How would you feel.
I’m standing in the queue to buy my weekly ticket on the station this morning.
The queue is long, everyone is impatient and it’s raining.
The fellow on the ticket window is the slowest moron in the world of ticket selling, each transaction takes at least 2 minutes for cash, 4 minutes for eftpos and forever if you are doing a credit. The more impatient the crowd, the slower he gets. Unfortunately, he either missed training one day or his one lonely little brain cell isn’t capable of working at more that a snail’s pace
I notice a woman flitting over to the Station Master’s window all the time, it looks like she is trying to push in and get a ticket before everyone else. She walks away then returns and speaks to the man in the window again, turns and walks away, 30 seconds….comes back pushes through to the window, speaks again, turns and walks away etc etc. She is quite agitated and gets more and more so each time she goes up there.
There is a bit of grumbling from the masses in line as she fronts up to the window for the 3rd or 4th time. This isn’t a crowd I would push in on, in fact it could be downright dangerous, we are all on edge, wet, hot and potentially late for work if there is a snag in proceedings. A few people are putting on their ‘I’ll fight ya’ faces as she turns to us all, puts her hands in the air and gives us the ‘I give up are you happy now signal’. We all relax (a bit) and the queue starts to move at the usual pace. (Think wet week)
The woman walks down to the far end of the platform and sits down on a seat.
About five minutes later, I’m almost to the window, one person away in fact when the phone rings. To everyone’s extreme annoyance the Station Master answers the phone.
I was just about to give this sloth a gob full about the importance of serving passengers who are waiting for a train to get into their jobs over some pensioner calling to see how far his $2.00 travel ticket will get him up the coast before he has to fork out money, when the SM hung up the phone and grabbed the microphone for the public address system and announced the following to the whole platform.
“this message is for the the lady in the white shirt and blue jumper who very urgently is wanting to go to the toilet, please come to the entrance to the ladies toilet and I will unlock the door, we have been able to turn the water back on and you may now use the toilet”
hahahahahahahahahaaaa.
The whole platform cracks up as the poor thing walks up the platform to the ladies toilet and is ‘buzzed in’’. She is so red in the face I'm not sure she will ever get the stain out of her cheeks. I wonder how long she will have to wait in there before the whole lot of us are gone….at the rate of tickets being sold I’d reckon about 35 minutes.
Wednesday 16 January 2008
Monday 7 January 2008
Bus crash
How's this for an opportunity to be on the scene, take a photo and write about what happened?I was standing waiting for the train, reading my book and getting impatient because the train was late again when I was distracted by a bus that was travelling at a decent pace across a lane of oncoming traffic.
Just a bit of filling in here, there is maintenance being done on the line further west of ours and they are bussing passengers from other stations to mine in order to get them to work with as little fuss as possible. So we have about 30 buses hanging around the station each morning.
As I watched the bus did a right hand swing straight across the road, through the front yard and into the front room of a house. There was a huge bang and then silence....
Everyone on the station was in shock; I grabbed my handy camera and started clicking away. People came from everywhere to see if the driver was ok. Luckily he had offloaded his passengers about 1 minute earlier so there were no injuries.
The owner of the house was asleep in the very room that has just been aerated. Imagine his shock to be awakened by the front of a Mercedes Bus pushing through your bedroom.
From here he doesn’t look too happy either.
Where is the driver in all this I hear you enquire? I had to wait for the newspaper the next day to find out the answer to that as I couldn’t tell who the driver was from my perch. There was a lot of speculation as to what had happened to him, heart attack, stroke, fit, sleep apnea. The real reason is much more interesting…
Apparently, the driver was urgently called by nature just after he had pulled into his parking spot at the station. Seeing as he was driving a coach he thought he would use the onboard facilities to relieve himself. I’m guessing he either didn’t put the hand brake on or it failed because as he was (no doubt) sighing in relief in the littlest room on the bus, his behemoth vehicle was gathering speed down a slight incline, crossing the double yellow lines and smashing into a dwelling. I would have loved to be a fly on the toilet wall when all that was happening. The newspaper didn’t mention if he was sitting or standing when the bus decided to move but I would assume he was in the sitting position. I can just see him now, sitting there reading the paper, strides down round his ankles. He feels the bus moving and as he would have been wrestling with his apparel etc the bus would have hit warp speed whilst he was indisposed, it would have been too late to do anything except put his head between his legs and kiss his a*** goodbye. It could have been worse…he could have fallen down the side of the toilet on impact and been wedged there until they came in and found him.
As it turned out he was extremely lucky. Just to the left of the picture is a blind corner that is fed by a main road. Not many cars slow down when coming around this corner as there is no pedestrian crossing or give way areas. So it was a miracle that there wasn’t a car coming when the bus went across the road. Also the house didn’t collapse. The front room is a mess but the roof held up and didn’t come down and crush him and last but not least there was an emergency rescue vehicle parked right outside the house. The firemen were in the right place at the right time.
