Doug

This story started about 8 months ago
Is there anything more frustrating than just getting to the bottom of the stairs on the train platform and the train doors close?
The guard watches you doing a ‘Raelene Boyle’ up the ramp and over the top of the lines, down the stairs and just as you think that:
a) you have made it and
b) what a nice train guard
he/she has meticulously timed the door closure to the exact moment that you land on the bottom step. Your momentum takes you to within a poofteenth of the closing doors which have a gap, just big enough for you to (foolishly) fit your hand into.
Thankfully the door is surrounded by rubber so it is a matter of just reefing your hand out of the door before the airlock traps it otherwise you will be running alongside that train at 80 kms per hour because the guard is not going to open those doors no matter what!!
I have even seen people smash into the doors, a combination of not having brakes and frustration at having been foiled by the conductor.
Then the train pulls out and the guard stares at you, actually locks eyes, with a look of belligerence/wry humour/triumph. And as the train gathers momentum he/she (if they are a particularly cruel breed) will look back and give you a wave and a smile.
Usually, I find there are 5 stages you must go through when this occurs;
Denial – “OMG!!!! This isn’t happening!!!!” “I cant believe he/she just closed the doors in my face” “I was right there, one second more……”
Anger – that little @#$%^hole, short, fat ^&*() bald *&^”:+ moronic +=:;#@ faced &^%$ sucker…..
Bargaining/threatening – with the Station Master…..” pulease can you make the fast train stop here, I’ll give you money, I’ll give you my first born, I have a fork I, I’ll poke your eye out, don’t make me get nasty, I’ll sue….
Depression – Oh why didn’t they wait, I should have left home earlier, I’m useless, I can’t even get a train to wait for me, what’s the use? I may as well go home and go back to bed because the next train will only be cancelled….
Acceptance – oh well, I’ll be a little late. Oooooooh look at that bird flying overhead, is that a rose I can smell, I wonder where it is, hmmmmmm what a nice day, I might get a fair bit of reading done here in the nice warm sun on the platform, gee that bird's song is beautiful….
BUT on this particular morning, as I was pelting up the ramp a bout of lethargy overtook me. Do I care if I’m 10 minutes late? Should I pull a muscle or have a heart attack for the cause? Do I need to turn up for work sweating like a marathon runner? Will the legal world fall apart if I’m not there for a few minutes? Hang on a minute!! I’m becoming “Stepfordised”!!!
I stop running, the train is sitting at the platform, the carriage doors are open, beckoning me, I can hear them whispering to me to hurry. The Guard is smiling encouragingly at me. The urge to run is frighteningly strong. I force myself to walk calmly and with dignity down the steps. The doors close with a hiss of disappointment and an angry snap. Ha! I think, I’m no mindless lemming, you can go find another victim, I’m in control here, I’m calm, peaceful, and happy.
As I step onto the platform filled with a feeling of inner peace, clarity and sense of oneness with the natural world, I glance at the guard expecting to see a look of vanquishment on his face. Strange, he is beckoning to me to come closer. In my clarity of mind I can see that this could be a foolish thing to do, he is obviously going to abuse me or make me run over only to shut the door in my face or something worse. But I think ‘what the hey’. If he needs to vent or if his universe is out of alignment then it’s ok, I’ll cop the flack, I’ve just had an epiphany, I’m immune.
I ventured closer, the guard spoke….’hurry up you stupid bugger, get on’. Instinct took over, epiphany flew out the window and I jumped aboard into the guards’ compartment just as the train started to pull out.
This was new!!! Now that we had crossed the us/them barrier, what do we do now? We eyed each other suspiciously, after all we are a totally different species, communication between this divide is almost unheard of.
He pointed to his chest and said ‘Doug’. I reciprocate and say ‘Deb’. That was easy. We both smile and relax a bit.
Doug says that he is not normally allowed to have passengers in the guards van but he is feeling very magnanimous this morning.
I thank him profusely for letting me ride with him and not leaving me on the platform.
He says not to worry and If I don’t mind a bit of a chatterbox he would love to have company all the way into Central Station.
The train is packed, there are no seats in the carriages (this sways me more than anything I must admit) and he seems like a really nice man (if a little on the rough side) SO I take my life in my hands and decide to stay where I am.
