Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer.
The Australian Sex Party rep hands me a flyer as I bolt for the 7:45am. I swipe my MYKI with seconds to spare. Grateful for a seat, I read the flyer salaciously headed ‘Take a New Position’. The reverse exerts that “Only the Australian Sex Party has a common sense approach to infrastructure investment” and lists various public transport policies.
I am a public transport user. I no longer own a car – my $1000 bomb gave up the ghost. The reality of the situation: I have to get to work on the other side of the city. My options: 1) an eighteen-year-old bicycle covered in rust, cobwebs and a creeper; 2) a bank account that can only afford another bomb and 3) top up MYKI and download a timetable.
Please stand well behind the yellow line.
The Napthine Government promises a new 3.9 billion dollar plan which equals a new tram or train every month for ten years.
The girl behind me talks on her mobile the entire forty minutes of the trip: “So mum said to me ‘you’re not getting back with him are you?’ and I said ‘Oh Mum please. Hardly.’ I mean. Seriously? I know right? And she said ‘Well?’.
The Labor Party promises 24-hour public transport on weekends.
A velvety female voice offers me a “very warm welcome to Flinders Street Platform One”, as though it were somewhere delicious rather than the beginning of our Wednesday grind.
Poor Train Service Can Bring Down A Government, Shane Green, The Age 8th November 2014.
A tiny, elderly dot of Chinese woman stands among the commuters. We look like Easter Island statues in comparison. She sees something familiar in the crowd. Delight spreads across her face as she inches across the carriage to a dapper young Chinese man who is plugged into headphones and minding his own business. Regardless, she launches into a conversation in Mandarin. He looks down and gives a half-smile. He does not know this woman but seems resigned to the fact that she recognizes him in some way.
The Australian Greens urge everyone to attend a public transport rally.
“And I said we’re not talking about having kids until you start looking after the ones you already have”.
I lodge a complaint with Metro after a train door nearly closes on my arm.
A velvety male voice welcomes me to Platform One and urges me to have an “awesome night”.
A Public Transport Users Association experiment concludes that it’s quicker to walk than catch a bus.
A woman on her mobile recounts a house inspection. “There were shards of asbestos in the yard. Shards of asbestos. Is that normal? Maybe it is in the northern suburbs? I don’t know…….maybe if I bought in the eastern suburbs there wouldn’t be so much asbestos”. We all shift in our seats feeling accused and slighted.
A young couple kiss and cuddle, oblivious to peak hour and the crowd growing with each stop. Their bags are taking up two extra seats. A man asks with a sigh if they would not mind moving their bags so people can sit down. Although surprised, the boy obliges and the girl sulks. The kissing stops. Mothers board with kids on scooters, a tradie slumbers, books are read, games are played and passengers look out the window. The train arrives at another station and leaves.
The train waits on the curve at Rushall Station. The driver informs us the train is waiting.
The train sits just outside Flinders Street Station. The driver informs us the train is waiting.
I receive an 824-word reply from Metro Customer Relations. The letter has sub-headings documenting their “investigation” of CCTV footage of the incident I complained about. They “regret” my experience but are sure that I would “appreciate” that “should a driver wait until every person has cleared the platform, a ‘domino’ effect would be created whereby the train is further delayed leading to even more further departure delays to that service and others to follow”.
I may be single-handedly to blame for delays in peak-hour public transport.
Attention customers! Your 7:15 South Morang Line has been delayed and is now expected in two minutes.
This train is not taking passengers.
Metro has removed all rubbish bins from Flinders Street Station for security reasons.
At Southern Cross a man sits down next to me straight off the V/Line from Moe. He hasn’t been to “the city” for fifteen years. “Not for me”, he explains. He seems nervous, so far away from the familiar, and a little lonely. I look around the packed and silent carriage. I cannot snub him so I nod as an encouragement to continue. He grew up in Preston, which is where he is heading to see his friend who is dying of cancer. She is home from hospital because there is nothing more to be done. He is sad for her and it’s obvious they used to be more than just friends. He recounts his memories as the train passes from station to station.
Close to my home, he asks me, “What about you, are you coming home from work girly?”
I nod.
“You catch public transport to work?”
Smiling, I say that I do catch public transport.