One last thing, the funniest thing, the guy who owns the house is a train driver.
faint or feint that is the question
I have just witnessed something that has left me furious.
A young lady of about 25 was standing near me with a couple of her friends. I could hear their conversation. The girl in question was bitching and moaning about having to stand up all the way to the city. Her friends were unsympathetic; both had a fatalistic view about it and advised her to ‘get over it’ ‘you cant do nothing’.
She was carrying on for about 10 minutes, I’ve got the worst hangover, my legs are aching from all that dancing last night etc etc. Brother, what a whinger.
Then the tone of the conversation changed…I’m not going to stand all this way, these jerks should be standing up. I feel so bad; it’s not fair that I have to stand. I’m going to do something about it.
This caught my attention, what could you possibly do?
This!
She leaned down and told a middle aged woman who was sitting opposite me that she was going to faint. She even rolled her eyes back in her head and went weak at the knees.
Of course the older lady got up and gave this little faker her seat, she even offered her a bottle of water to cool her down.
Whingers friends turned away laughing as this kind lady showed their friend compassion. Luckily they turned my way, they soon stopped laughing when they saw that I was staring at them with a very stern look on my face.
We were just pulling into Redfern station at this time, only 4 stops til mine. I got up, tapped the lady on the shoulder and offered her my seat. She sat down and I stood right over the top of this little creep and stared at her the whole way to the next stop. Every time she tried to look at her friends, I stood and blocked her view. She was so uncomfortable by the time we pulled into Central that she put her head down and wouldn’t look at anyone.
I couldn’t help myself, when we got to Central I went to the guard and described her and told him that she was really ill and was feeling so faint that I was worried about her. We went back into the carriage and the guard asked her to accompany him off the train. She absolutely went white. He said that if she was feeling sick then it was his responsibility to make sure that she got off the train and received medical attention. She had to go with him as he wouldnt take no for an answer. She even had witnesses that she was ill. Most of us heard her tell that lady that she was going to faint. Funny, her mates didn't pipe up and say anything.
What a classic. I’ll bet she doesn’t do that again in a hurry.
A young lady of about 25 was standing near me with a couple of her friends. I could hear their conversation. The girl in question was bitching and moaning about having to stand up all the way to the city. Her friends were unsympathetic; both had a fatalistic view about it and advised her to ‘get over it’ ‘you cant do nothing’.
She was carrying on for about 10 minutes, I’ve got the worst hangover, my legs are aching from all that dancing last night etc etc. Brother, what a whinger.
Then the tone of the conversation changed…I’m not going to stand all this way, these jerks should be standing up. I feel so bad; it’s not fair that I have to stand. I’m going to do something about it.
This caught my attention, what could you possibly do?
This!
She leaned down and told a middle aged woman who was sitting opposite me that she was going to faint. She even rolled her eyes back in her head and went weak at the knees.
Of course the older lady got up and gave this little faker her seat, she even offered her a bottle of water to cool her down.
Whingers friends turned away laughing as this kind lady showed their friend compassion. Luckily they turned my way, they soon stopped laughing when they saw that I was staring at them with a very stern look on my face.
We were just pulling into Redfern station at this time, only 4 stops til mine. I got up, tapped the lady on the shoulder and offered her my seat. She sat down and I stood right over the top of this little creep and stared at her the whole way to the next stop. Every time she tried to look at her friends, I stood and blocked her view. She was so uncomfortable by the time we pulled into Central that she put her head down and wouldn’t look at anyone.
I couldn’t help myself, when we got to Central I went to the guard and described her and told him that she was really ill and was feeling so faint that I was worried about her. We went back into the carriage and the guard asked her to accompany him off the train. She absolutely went white. He said that if she was feeling sick then it was his responsibility to make sure that she got off the train and received medical attention. She had to go with him as he wouldnt take no for an answer. She even had witnesses that she was ill. Most of us heard her tell that lady that she was going to faint. Funny, her mates didn't pipe up and say anything.
What a classic. I’ll bet she doesn’t do that again in a hurry.
Wednesday 2 January 2008
Daisy the Recalcitrant Guide Dog
This event happened to me early in 2007. I have been under some pressure to retell it here in this forum as, after all, it is a rail story.
I had to collect my car from the mechanic at Rockdale one afternoon. I arrived at Martin Place station in time for a train to Rockdale at 5pm but, quell surprise, there was a hold up with the trains and all were late. Just as the announcer was giving us the bad news a train pulled in, I noticed that it was stopping at Rockdale so I jumped on.
