A torrid hour at the junction when we have a signal failure affecting several lines. The people on the C line are told leave Platform 2 for Platform 6 and after 15 minutes told to go to Platform 4. 3 trains worth crowd onto the 1 train. They are understandably pissed off when they are told the train won’t be going down the C line. I try to answer people’s questions, but I don’t know much. It’s no one’s fault. Control are moving what trains they can when they can and it’s all very spur of the moment. A drunk decides this is a good time to try and pick up one of my colleagues with revolting hip wiggles and leering. We chase him off telling him we’re just too busy.
Everyone is mad. I get in the lift and am hit by a wall of angry testosterone. An African couple – wife in hijab and a Bogan couple are facing off in the tiny crowded space. I’m sure the Bogan couple have said something nasty to the African couple but at this point the Bogans are the ones offended. “That’s not very nice to call us Junkies” they cry. It’s a fair complaint. They stink of alcohol, not drugs. It’s a long tense 30 second ride and everyone gets out of the lift as fast as they can at the top