You Know What My Problem Is?

I'll tell you. My problem is that I don't judge people enough.

That's right. I said it. And here's why:

I have this tendency to expect people to be decent, honest individuals and am continuously shocked when they aren't. I used the word "continuously" right there because they indeed aren't, SO much. I really shouldn't be so shocked all the time, because as my highly intelligent mother likes to say, "common sense isn't so common." Mom, you're a goddamn soothsayer.

(Be forewarned, this whole post is one big rant about how much I dislike idiots/crazies/assholes. Feel free to skip it.)

My incredible Byron Bay stay was ripped apart limb by metaphorical limb due to two people whose identifying characteristics I can only describe as miserable and crazy.

The details of the story are so absurd and numerous that I'm hesitant to even attempt a recount here, but suffice it to say that by this past weekend, when the hostel owner went on a trip from Saturday until Tuesday (today), all hell broke loose.
Almost as soon as the owner left, the Swedish-then-actually-Polish-then-she-claimed-to-be-some-other-nationality-and-I-just-decided-she-was-full-of-shit receptionist-turned-dictator turned on a dime and became an absolute nutcase.

Bipolarity would be a sugar coating, but that's the easiest way to explain her mood swings and totally unpredictable states of mind.
When I met her, she was bubbly and sweet. She offered to drive me into town whenever I needed, she asked all kinds of questions about my travels so far, and was very happy to have some extra help. She also spoke in a very high-pitched voice that I found quirky if also really irritating.

But then, she turned a switch.

One second, we're laughing about stepping in an unidentifiable puddle, the next she's near tears because there are no more dish towels.
She has said twice that she HATES Americans, but she also loves meeting people!!!!!!
She threw Oklahoma girl's clothing out of their shared room in the middle of the night, for no apparent reason.
When asked why, the receptionist suddenly didn't understand English. And her voice dropped about 6 octaves.

The receptionist's ally is a whole separate species.

He's born and bred in Byron and a true Aussie bloke, which typically would be awesome, and was, at first.
He knows tons of weird information about various poisons and Australian animals, when the best times to see dolphins are, how to set up all kinds of tents, and my favorite, he drives an enormous 4-wheel-drive monster truck called "The Bullfrog."

But he's also absolutely crazy (not the fun kind) and speaks too freely about his gross and varied sexual and drug-ridden exploits, lives in the back of his van, wears a minimum of three pinky rings, and is equally as bipolar. He digs for gold, sells very shoddy cars on eBay, has a son in Germany who he is determined to get custody of because he has friends in the Polish mafia (as well as a best friend who is a Colombian cocaine producer, in case I'm interested), and is about as racist as Jim fucking Crowe.

So.

Greenland Guesthouse Resort became Survivor: The Byron Bay Edition.
There quickly became two sides: our side (me, Oklahoma girl and Brazilian boy, who both turned out to be really great compatriots), which we will call "REALITY" and their side, which we will call "BATSHIT INSANITY."

After a lot of very strange and uncomfortable tension, BATSHIT INSANITY decided that it was time.
Time for what?
Exactly.

The receptionist got Crazy Bloke to tell REALITY (me, OK, and Brazil) to "get the fuck out of the hostel" because they (BATSHIT INSANITY) were now in charge since the owner was gone.
REALITY resisted. We all just sat there eating our watermelon and apple slices and asked, "why?"
This got BATSHIT INSANITY angry, Crazy Bloke threatened to call the cops.
Brazil called his bluff, since Crazy Bloke most likely had more shit to uncover about his storied past and would in effect be screwing himself over (smart move by Brazil), but Crazy Bloke threatened that if Brazil didn't "get the FUCK off my property, you'll be sorry!"

(And this all in front of guests, which I'm sure the owner would've appreciated)

I quickly decided to go to my campervan and wait out the tension.

About an hour later, I walked back in and asked if things had calmed down a bit, to which the receptionist again suddenly didn't understand what I meant?
Receptionist: "What is 'calm down?'"
Me: "Relaxed. Not fucking tense. Normal."
Receptionist: "I don't know what these means? I work 14 hour days!!!!!!!!!!! I don't have time to deal with this shit! Fucking American beeeetches. No respect!"

I decided it best not to answer her, so I just booked a bus to Noosa by way of Brisbane (where I am now) and left this afternoon.

Part of me thinks this all could've been avoided had I looked past the too-friendly exterior of these people and seen them for what they really are: totally insane and looking to take whatever they can from others (specifically, energy).
The other part is just happy I'm not there anymore, though my campervan was prettttty sweet.

I'm sure my dad would say, "this is a good learning experience."
And I'm sure he'd be right.
But there are some life lessons, like how to communicate with crazy people, that I just keep having to learn and to be honest, I think I'll just never master that skill.