I did notice, but sort of didn’t, that the train was in fact a country train on its way to Wollongong, which meant that it was a bullet train and would get me to Rockdale quickly. I have to say, in my defence, that this line isn’t my usual line and I was only slightly aware of the consternation caused to the 'Gong' residents by people alighting at stations prior to the south coast stations. I was however, fully aware of it by the time the train had passed Redfern station. Every five minutes the guard would announce that passengers couldn’t alight from the train at Rockdale, Hurstville or Sutherland and that the train would only pick up passengers. Eeeeeeeeeeeeek how the hell was I going to get off the damn train. Was I going to be arrested? Jumped on by angry commuters from the Gong? Yelled at over the PA? Chased off the platform by the station staff?
As it turned out it wasn’t that hard. I just surreptitiously stepped off the train backwards (as if I was getting on) and no one was the wiser. Whew!
As I was congratulating myself on my crafty deception I was assulted by a very friendly, very enthousiastic Golden Labrador who flew up at me out of nowhere and greeted me as if I was her long lost best friend. She danced around me for a moment, licked my hand and then flew off in the opposite direction to run around in the garden.
Two things struck me as odd here:
1. this dog was wearing a guide dog harness and
2. there wasn’t a blind person attached to the harness.
There was no doubt that this particular dog was having a fantastic time, she was running around sniffing everything and going up to every person on the station and saying hello and running and running with joyous abandon.
I do have some knowledge of guide dogs having had a friend who was blind and I know for a fact that if he has a harness on then he is ‘working’ and he shouldn’t be being a dog.
I just acted without thought and called the dog to me. I was squatting down to the level of the dog so she wouldn’t feel threatened (or think that I was the fun police coming to arrest her). I need not have worried she turned around on a penny and came at me full speed, jumped about 3 feet away from me and landed front paws first planted firmly in my chest. As I lay on my back, winded with a 30 kilo bag of wriggly fur slobbering all over my face, I questioned the wisdom of being a dog rescuer and did (for a moment) consider taking my broken ribs over to the nearest seat and watch this dopey mut get itself onto a train to who knows where. BUT of course I am the biggest loser when it comes to canines and the thought of the heartbreak that a lost dog causes made me grab the dog’s harness and make her help me up to go on our crusade to find and yell at the moron who let her go.
Have you ever tried to find a blind person on a train platform on a sunny day? Think about it. What distinguishes a blind person from the rest of us?
Usually they have a white cane or a guide dog (in this case I was guessing that a white cane wasn’t going to be the giveaway) and sunglasses.
As I look down the platform I see about 40 people standing, facing the tracks with sunglasses on. Hmmmm I have a look at the tag on the harness, Daisy – guide dog association. That’s it!!! No phone number, no ID number – nothing. There goes the easy option of calling a mobile and running towards the sound.
Ah well good thing I don’t mind talking to strangers. I ask the person closest, an Asian woman who is standing there studiously ignoring me. “is this your dog” I ask. A shake of the head and she points to the train that I just got off and the man stuffing bags onto it. ‘his dog’ she says as the doors are closing!!!! WHAT THE!!!! What sort of blind person gets on a train and forgets their dog?? I turn to her and she just shrugs. ‘dog lost now!’ and walks away from me. What a cow! This isn’t just an ordinary dog, It is someone's eyes. Who am I kidding, the demographic here in Rockdale doesn’t like dogs – doesn’t matter if they are assistance animals or not.
In fact I try to ask about 5 or 6 people and all are either disinterested or ignorant or don’t speak English. I get the feeling that if I hadn’t been there Daisy would have been history. Not one of the bludgers is interested in the fact that there is a blind person somewhere without their eyes or that a very valuable dog is just running around on a train station unattended. Not to mention that a beautiful creature is lost and will be missing her family when she realises it. I am constantly amazed and angry at the lack of feelings of responsibility that the masses have when it comes to animals. One can’t help but feel that it would be divine retribution if certain dog haters would have to rely on a guide dog. Or better still be buried in an avalanche and be rescued by a St Bernard (actually there would be two problems there. The dog and the brandy) however, I digress, it never snows in the desert anyway.
Even the station staff don’t seem to give a rats. I ask at the booth on the station if they have seen whose dog it is but they just shrug their shoulders and tell me to ask people on the station. I ask them to ask over the PA but they ‘don’t do that, it’s for important information only,’ right. This isn’t important.
I am now envisaging having to take Daisy home, call the Blind Society and try to find her owner. As I am doing this Daisy is literally dragging me all over the place in her haste to sniff every corner of the station and say hello to every person (be they friendly or not). She isn’t exactly the bastion of good training; in fact I’m beginning to wonder if her owner let her go on purpose. She is probably the worst dog I have ever held a leash for. AND no manners!!!
I was getting exasperated with her, I mean; really, she is a guide dog for goodness sake! Where is her decorum? Her professionalism? Her work ethic? I give her harness a shake and in my best dog whisperer impersonation I tell her ‘you’re working’.
Magic words.