I ask Doug why he is feeling so generous when he obviously loves giving passengers a hard time. Turns out his wife has been suffering from kidney failure and has been on dialysis for a number of years. She has been on the transplant list for a long time but for one reason or another there have been no compatible kidneys for her. Apparently their 3 children aren’t a match either so her Doctor assumed that Doug would be a total mismatch and didn’t have him tested at all.
She went to a new specialist a few weeks ago because her condition had deteriated. He decided to test Doug and they found a 1 in 200 000 000 miracle. (his words not mine)
Doug got the letter last night that he is a 95% match to his wife and both his kidneys are happy and healthy. He told me that it is almost unheard of for a husband/wife match at that high a percentage.
So last night they celebrated 25 ¾ years of marriage with a glass of champagne and Doug’s vow to donate a kidney to his wife.
When he saw me running for the train and then give up, he decided that he had to pass on his euphoria as it seemed to be a mean, small thing to leave me stranded.
His joy at being able to save her was infectious and moving, and I told him that he had definitely passed on his good vibes to me and that he should keep doing so as it was obviously doing a bit of good in the world.
As we pulled into Central Station he also explained the procedure regarding the train doors, apparently once the doors are shut, the guard is unable to re-open them unless there is some kind of emergency. (That still doesn’t explain why they shut them in our faces, but I guess they have to get some enjoyment out of a rotten job)
I wish Doug all the best, thank him and leave the train thinking, thanks to his random act of kindness my epiphany feeling was back, I was alive and strong and I felt good even knowing that I’ll never know the outcome of his story.
Until today…as I stand on the platform waiting for the train to stop who should I see hanging out of the guard’s compartment but my friend Doug.
I go over to him and remind him of the day he gave me a lift. He remembered me and asked me to jump in.
I only travelled a couple of stops with him but I found out that his wife had had her operation, he showed me his scar (quite a big cut and very painful he tells me) and said that his wife was exceptionally well and they had booked a trip overseas in a few months to celebrate her newfound health.
He is so obviously in love with his wife still, it is lovely to see him drag out a photo of a nice looking lady (who looks as if she hasn’t seen a sick day in her life) and lovingly look at it before handing it to me.
Just goes to show, that mongrel who hangs out of the door and flips you the bird as you bend over double sucking in oxygen, your lungs pumping like a blacksmith’s bellows, could just be having a bad day…..

A Jonah Day

It all started when my hair just wouldn’t sit right.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of these girls who primp and pout in the mirror every morning to make sure everything is perfect, I don’t expect or have time for perfection. Today my hair was just full of static, instead of my usual Shirley Temple curls I had a Michael Jackson afro, I sprayed water on it and it went flat, I put ‘product’ in it and it looked greasy. Great I had to have another shower and wash it. This time it can air dry and lump it.
As I was getting dressed I put my foot into what I thought was a leg hole in my underwear and ripped off the waist band.
I spilt cereal all over the floor by bumping my bowl as I was putting the cereal box on the table (the dog got to eat that) then I poured milk on top and it ricocheted out of the bowl and straight into my lap. Went in and changed my clothes…..
I was making my husband’s lunch and as I was cutting a bread roll in half I sliced my hand on the bread knife (mental note here: bread rolls should be included in all first aid kits, the absorption is terrific) grabbed a band aid then promptly forgot about the cut and chopped up a tomato. When I was able to get down off the top of the overhead cupboard I had a fight with the glad wrap and used about 10 meters to wrap one bread roll.
Our dog was being very persistent this morning for me to have a quick game with the tennis ball before I left for work. I grabbed the ball and the throwing stick, (a brilliant contraption that allows you to pick up the ball and throw it without getting slobber on your hands) and headed out into the back garden.
After the 3rd ball went over the fence I decided that she will have to take up scrabble, I chucked her a bone and had to carry the guilt and the sight of that little disappointed face with me all day.
Ok, now I’m at the front door, drop my keys 3 TIMES!!!!!! Walk out and lock the front door and trip down the last step. Now there are two schools of thought here as to whether this was good or not, I’m a little unsure myself as I would have preferred not to have tripped at all…..anyway, my car, which is parked outside the front door, saved me from falling flat on my face. I splatted into the passenger side window using my PMT afflicted breasts to break my fall. As I tottered, blind with pain, around the side of the car I dropped my *^#@ keys again.
