Quibbling Rivalry

Now here’s something singular I’ve recently discovered:  there seems to be a kind of jocular regionalism here in Australia—a semi-serious rivaly between the states that is overt enough and edgy enough to be detected even by someone as obtuse as I.

Exhibit A:  One day in our early weeks here in Melbourne, as we were sitting in the office of the local telephone company and limbering up to sign a 900-year lease on our DSL modem, we happened to mention to our young salesman that we were planning a Christmas trip to Tasmania.  “Oh, don’t go to Tassie,” he told us immediately.  “They’re inbred there—they’ve all got two heads.”  He grinned a moment later to show us he was kidding, sort of.  But I’ve since heard the same comment, nearly verbatim, from another Melburnian.  This one added, “In fact, if someone tells you they came from Tassie, you ask if you can see their scar.  Where they took off the other head, you know?”  He made it clear that while some people might tell a joke like that, he never would.

But before you start feeling too sorry for the Tasmanians, consider Exhibit B, which I found printed on the back of a Hobart milk carton:

 

“Not everyone can be on the front line helping to protect Betta Milk.  But to ensure that our milk stays in our state, there are suspects YOU can look out for every day to give Nikki and Frank a hand (after all, those mainlanders can be shifty…).” 

In case it’s not clear that these “shifty mainlanders” are retirees from the rest of Australia, Nikki and Frank give you tips for spotting them.

If you live in a small town, don’t think it can’t happen to you—right in your back yard!  Identifiable by their recent retirement, lack of children and abundance of cash to splash, these mainlanders often take refuge as those looking for a ‘tree change’ or ‘sea change’.  These are some of the most shifty and resourceful mainlanders; clever enough to embed themselves into your town’s psyche, then complete their mission methodically over a period of time.

Do your part to help protect our state.  If you suspect unauthorised milk use, contact the Betta Milk website and our new recruits will investigate your case.  Betta MILK.  Betta TASTE.

I have read this several times, letting it embed itself in my psyche, and giving it the benefit of every possible doubt, and the kindest conclusion I arrive at is that it was simply a grotesquely botched attempt at humor: the website given for reporting “unauthorised milk use,” after all, just links to the home page for a Tasmanian internet provider. A less charitable conclusion is that we ought to wait a while yet before we absolutely rule out the two-head theory.  Do but consider:  this amazing screed did not write itself spontaneously and get itself imprinted on a milk carton.  Someone had to scratch his head (maybe both of them) and compose it; others looked it over and edited it, possibly cutting sections deemed “over the top” and a bit strong for inclusion on a family milk container; still others approved the final draft and set the type to print it onto the carton.  You get my point, of course:  a bit on the tetched and paranoid side.

And what of the non-shifty, non-embedded mainland retirees (surely there must be some who just blundered over and thought the place looked nice)?  What are they to make of this crusade against them?  I know a daily read like that would cause me to look up now and then from my morning bowl of flax and bran, just to make sure a lively cohort from the Betta Milk Protection Squad wasn’t sweeping in through the garden gate, lit torches in hand, to welcome me to the neighborhood.  

But meanwhile, back here among the shifty mainlanders, I find Exhibit C on the back of some of our milk cartons:  the lyrics to “Advance Australia Fair,” the national anthem.  So now I really don’t know what to think.  On the one hand, Australia’s milk is perfectly wholesome, and if there really is a rising tide of virulent regionalism, I’m sure dairy products will play an extremely small part in any likely civil disturbance.  On the other hand, I’m beginning to wonder about my own milk use to date: was it all fully authorised?  I certainly don’t have documentation to prove it was.  So, out of an abundance of caution I have decided to switch to the excellent Australian soy beverages.  For now, their producers seem wholly indifferent to my politics or national origin, and the most incendiary thing on the carton is the cholesterol information. 

--originally posted 3/2009