Daisy goes quiet and pliant and actually guides me down the station. Like a guide dog.
I must say, this is all right! I allow myself a little enjoyment of the moment, I have the dark glasses on and the dog – everyone thinks I’m blind…..they get out of my way, it’s cool. Not that I want to try it for real you understand but it’s unreal the way the crowds part.
As Daisy and I are making our way down the platform I can hear a train approaching the station, and because I’m looking out for it, I spot a woman about 100 metres away mime stooping down to grab (a guide dog’s harness?) something. I say mime because there is nothing there.
I guess I have found my blind person and start to run because I can see the panic start to form on her face as she realises that her dog isn’t sitting quietly by her side.
It all happens in slow motion, I’m trying to get us there as fast as I can, it isn’t fast enough and the blind woman starts screaming Daisy’s name in a panic and is walking with her hands splayed out in front of her as if Daisy is playing with her and is just keeping out of her reach. It’s too close to the station edge and no one is paying attention and the train is coming. Daisy is straining at the harness to get back to her mum but I can’t let go in case she doesn’t go back to her (lets face it her past performance doesn’t fill anyone with confidence). I make it there just as the woman is starting to cry and is teetering a little too close to the edge for my liking. Being mindful of frightening someone who cant see and is in a full panic I stand close without touching her and tell her its ok, I found her dog. She grabs the harness and I tell her there is a seat just behind her, sit down and relax for a minute.
I expect to be treated with mistrust or hostility after all she didn’t know what had happened except that her mutt was missing and all of a sudden I show up with her dog in tow but she once she was calm she was wonderful.
I told her about my introduction to Daisy and we ended up in hysterics over her inappropriate antics. I asked her how it happened and she said that she must have released her lead by mistake. (Guide dogs have 3 attachments. If you release the lead or the harness the dog thinks that it’s time for play). Daisy should have known however, that she was working and she should have stayed where she was.
Jean then told me that people were known to steal guide dogs from under their owner’s noses (literally) and she was frightened that had happened to her.
Can you believe that!!! Just add that to the man’s inhumanity to man list.
Anyway all’s well that ends well. Daisy didn’t have to come home with me after all, I made a new friend and thankfully I was in the right spot at the right time.
Ps: as a consequence of her lapse, Daisy had to complete a further 3-month training session. I see her and Jean whenever I need to put the car in and they are both very much improved.
Saftey Issues
This morning we have the most deadpan train guard I have ever encountered.
Even allowing for the metallic sound of the PA system this guy has no inflective in his voice at all. His announcements are all delivered in the monotone of a computer-generated voice. In fact, I’m a bit worried that he may be a prospective kidnapper practising his ‘phone voice’ for when he talks to the victim’s parents.
Then there is the accent. Actually accent is being kind because he isn’t speaking English. From what I can tell he is Asian and he is speaking to us in his own tongue, in monotone.
Interesting career advice from someone, cant speak the lingo, hmmm let’s see, I know how about a customer focused position in state rail. That’s gold!
Now, we are all laughing at the announcements. We cannot understand one word this guy is saying. He is calling the names of the stations; if I couldn’t see the sign on the platform I wouldn’t know where I was. And as for the “doors closing, stand clear” announcement; I’m not sure he is even calling it.
Who recruited this bloke? Who trained him? Didn’t anyone notice that he couldn’t speak English?
Some of the passengers are really laughing now, our travel guide is giving us some sort of message but it is impossible to understand what he is saying.
The train I’m on is one of the really old ones, which, according to recent information released to the media makes up about 50% of our rail transport system. We are sitting in a carriage with no air conditioning, the temperature is about 28 degrees, humidity is running at close enough to 85% and it is sunny. The train pulls out of a station and stops, right out in the sun in the middle of nowhere. We sit waiting for the damn thing to get going again but it just sits there. The temperature inside is getting really uncomfortable, all of us are sweating profusely and those of us with water are guzzling it down (subsequently sweating more). All the windows are open but we aren’t getting any air, a couple of people open the doors in between carriages but without the train moving we are just sitting there in stale hot air. A couple of men passengers pry open the electronic doors to get some more air in, we can hear the guard presumably telling them to shut the doors but as no one can understand him they ignore the voice and keep the doors open to try to let in some air.
I have perspiration running in rivulets down my back, it is stiflingly hot and the whole charade has stopped being funny.
We are getting regular updates from our guard but we don’t know what he is saying to us. I’m concentrating really hard but I just can’t understand. Most of us are getting cranky and impatient now. The heat makes you mad and the idiocy of employing this particular guard is just a red rag to a really cranky herd of bulls.
We have been sitting out in the hot sun for about 20 minutes when suddenly a voice comes over the PA system. ‘Would the passengers holding the automatic doors open in carriages 2,3,5,6 & 8 please let the doors close so that I can start moving this train’.