I took as deep a breath as broken ribs and smashed boobs will allow and soldiered on to the driver’s side and after opening the door fell gratefully into the driver’s seat whacking my head on the door frame as I dropped. I sat looking at the pretty stars and nursing my girls tenderly until the pain subsided into a dull manageable ache.
I put the key into the ignition and turn. NOTHING!!!!!!!!! “:@#$*!!*”’/ car….@#!$%^* flat battery.
By the way, I think we need to come up with some new swear words, those old ones I used just didn’t hit the spot at all and I used the royal family too.
RIGHT, so now it’s p*#@$%^&g down and I have to walk up to the station. *&^%$#@ swearing is still not helping and neither is slamming the car door 4 times.
My !@#$%^&*_+ house alarm key isn’t working now, I cant get back into the house without setting off the alarm. My umbrella is just inside the foyer right under the alarm sensor. FINE.
All my self control is now focused on me not smashing the alarm key, every car window and the entire front garden.
I patio hop all the way up the street, the rain is not too heavy but I need to get out of it a bit or I’ll get soaked. I was given the third degree by 2 people upon whose patio’s I was sheltering, I’m really struggling for calm here as it is raining quite heavily now. After being asked what I’m doing on the veranda I said that as they could see I had no umbrella and it was raining really heavily and I thought that no one would mind if I stopped here until the rain stopped. ‘no umbrella eh?’ says the patio owner.
My response....‘Oh my God, I’m in the presence of Sherlock Holmes. Your powers of observation are uncanny” I force a smile on my dial to take away the sting of my contempt for this Einstein of the obvious. Then I have to pretend that I find my situation as funny as he thinks it is.
Those swear words are creeping back up my throat when I notice the sun had come out and there was a rainbow hanging over us. I bolted before the urge to strangle him with the straps of my shoulder bag was too strong to resist and continued to the train station. If I hurried I would just make the train.
So I have the train station in sight, the rain has started again but is only light and I spot a big white dog running around in the park next to the station. I automatically look around for his owner but I’m the only human around.
Bugger it, look away! It’s not my problem! I’m going to be late for work! *&%$#@!
He’s going up the ramp to the station, I call out, dog turns around and pelts over to me.
Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh the stupid bugger has a huge padlock on his collar and is dragging a bit of broken chain behind him. I can’t pretend he isn’t lost now can I? And I can’t leave him there either.
I grab the chain, in between being licked and jumped on, and wrap it around my hand so he won’t get away and because dogs are the body language masters, I have to Tai Chi myself into a relaxed, calm state so that I can manage him. Our local vet is just near the station and takes in strays, so we head on over there. Just as we are leaving the station ramp my train pulls in. I’m beyond caring.
The chain is about a foot long so I have to walk bent over double. The dog is a cross Cattle Dog/Labrador and is very strong (both in mind and body). I feel a bit like Jerry Lewis in one of his skits, I’m being dragged along wherever this hulking great dish licker wants to go and no amount of my being relaxed and calm is making any difference SO against the dog whisperer’s advice I find myself in a towering rage, Rewanda the Great takes over my body and I drag that poor hapless beast across the road, in the pouring rain to the dreaded vet’s surgery.
Here my luck changes for the better, dish licker is micro chipped and I leave him in the capable hands of the Vet who is going to call his Mum to come and get him.
My hands and back are killing me as I walk back up to the station in the pouring rain, again. I’m soaked right through to my aching tits. I ask the station master for the key to the ladies room but he informs me that it hasn’t been cleaned yet and by the way the next train has been cancelled, for today only. I lean in gently and ask for the key to the men’s room….he hands that over without much fight.
I turn on the tap in the washbasin and water shoots out all over me, I can feel a big hysterical laugh welling up in my throat. (what do you reckon they would do if they could hear a woman laughing maniacally in a men’s restroom? Hmmmm) I decide that I’m too tired to go mad so I mop up as best I can with the kind of paper towel that leaves lint all over your black pants so that they look like they have dandruff, then sit quietly on the platform to wait out the 25 minutes til the next train comes to get me.