After work you decide to visit your local woolworths. You drive into the carpark and have to stop to give way to the 3rd worlder who is collecting trolleys. He doesn't care that he is doing this menial work. He is saving up to bring his family here. You park your car and wait for the escalators to bring you into the shopping center. An african man whisks past you. Why would you walk on an escalator you think to yourself.

First stop is the deli, where you are welcomed by a smiling brown face. She doesn't care that she is working for woolworths, she hopes to apply for permanent residency soon. She dreams of living the western lifestyle, of bringing her husband and parents here to settle down.

You proceed to the checkout, shopping trolley full of processed foods, most of which contain artificial ingredients, the safety of which are unknown. Tanuja at the checkout doesn't eat this junk. He is unhealthily skinny you think to yourself, not remembering that 30 years ago the majority of young white people were built like this. Even you yourself were skinny as a young man. Now you can hardly bend over to do up your shoelaces. But you are an Aussie. You like a meat pie and a beer.

You stop for petrol on the way home at the most convenient bp/shell. Once again you are greeted by a smiling brown face. Raj doesn't mind working at a petrol station. He know's it is all a veneer. He would never be able to obtain a lifestyle like this back in india. There are too many people to compete with for jobs, no matter how rich your family is. As you walk out of the store a young couple cut across infront of you. A young chubby blonde on the arm of a dark fella, possibly srilankan. He spurts a few lines in a perfect Australian accent. She giggles.

Next stop is your local public primary school. You park your car next to a BMW. An asian man; perhaps chinese, is packing his four kids into this wonderful example of german engineering. You are late. You walk over to the front gate, where your only child is waiting. He looks angry. He is very pudgy, already developing little breasts. You tell him you are sorry and comfort him by coming up with the idea of mcdonalds for dinner. Your wife will like this too, though her diabetes will protest.

To be continued. I think you get my point though.