Ah, an intelligible voice. The driver, no less. One of the passengers who was holding the door in our carriage pressed the intercom button and told the driver that he wouldn’t let the door go until the train moved as we were all suffocating and needed the air. The driver replied that the guard had been trying to tell us all to shut the doors for about 10 minutes and whoever was holding the doors would be fined and the police would be called if they didn’t let the doors go. Of course they let go of the doors and about 30 seconds after they shut the train moved off and about 100 metres up the track pulled into the next station.
As the guard released the doors a mass of people churned out of the carriage and straight up to his door, yelling abuse, shaking fists etc. He shut his door and retreated inside his little hidey-hole. The Station Master was calling for calm over the PA on the station as it did look like people were going to lynch him.
Eventually everyone calmed down of course but really, who can blame them. I was stewing in my own juices for the whole time we were stationary and I can honestly say that if that little jerk called out one more time in that unintelligible garble I would have punched him.
What on earth is happening at Cityrail? How can you possibly have someone who cannot communicate operating a public address system in a job that entails so much responsibility?
There are a few people at fault here as I see it.
Firstly the guard himself, he must be living in some kind of fantasy world if he thinks that he is doing a wonderful job. He must know he is a nightmare to listen to; he can’t do his job properly if he is unable to communicate something as simple as the name of a Station. He really should go and learn to speak English clearly, that is his responsibility.
Second, his supervisor, workmates and managers. Are they so frightened of being called racist that they are willing to put people’s lives at risk? I think it is totally unacceptable that the driver of the train has to override the guard over the PA system because there is a major language barrier. What if there was an emergency? We are continually being told about all the bad things that are happening to rail passengers because of train derailments, metal covers coming off the top of carriages, bush fires, signal and track failures on stinking hot days, rocks being thrown at the windows of passing trains, rocks being thrown on top of passing trains, the list goes on and on. What on earth would happen to the passengers on the train with this bloke? There could be a sick passenger, how would you communicate to him that we needed an ambulance? Worse, what if all that scare mongering that the Liberal Government did over the last 10 years came true….an explosive devise on the train?
Thirdly, of course, government. I’m sure the fat cats are sitting up there in Macquarie Street, nice and cool having driven to work in an airconditioned car, don’t give a rats about the discomfort or danger any of the plebs sitting in those sweat boxes are in.
We have watched the public transport system of NSW deteriorate steadily for the last 15 years or so, it was only a matter of time til the standard of staffing started to do the same. It’s such a tired, old system, top heavy with managers that trivialize the jobs underneath them that has crippled itself with political correctness and has a mindless striving for profit at the cost of customer service and comfort and safety.
Nice one!
Mind you the mindless voter hasn’t done anything to alleviate the problem either.
Even allowing for the metallic sound of the PA system this guy has no inflective in his voice at all. His announcements are all delivered in the monotone of a computer-generated voice. In fact, I’m a bit worried that he may be a prospective kidnapper practising his ‘phone voice’ for when he talks to the victim’s parents.
Then there is the accent. Actually accent is being kind because he isn’t speaking English. From what I can tell he is Asian and he is speaking to us in his own tongue, in monotone.
Interesting career advice from someone, cant speak the lingo, hmmm let’s see, I know how about a customer focused position in state rail. That’s gold!
Now, we are all laughing at the announcements. We cannot understand one word this guy is saying. He is calling the names of the stations; if I couldn’t see the sign on the platform I wouldn’t know where I was. And as for the “doors closing, stand clear” announcement; I’m not sure he is even calling it.
Who recruited this bloke? Who trained him? Didn’t anyone notice that he couldn’t speak English?
Some of the passengers are really laughing now, our travel guide is giving us some sort of message but it is impossible to understand what he is saying.
The train I’m on is one of the really old ones, which, according to recent information released to the media makes up about 50% of our rail transport system. We are sitting in a carriage with no air conditioning, the temperature is about 28 degrees, humidity is running at close enough to 85% and it is sunny. The train pulls out of a station and stops, right out in the sun in the middle of nowhere. We sit waiting for the damn thing to get going again but it just sits there. The temperature inside is getting really uncomfortable, all of us are sweating profusely and those of us with water are guzzling it down (subsequently sweating more). All the windows are open but we aren’t getting any air, a couple of people open the doors in between carriages but without the train moving we are just sitting there in stale hot air. A couple of men passengers pry open the electronic doors to get some more air in, we can hear the guard presumably telling them to shut the doors but as no one can understand him they ignore the voice and keep the doors open to try to let in some air.
I have perspiration running in rivulets down my back, it is stiflingly hot and the whole charade has stopped being funny.
We are getting regular updates from our guard but we don’t know what he is saying to us. I’m concentrating really hard but I just can’t understand. Most of us are getting cranky and impatient now. The heat makes you mad and the idiocy of employing this particular guard is just a red rag to a really cranky herd of bulls.
