was back in Auckland, temping again for the last few weeks left on my visa. I hadn’t intended to work at this point but I'd stumbled into quite a good job with a publishing company. NZ is a progressive country in many ways but, at that time, not with its IT infrastructure. Even my rudimentary skills were awe inspiring enough that I was offered sponsorship for a permanent visa. I sometimes daydream about how my life might have turned out if I’d accepted that....
....
....
....
.... anyway....
.... one evening, before I left for the day, the boss sent my department an email, informing us that a new person would be joining the team next week. Could we please make Masandria [long, Dutch sounding surname] feel welcome.
Well, there can’t be two people with that name living in Auckland, I thought to myself, shaking my head in disbelief. This would never happen in London.
Sure enough, there was Maz, sitting at a desk in my pod when I next came into the office. It had been a while but I prepared myself for a reprimand.
“Oh helloooo!!!....”, she beamed when she saw me.
“Hey Maz. I thought it would be you when I read the email last week. How are you? I’m really sorry about what I did last year.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I completely understood. We were difficult people to live with.”
“Well, you weren’t. It was the other guys I couldn’t take.”
“Yeah, they were dicks.” (pronounced ‘decks’ in her Kiwi accent.) “We all fell out eventually.”
“So, new career move?”
“Yeah. I’m joining the army in a couple of months.”
I doubt very much that the components of my face have ever, before or since, grouped themselves into such a configuration of amazement.
“I’m sorry, what??? You’re joining the army?“
“Yeah. I think I told you that I had to repeat my final year at uni because I overslept and missed an exam. Well, the same thing happened again this year.“
I’m not making this up.
“You’re kidding.“
“No. And I realised I have to sort myself out. So I applied to be a medic in the army.“
“Oh wow. That’s a bold move. Good luck, I hope it works out.“
“Thanks. I think it’s what I need.“
I wish I could remember Maz’s full name. It was unique enough that I’d easily be able to track her down on social media, find out what happened to her and what she’s doing now. She was so friendly and confident and clearly not afraid to make big life decisions. It’s likely things worked out, assuming her sergeant demonstrated the volume control on her alarm clock. If I ever bump into her again, I expect she'll beam at me and say, Oh helloooo....