Fantasy writer

Too much information

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My regular customer J, told me early on he was autistic. If so, he’s pretty high functioning as he holds down a good blue collar job. He feels this entitles/requires him to call all women “shelias” and to say “good day mate” at every opportunity. Evidence of an ironic sense of humor? (Not a common autistic trait, I would have thought.) He’s a nice young man apart for that and we often talk. His main autistic trait seems to be that he has no filters. Sometimes I catch the other customers sniggering at things he says. Fortunately there was no one else in the waiting room recently when he startled me by replying to an ordinary “how are you?” with the information that he’d caught a venereal disease. (And no I didn’t ask for details – he probably would have told me and I really didn’t want to hear.)Still he has informed his partner/s very assiduously so it is no business of the station staff to judge.

Not what you think

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Even though school holidays are over, the Zoo is still teaming with international visitors, lots of whom must walk from the city since they keep turning up at the station without myki cards. Lots of people from mainland China at the moment – (Chinese New Year) – which is lovely to see, but trying to deal with the fact that our ticket machines don’t give change or deal with foreign credit cards and that even single trip users have to buy a myki smart card, can be very complicated when there is little or no shared language. Luckily I’ve been able to enlist the help of mandarin speakers on the platform. Once they know the score, people often go off and call a cab.
With North Americans I don’t have communication problems, but my heart sinks when I discover they have no change. North American credit cards don’t have pin numbers and our machine takes nothing else.
Last week one tall and very handsome American, gave up and went outside to call UBER.
He was joined by two sleazy looking characters (you know the sort, skinny blokes with tatts and bad teeth) with a large Rhodesian Ridge back dog. The guys started admiring his Blue tooth headset in a way that made me a bit nervous so I went out and hovered around protectively. But instead of mugging the man, when they found out he didn’t have a ticket, they offered to give him one of their spare myki cards. (Most Melbournians have several by now) Then we all stood around and patted the very good-natured dog until the train came.

Wheelchairs

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One of my wheelchair travelers is a young man of middle-eastern origin and poor English.  I don’t know if he didn’t understand that the driver would get a ramp out for him or if, as seems more likely, he is building up his strength to get in to the train without help. Some very fit individuals do. But he’s not there yet and last week he didn’t hoik the chair up high enough and it got caught on the lip of the train.  Over went the chair, tipping him face first onto the train floor.

He didn’t fuss, though the rest of us were flapping about in a tizz – train driver, station staff, fellow passengers. But the young man simply crawled around on his hands until he was in a good position for someone to lift him back into his chair.  He’s got the determination to get there eventually.  But I was relieved he waited for the ramp this week.

Not the best work day, yesterday

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Despite being on time, the 4.44 didn’t come. It stopped at the previous station due to reports of a trespasser on the line between that station and us. A trespasser on the line can mean something as silly as someone looking for stray golf balls or kids out for a dare (as one young woman quipped to me, “You gotta love the idiots.”) Or it can be as serious as someone threatening self-harm in which case the police have to be called. Since the control room didn’t know which it was, I didn’t know either. With train delays as with many things in this life, it’s just wait and see.
I went around the station making sure everyone knew that they could make the slow journey into the city on the nearby tram if things got bad. When the announcement came that the delays might be up to 40 minutes there was a mass exodus to the tram stop.
From where you are cut off from the station by boom gates but where everyone could see the train when it came round the corner two minutes later and pulled up at the almost empty platform.
As I watched people streaming back from the tram stop, I confess I hid in the office, but I did answer the knock on the door.
Two angry ladies shouted at me. “This is outrageous,” yelled one. “What are you people playing at? You make us miss the train and now,” she waved as the tram trundled past, “You’ve made us miss the tram as well.”
It was like the bad old days when I used to do the rush hour shift. “We didn’t do it on purpose,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m only as good as the information I get,” I said. “That’s not good enough,” she said and “What’s the point of your job then?” The hardest thing about this situation is that she was in the right. “I can only apologize,” I said. Maybe I should have keep quiet about the tram.
Not the best work day.

Thai Curry Chicken balls – a word of warning.

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During school holidays children get in to the Zoo for free so you can imagine how busy my station is. I’ve been flat out helping people buy tickets, giving directions and reassuring people that yes they are on the right platform to return to the city. You’d think I would get bored but I’ve spent lots of time chatting – mostly to tourists about how happy/unhappy they are to be here frying in our over 30 degree heat instead of freezing/frying elsewhere. Until today this week’s peak experience was having a selfie with Japanese honeymooners. (I warned them I was too ugly but their English wasn’t that good and they persisted.)
New Year’s Eve was much quieter mostly because it was H.O.T. !!! Around 39 to be precise. But I met this week’s favorite customer – a gentleman around 50/60 in a sombrero and a pony tail, sporting a large wooden cross. Without any preamble, he showed me the wildlife calendar he had purchased for his local vicar and I remarked that looking at the furry coat of the grizzly bear on the cover make me feel very hot. (So glad he took that as an innocent remark. But then he did not strike me as a man for innuendo.) From that topic we proceeded abruptly to Thai Curry Balls.
“I ate some once,” he said, “and I had the most terrible dream afterwards. I dreamt of a tethered goat being attacked by a wolf. I’ve never eaten them since.” (seems wise.)
I asked him if he was the goat but he changed the subject and began telling me about various cats he’d had and their various passions for sausage rolls or tinned Spaghetti Bol. I love conversations like this and a railway station is the perfect place for them because you have the comfort of knowing that a train will come and take the talker away before it all gets too much.
Wishing you all a Happy New year filled with as many Cat-loving eccentrics as you wish for. Thanks for supporting Station Stories.