We have been sitting out in the hot sun for about 20 minutes when suddenly a voice comes over the PA system. ‘Would the passengers holding the automatic doors open in carriages 2,3,5,6 & 8 please let the doors close so that I can start moving this train’.
Ah, an intelligible voice. The driver, no less. One of the passengers who was holding the door in our carriage pressed the intercom button and told the driver that he wouldn’t let the door go until the train moved as we were all suffocating and needed the air. The driver replied that the guard had been trying to tell us all to shut the doors for about 10 minutes and whoever was holding the doors would be fined and the police would be called if they didn’t let the doors go. Of course they let go of the doors and about 30 seconds after they shut the train moved off and about 100 metres up the track pulled into the next station.
As the guard released the doors a mass of people churned out of the carriage and straight up to his door, yelling abuse, shaking fists etc. He shut his door and retreated inside his little hidey-hole. The Station Master was calling for calm over the PA on the station as it did look like people were going to lynch him.
Eventually everyone calmed down of course but really, who can blame them. I was stewing in my own juices for the whole time we were stationary and I can honestly say that if that little jerk called out one more time in that unintelligible garble I would have punched him.
What on earth is happening at Cityrail? How can you possibly have someone who cannot communicate operating a public address system in a job that entails so much responsibility?
There are a few people at fault here as I see it.
Firstly the guard himself, he must be living in some kind of fantasy world if he thinks that he is doing a wonderful job. He must know he is a nightmare to listen to; he can’t do his job properly if he is unable to communicate something as simple as the name of a Station. He really should go and learn to speak English clearly, that is his responsibility.
Second, his supervisor, workmates and managers. Are they so frightened of being called racist that they are willing to put people’s lives at risk? I think it is totally unacceptable that the driver of the train has to override the guard over the PA system because there is a major language barrier. What if there was an emergency? We are continually being told about all the bad things that are happening to rail passengers because of train derailments, metal covers coming off the top of carriages, bush fires, signal and track failures on stinking hot days, rocks being thrown at the windows of passing trains, rocks being thrown on top of passing trains, the list goes on and on. What on earth would happen to the passengers on the train with this bloke? There could be a sick passenger, how would you communicate to him that we needed an ambulance? Worse, what if all that scare mongering that the Liberal Government did over the last 10 years came true….an explosive devise on the train?
Thirdly, of course, government. I’m sure the fat cats are sitting up there in Macquarie Street, nice and cool having driven to work in an airconditioned car, don’t give a rats about the discomfort or danger any of the plebs sitting in those sweat boxes are in.
We have watched the public transport system of NSW deteriorate steadily for the last 15 years or so, it was only a matter of time til the standard of staffing started to do the same. It’s such a tired, old system, top heavy with managers that trivialize the jobs underneath them that has crippled itself with political correctness and has a mindless striving for profit at the cost of customer service and comfort and safety.
Nice one!
Mind you the mindless voter hasn’t done anything to alleviate the problem either.
Addendum to Slapper
This morning Slapper has entered the carriage with her usual aplomb – as she hits the bottom step she starts counting….1…the suspense…..2…I cant breathe….3….sigh of relief – the seat is vacant. Thank goodness for that!!
Today its her mode of dress that catches the eye. I hear you think….but she is always dressed ‘colourfully’ isn’t she? Yes you’re right her style of dress is constantly a source of amusement but today she has outdone herself.
First is the bright red mini skirt, I need not remind you that she is about 200 kilos in weight and only about 4 feet tall……the skirt has a white fluffy frill around the bottom , next are the socks, she is obviously a Canterbury supporter because her socks are blue and white striped and are football socks. She has a big red santa hat on her head that hangs down her back to her waist. She has on a pair of court shoes in bright yellow patent leather (or maybe vinyl) with little pointy bits added onto the toes (like elf shoes) and little bells sewn onto the point so she jingles with each step she takes. The piece de resistance is the t-shirt. A neon bright, lime green over sized shirt with a huge Christmas tree on the front, in white with appliquéd decorations and sequins and glitz all over it.
The makeup is already on so we don’t have to go through that ritual this morning. I have to close my eyes, the riot of colous is too much for this time of the day.
I can hear that little munchkin voice telling the lady in the isle next to her that Santa is coming to her work today and they are having a party and lots of cake and coke and chocolate crackles and Santa will have a present for everyone (even Monica who is bad all the time) And Mr ….. is going to close down today and they don’t have to come back for 4 weeks……………….sigh………
Today its her mode of dress that catches the eye. I hear you think….but she is always dressed ‘colourfully’ isn’t she? Yes you’re right her style of dress is constantly a source of amusement but today she has outdone herself.
