Struggling with a lock highlighted the differences between living in the regions and the big city, writes Felix Desmarais. Photo / Stock Image
OPINION
It's something I've never felt before.
An ardent wish to be a trained locksmith.
I was in Auckland the other week. I've lived in big-ish cities all my life, growing up in Tauranga during its population boom, moving to Sydney at 15 and back to Wellington for university.
I've always loved city life and frankly never would have dreamed I would even consider living in Rotorua.
But a great job came up and I moved here at the end of 2019.
"Oh wow, Rotorua," a Wellington friend said to me at the time.
"That's so brave, I could never go rural."
Wellingtonians eh, some aren't always the most bulbous bucket on the fountain.
I was a little apprehensive about moving to, capital t, capital r, The Regions (a hilarious term considering everywhere is a region).
It's true it is quieter and that's why being in Auckland was such a shock to the system. There were mercifully fewer jandal and stubbies combinations, for sure, but the hectic rush of the city made me feel uneasy.
Walking down Queen St, I felt like a lake trout in a school of smoked salmon with capers.
I took the opportunity while I was there to shop for a new jumper - there aren't many options in Rotorua, not even a Barkers! Practically uncivilised.
A windy night, the retail assistants locked the doors to stop them blowing open. Having left un-jumpered (not in my colour, I'm afraid) the locked door was too much of a challenge for my tiny journalist brain to comprehend. We have a very specific set of skills which mostly include tracking someone down, yarning on the phone and translating bureaucrats' gobbledegook into plain language. Nothing so vexing as spatial brain teasers.
Two men stood on the other side of the door, impatiently watching me wrestle with the locks while I contemplated life imprisonment surrounded by merino, cashmere and polos.
I looked through the glass at the men, grinning, reaching out for that 'ha, well, here we are, silly old me, I can't work it out but I'm doing my best' moment. It didn't come. They were irate.
I managed to conquer the complex challenge - it consisted of turning the lock slightly further than I did on my first, second, third and seventh attempts. I was free.
The men grabbed the door and bustled through it, mowing me down without a word of thanks. Not even a chuckle at the unfortunate but hardly devastating delay.
I felt like a fool, partly because I had been of course. But then I realised I'd really just encountered the worst kind of humourless, self-important Aucklanders there are. While they were about two feet taller than me, I turned around, opened the door and lobbed an insult at them that referenced too much time spent in one's own room.
Big brave boy from the regions. I scurried away, quite confident they hadn't even heard it, but I sure showed them who's boss.
It made me appreciate what we have here in Rotorua, and in all "rural" places outside of the big cities.
While we're not immune to pucker-faced collar-popped cologne-brutes, we do make eye contact with strangers. We smile at one another on the forest trails. We yarn to strangers about how it really does smell quite Rotorua-y today. And that's quite lovely.
Big city life might be action-packed and lively, but living in the regions has its perks.
I've never met a lock in Rotorua I didn't like.
The holiday park says staff pick up a bag of rubbish a day from the carpark opposite.