Guns, lemurs and paint sniffing

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The end of the year and a lot of school groups are coming through.

“I remember you,” says one 13 year old boy to me.  “We were here last year and that guy was sniffing paint on the opposite platform and he fell over.  That was scary.”

I remembered that day though not the boy.  My old friend J had sniffed so much paint out of his plastic bag  that he actually passed out on platform 2. He’d got up again by the time I got round to check on him. Removing the plastic bag from his face probably helped.

Platform 1 was full of a school kids who were most concerned about him so I took the opportunity to warn them about the dangers of paint sniffing.

I was sorry the boy was scared and hastened to reassure him. J hadn’t been in any particular danger that day.  In the 12 years I’ve been doing this job, I’ve become much more relaxed around people under the influence of substances and I hardly blink at it now.  (Probably not such a good thing)

“I saw that guy recently and he told me he’d given up,” I told the boy now.

The boy expressed doubt.  He regarded himself as a worldly youth and said he had relatives who took drugs and they never gave up.  Ah,the wisdom of youth! Statistics mean nothing to them.

My favorite customer this week was a woman from Georgia, U.S.A  with long cherry red hair and loads of silver jewelry.  When I asked her why she’d come to live in Australia, she won my heart by cheerily making a joke about gun control. (“I was getting tired of having to shoot people all the time”).  Apparently she was also sick of being legally obliged to have a sign on her door saying no guns in this house to stop people bringing their weapons into her home.

Also she’d fallen in love with an Australian and was about to become a citizen here.

She’d been in to the Zoo to feed the Lemurs and showed me a great picture of herself with a perky looking lemur on her lap.

“Does it get any better than that?” I asked and she agreed that her life had probably peaked and she might as well give up from now on.  She was fun.  Hope she comes back.

Station Stories – Making Japanese tourists happy

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Japanese tourists have been a feature of my week. The Zoo seems to be crowded with beautiful and beautifully dressed young Japanese couples. The women especially wear lovely little dresses or little skirts and matching blouses and high heels to visit the Zoo. Honestly, I don’t even get that dressed up for drinks. I think they may be honeymooners or on wedding tours. Some days Melbourne’s beautiful gardens are full of young Japanese brides and grooms all dressed in white and tuxedos taking their wedding shots.
In an act of super tourist guiding this week, I appear to have made one young couple’s day. They asked me what else there was to do in Royal Park and I pointed out there was a golf course.
“But we’re not well enough dressed to play golf,” they said.
“This is Australia,” I said. “I’ve seen men playing golf here with no shirt on.” (And I have. May God protect me from such sights)
“I can play golf but you can’t,” said the man to the woman.
But he seemed a little reluctant to play. Still I looked up the prices which were very reasonable. It’s a public golf course.
“Let’s play. Let’s play,” said the woman.
They wandered off and sure enough 20 minutes later they were happily waving at me as they went past with their hired buggies. I wonder if the game got their marriage off to a flying start or blighted it at its beginning. Golf can be a pretty fraught game. Alas I shall never know.

The Conductor

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Recently I’ve acquired a new regular at my station. A little man in his fifties who conducts – not trains but orchestras. Where ever he goes he plays band/orchestral music on his mp3 player and he conducts to it waving a long white baton. He conducts while waiting for the train, on the train and when he gets off again. I don’t know what he does at other stations, but watching him coming down the platform at you waving a white baton delicately held between his thumb and forefinger is as dynamic as seeing Harry Potter coming at you waving his wand. The Conductor is very fit looking which is not surprising as he conducts with his whole body. I’m no judge of the quality of his conducting.
Recently I ran into him at another station and he recognized me. I was on my way to work and wearing my uniform. He wasn’t conducting so we chatted and I asked him what he did. He said he was coming from a class. He said he taught percussion and trumpet and that he was also a guest conductor at a major symphony orchestra. He told me he’d had guest spots in Vienna and Paris this year. He described how hard it was to become a conductor. He was intense, but seemed complete in his world.
I’m keeping an open mind. I suspect, as do most of us on the line, that this is all fantasy, but I always keep an open mind about these things. It’s rude to tell someone they’re fibbing and you never know. It might all be true. Stranger things have happened.

Virtual Fantasycon

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Next Wednesday I’ll be on Facebook on the 4th of November Epic Fantasy Day which is one of the eight mighty days of the first Virtual Fantasycon.
I hope to be giving away some terrific ebooks aside from my own and also some Amazon vouchers.
So come one come all. Pop in. Leave a comment and enter a giveaway.
https://www.facebook.com/events/1042477232432225/

Unicycle hockey

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Working at zoo station this week and fell into conversation with a retired man who is working at introducing unicycle hockey to the local primary school.  Yes it’s true! People do play hockey on unicycles!!!  www://hockey.unicycling.org.au/

I’ve recently read A Time of Gifts -a travel book by Patrick Leigh Fermor.  He’d played bicycle polo in Hungary before the war. I’d thought it was just lost frivolity of a decadent upper-crust but my retired man says there is still a bicycle polo club in Melbourne, although these days you provide you own bike and they have trouble finding place to play.

After last week’s grim post, it’s nice to be reminded that the world can also be a delightful place.