First is the bright red mini skirt, I need not remind you that she is about 200 kilos in weight and only about 4 feet tall……the skirt has a white fluffy frill around the bottom , next are the socks, she is obviously a Canterbury supporter because her socks are blue and white striped and are football socks. She has a big red santa hat on her head that hangs down her back to her waist. She has on a pair of court shoes in bright yellow patent leather (or maybe vinyl) with little pointy bits added onto the toes (like elf shoes) and little bells sewn onto the point so she jingles with each step she takes. The piece de resistance is the t-shirt. A neon bright, lime green over sized shirt with a huge Christmas tree on the front, in white with appliquéd decorations and sequins and glitz all over it.
The makeup is already on so we don’t have to go through that ritual this morning. I have to close my eyes, the riot of colous is too much for this time of the day.
I can hear that little munchkin voice telling the lady in the isle next to her that Santa is coming to her work today and they are having a party and lots of cake and coke and chocolate crackles and Santa will have a present for everyone (even Monica who is bad all the time) And Mr ….. is going to close down today and they don’t have to come back for 4 weeks……………….sigh………
Slapper
Over the past 12 months or so I have, on occasion, noticed an intellectually disabled woman aged about 40,waiting for the 7.45 train to the city from the platform of the station after mine. As I never travel on the same carriage two days running I have only ever seen her as we pull into the station, I haven’t (up until today) had the experience of travelling in the same carriage.
Now, the reason I noticed her in the first place was because of her rather colourful manner of dress. She is usually dressed in long shorts made from that clinging T-shirt material, joggers with long socks and a variety of long T-shirts with rude phrases on them in neon pink, green or yellow. Add to the mix that she is of diminutive stature (4 ft tall) and about 200 kilos, you can see why she attracts my attention. (She actually bears a striking resemblance to Benny Ball, that little side kick of Top Cat’s)
I assume that she works in a sheltered workshop somewhere on my line as she catches a train every day.
Whenever I spot this lady I think about how nice it is that she has employment and to see her on the platform all puffed up with the self confidence that working gives most people, makes you feel all warm and snugly inside.
I was running a bit late the other day and just jumped on in the middle of the train. I made my way downstairs and sat in a front row seat for the theatrics that followed.
I could see her on the platform as we pulled in, she was wearing a pair of neon bright orange, skin tight, knee length shorts with a long white T-shirt with ‘love you long time’ written on the front in blue. Choice! The socks almost came to her knees and were footy socks in blue and white. (eeeeeeeeeeek a Canterbury supporter)
You know - somewhere a paint factory exploded and she was standing just a little bit too close.
Anyway, she walked into the carriage coming down the stairs with lots and lots of moaning and huffing and puffing and, because her legs are too short to have knees, loud clumping. When she passed me she started slowly counting the seats, out loud, on her left, one, two, three. (Her voice sounds just like a munchkin on helium) She stopped at three, there was a man sitting in seat 3. She repeats the number 3, slightly louder. No reaction from the man, I’m wondering what she wants him to do – acknowledge that she can count? Now she screams at him – ‘3,3,3 you’re in my seat, get out, get out!!!! Then promptly hauls back and smacks him fair on the back of the head.
His head rocks forward with the force of the slap, but he totally ignores her. !!!!!????
Imagine! I have my lower jaw on the floor in amazement as this tiny little thing launches into a full scale assault on this poor man whose only crime is to sit in the wrong seat. In between slaps she is yelling that he is in her seat. After what seems like 10 minutes but was probably only 10 seconds, the man points to a seat and directs her there as it is vacant. Big mistake, if she’d had a weapon he would have been toast. Tears were added to the screaming and the hitting and she won, the poor man moved over to another seat and let the screaming banshee have her way.
Good grief!! Is this what she is like every morning? The train isn’t ever very crowded so she would always be guaranteed a seat, obviously she has taken obsessive compulsiveness to extremes.
So psycho chicken sits in her seat, she fishes around in her purple ‘Coles’ bag and drags out what looks like a giant children’s paintbox but is actually a kaleidoscope of eye shadow shades. She chooses a garish green and proceeds to colour in her eye lid from on top of the eyebrow (yes that’s right on top, on her forehead) to the bottom lid. She would have done a better job if she coloured in one side of a tennis ball and pushed it into her eye socket. She has deep set, small eyes so the effect is frog like.
Out comes the lipstick next. It’s bright, fire engine red. She starts just under her nose and colours all of her top lip, the bottom lip is left without lipstick. She now looks like a clown. She is looking around the carriage, smiling at us all, beaming her pleasure at how beautiful she looks and how professionally she has applied her face. This woman is in possession of a mirror I might add.
I can feel a huge laugh building up in my chest, I catch the eye of a woman a little way off from me but she looks at me real hard and shakes her head at me. I have to swallow the laugh as this lady has frightened me a bit, what could happen if you laugh? I decide that after seeing that poor man get beaten up I wouldn’t test the waters.
