Chrissi

 Chrissi, the woman who gave me the world's worst-ever hangover. God how I miss you. Regularly. Not for the hangovers.

Chrissi was the first person I met when I walked up the long winding steps to The Outdoor Education Group National Hub in Eildon for a job interview to be OEG's IT Manager.

She gave me a big grin the moment I walked in, asked a few pertinent questions to place me in the district. A few month's later she confessed, "I told Claude to employ you, I knew you'd fit right in straight away". Thanks Chrissi, one of the best workplaces I've ever been in.

She cultivated a kind of hybridized farmer's wife/pub tart/cabaret singer persona. She was a "how ya going mate?" straight talker with an "I've been singing in a smoky bar all night" husky voice, office apparel up top and workboots on her feet and her hair was always dyed a fiery red apart from the one time she tried cultivating a grey, hippy bun look. 

Chrissi was known around the office as "The Walking Time Bomb". She smoked like a chimney and she drank like a fish, she was short and plump and motherly. She regularly grabbed either Cals, my database admin or me, for tech support on our way through for a coffee or she'd have some story to tell us about her day or her past.

Chrissi introduced me and plenty of others to her favourite knock-off drink, a Chrissi Special. For the bar staff this meant a pot of ice, with a double shot of scotch and coke. That bloody drink was regularly my undoing, whether it was bar night at "The Middle" (the pub between Eildon and Thornton and OEGer's Friday night haunt) or a night round at her place in Molesworth or the night of my worst ever hangover, on the back verandah at the trout farm where my husband and I lived. That knowing bitch brought a rather large bottle of scotch with her that night and we would have also downed a bottle of Snob's Creek wine (or two) from the Trout Farm shop also. 

The next day to top it off she cooked Eggs Benedict with some smoked salmon from the farm on top the next day and I was far too ill to eat it or even consume a peppermint tea. 

Chrissi had a husky voice like a cabaret singer and a chequered past to match. Every year OEG had a "Cross Dress Tennis" night as a social occasion down at the courts. All the girls dressed as men, which wasn't a stretch for some given that 19% of the workforce were lesbians (according to Eyrnn in HR who was a lesbian) and all the blokes who wanted to dress to impress went round to Chrissi's to raid her wardrobe for jumpsuits and get their makeup done.

My favourite photo of Chrissi is of her sandwiched between two superfit OEG bare-chested groupleaders below the hub front deck. I wish I knew who had that photo. I'd love a copy.

Chrissi loved to cook and she regularly tried out all manner of gourmet fare on many willing tasters at OEG. Her version of special fried rice with real Chinese sausage in it. A fig salami, dukkahs galore. 

I left OEG to have a baby and never returned. Eventually Chrissi's job as receptionist at OEG ended and she was replaced with a phone routing system, you know the "Press 1 for ..., Press 2 for ..."

Losing her job didn't stop her. She went on to launch a conserve business called "Two Pickled" (a nice play on words given her habits) with her husband Doug. It was very popular. All the OEG staff purchased from her and she sold lots of dukkah, olive oil (Doug worked at an olive farm as well as managed his own property) and her signature line of "Kick Arse Chutney", chutney with a hint of chilli in it through all the local markets and food festivals of which Murrindindi had plenty.

Unfortunately Chrissi passed away in 2017. She and Doug had come to visit us in Horsham and she was limping and in a lot of pain from her back down her leg. Really not in a good way. She told me she was going to have an operation in a couple of months and I distinctly recall her posting that her operation had been a success and it was great to finally be pain free. The next day she didn't wake up.

Many locals attended her funeral and OEG staff gave her hearse a guard of honour on the way to the crematorium. We had planned to be across to Alexandra that year for skiing not her funeral but I was completely slayed by a flu and not in any fit state to get there nor wanting to share my germs with the other mourners.

She told me all the time she was writing her memoirs. I don't know what happened to them. I would have liked to read them.