Ok, now she is reading aloud (very aloud) from a little golden book!! By the time we hit Central Station I can recite Clarence the Cat and his adventures with Monty the Pirate Mouse by rote. Sigh.
Compared to her ascendance into our carriage her departure is a non event. The book slams shut, gets put away and she is out of there so fast she’s a blur.
The lady who gave me ‘the look’ came and sat next to me, apparently it’s the same every morning. That seat is her seat and no one is allowed to sit there and she becomes quite violent if anyone is sitting there. Some passengers have said something to her mother but apparently they don’t want to get her into too much trouble as the workshop is the only time her family get a break.
I wonder what would happen if she hit someone who hits back?
Now, the reason I noticed her in the first place was because of her rather colourful manner of dress. She is usually dressed in long shorts made from that clinging T-shirt material, joggers with long socks and a variety of long T-shirts with rude phrases on them in neon pink, green or yellow. Add to the mix that she is of diminutive stature (4 ft tall) and about 200 kilos, you can see why she attracts my attention. (She actually bears a striking resemblance to Benny Ball, that little side kick of Top Cat’s)
I assume that she works in a sheltered workshop somewhere on my line as she catches a train every day.
Whenever I spot this lady I think about how nice it is that she has employment and to see her on the platform all puffed up with the self confidence that working gives most people, makes you feel all warm and snugly inside.
I was running a bit late the other day and just jumped on in the middle of the train. I made my way downstairs and sat in a front row seat for the theatrics that followed.
I could see her on the platform as we pulled in, she was wearing a pair of neon bright orange, skin tight, knee length shorts with a long white T-shirt with ‘love you long time’ written on the front in blue. Choice! The socks almost came to her knees and were footy socks in blue and white. (eeeeeeeeeeek a Canterbury supporter)
You know - somewhere a paint factory exploded and she was standing just a little bit too close.
Anyway, she walked into the carriage coming down the stairs with lots and lots of moaning and huffing and puffing and, because her legs are too short to have knees, loud clumping. When she passed me she started slowly counting the seats, out loud, on her left, one, two, three. (Her voice sounds just like a munchkin on helium) She stopped at three, there was a man sitting in seat 3. She repeats the number 3, slightly louder. No reaction from the man, I’m wondering what she wants him to do – acknowledge that she can count? Now she screams at him – ‘3,3,3 you’re in my seat, get out, get out!!!! Then promptly hauls back and smacks him fair on the back of the head.
His head rocks forward with the force of the slap, but he totally ignores her. !!!!!????
Imagine! I have my lower jaw on the floor in amazement as this tiny little thing launches into a full scale assault on this poor man whose only crime is to sit in the wrong seat. In between slaps she is yelling that he is in her seat. After what seems like 10 minutes but was probably only 10 seconds, the man points to a seat and directs her there as it is vacant. Big mistake, if she’d had a weapon he would have been toast. Tears were added to the screaming and the hitting and she won, the poor man moved over to another seat and let the screaming banshee have her way.
Good grief!! Is this what she is like every morning? The train isn’t ever very crowded so she would always be guaranteed a seat, obviously she has taken obsessive compulsiveness to extremes.
So psycho chicken sits in her seat, she fishes around in her purple ‘Coles’ bag and drags out what looks like a giant children’s paintbox but is actually a kaleidoscope of eye shadow shades. She chooses a garish green and proceeds to colour in her eye lid from on top of the eyebrow (yes that’s right on top, on her forehead) to the bottom lid. She would have done a better job if she coloured in one side of a tennis ball and pushed it into her eye socket. She has deep set, small eyes so the effect is frog like.
Out comes the lipstick next. It’s bright, fire engine red. She starts just under her nose and colours all of her top lip, the bottom lip is left without lipstick. She now looks like a clown. She is looking around the carriage, smiling at us all, beaming her pleasure at how beautiful she looks and how professionally she has applied her face. This woman is in possession of a mirror I might add.
I can feel a huge laugh building up in my chest, I catch the eye of a woman a little way off from me but she looks at me real hard and shakes her head at me. I have to swallow the laugh as this lady has frightened me a bit, what could happen if you laugh? I decide that after seeing that poor man get beaten up I wouldn’t test the waters.
Ok, now she is reading aloud (very aloud) from a little golden book!! By the time we hit Central Station I can recite Clarence the Cat and his adventures with Monty the Pirate Mouse by rote. Sigh.
Compared to her ascendance into our carriage her departure is a non event. The book slams shut, gets put away and she is out of there so fast she’s a blur.
The lady who gave me ‘the look’ came and sat next to me, apparently it’s the same every morning. That seat is her seat and no one is allowed to sit there and she becomes quite violent if anyone is sitting there. Some passengers have said something to her mother but apparently they don’t want to get her into too much trouble as the workshop is the only time her family get a break.
I wonder what would happen if she hit someone who hits back?
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