Station Stories

everyday stories

Confessions of a marshmallow heart

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I have done an unwise thing. On a day when it was only 10 degrees, Ms A. showed up at the station barefoot looking very cold and sad after being discharged from hospital. She burst into tears because she claimed not to have the fare back to her home in the country and even though I didn’t believe her, I was overwhelmed by pity and bought her a hot chocolate. Why unwise?

Well A. is a serial and serious pest who shows up at stations all over the system and threatens to jump under the trains. You have to take these threats seriously the way you have to take bomb threats seriously so there’s always the police and the pso’s and the ambulance and hospital. Lots of drama.

She seemed pretty ok that day so maybe they’d given her something in the hospital to calm her down. In the end after a cigarette (somehow broke people always have money for cigarettes, don’t they?) she very docilely got on the train to go to Traveller’s Aid at one of the central stations. Traveller’s Aid lend people small sums of money for tickets home.

Later when the police came by on patrol, I told them I’d seen A. and where she’d gone and they went off to check on what she was up to. As it happened this was the patrol that had arrested her at our station the previous night for threatening to jump under a train.

Well I can only hope that she prefers negative attention and that my giving her a hot chocolate and talking to her nicely will not have the same effect as giving food to a stray cat. It’s all very well to complement me for being charitable but really she’s not someone who should be encouraged to hang around at a station. I fear my Station Master will have cause to curse me.

Is this a definition of Innocence?

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Was startled by the clothes of a young African man I saw this week. He was wearing his Michael Jackson “Beat it” outfit – colorful jacket and skinny jeans. On his belt was a huge buckle depicting the silhouette of a curvaceous young lady against the background of a confederate flag. I guess the confederate flag just doesn’t have much meaning for 16 year olds from Sudan.

michael-jackson-performing

The Green Cheek Conure

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Green Cheek Conure by Pyrrhura Molinae from Wikipedia
Green Cheek Conure by Pyrrhura Molinae from Wikipedia

 

Saw a delightful thing on the way home.  A handsome youth in the train had a little parrot, a Green Cheek Conure, sitting on his shoulder.  The bird got tired of being ignored and started pulling his ear buds and the young man took it in his hand and scratched its head and tummy till it was completely blissed out.  I couldn’t help admiring the deft way he handled this fragile little creature.

When the train stopped at the station, he put the bird on his finger and held it out the door where it obediently dropped a little poop on the platform.  Then he brought it back into the carriage and sat it on his shoulder again.  I was so impressed and so is everyone I’ve told about this.  How on earth did he train a bird to do that?  Unfortunately during the whole exercise he avoided any eye contact so I didn’t get the chance to ask.

 

 

Hallelujah! It’s the unmanned stations!

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While putting posters up at the unmanned stations this week, I tried to avoid making eye contact with the young man with a bottle of wine in his pocket who was staggering about under the station sign.  Tried and failed.

“Miss Miss,” he cried, and I cringed expecting something rude.

“Do you think anyone will know I’ve been drinking?” he asked.

That day the people in the control room were clearly in high spirits.  After one announcement telling us that we were currently running a good service with all trains running on time, the faint strains of the Hallelujah Chorus could be heard in the background.

Gunzelling with Jane at Fawkner Station

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mortuary carriage

So this is a mortuary carriage designed to carry coffins out to cemeteries in the early 1900’s when Fawkner cemetery was purposely built encircling Fawkner Station. They used to carry the coffins behind those cute little doors and apparently the mourners would go in the carriage in front. Personally I can visualize any number of gruesome horror stories set in this carriage.
I discovered this van when I was putting up Change of Service posters at Fawkner Station this week. The roses and trees of the cemetery surrounding the station make it both more attractive and gloomier than other stations.
It’s also the first cemetery I’ve ever come across that has a tea rooms. Of course they do after funeral catering there, but when I popped in there a couple of chaps in orange vests were in the café area eating pie and chips for lunch as if it were any old high street caf.

*Gunzelling is train and tram language for train spotting

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It’s hard to win, sometimes.

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One of my workmates at the junction is annoyed.  He thought to “friendly up” his announcements on a cold morning by telling everyone to try and keep warm on this chilly morning.  A furious lady arrived at the ticket window complaining about having to endure such a disgustingly patronizing announcement when she was shivering in the freezing wind down on the platform. It’s hard to win sometimes.

Be kind to your customer service staff people.  They are just the messengers.

They come in pods (like whales)

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My station is being renovated at the moment and so I’m sharing a portable toilet with workmen.  They are pleasant chaps and I was touched to find that they have put a big sign in the toilet saying “There is a lady who shares this toilet so please keep it clean.” Of course I in my innocence thought they were talking about puddles but a cynical male friends suggested they might be referring to porno pin-ups. (Even then I thought they were sweet to consider me.) The renovation is due to the imminent arrival of Protective Services Officers to guard the station at night.  PSO’s come in pods like whales and apparently my office was not swish enough to be a pod for them.  I was quite keen on the idea at first.  I’m getting insulation in my toilets for goodness sake.  (such luxury!!) However now they’ve decided to restump the room, rendering me officeless for the next month.  Its mid-winter in Melbourne and 10 degrees in the wind.  I’m becoming less keen by the icy minute.

This image was taken from http://www.kayakingtours.com/orca-tours/kayaking-killer-whales.htm
This image was taken from http://www.kayakingtours.com/orca-tours/kayaking-killer-whales.htm

The portaloo man cometh

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Just imagine this with someone much taller and male.
Just imagine this with someone much taller and male.

When the arrival of the Portaloo serviceman is the highlight of your day, you know you are having a boring shift at Zoo Station. We had a chat and I learned among other things that he calls his Sat. Nav. Gwen after his mother. After that things got a bit more interesting.  The ticket machine maintenance man showed me pictures of the ants nest in one of the machines which keeps flicking the circuit breaker and stopping the machine.(They’re for the chop, poor heat-seeking insects)

I had to explain to two NZ tourists who’d managed to miss the stop twice that, no, just because there was a sign on doors saying they were power operated didn’t mean they opened automatically, only that they close automatically. Why is that sign there?

A group of uni students in animal onesies showed up to go to the zoo. (As you do) One 6 foot tall skinny guy was wearing a pink dinosaur onesie that left bare a huge expanse of calf between knee and runner.  He looked so odd, I would have taken a photo of him, but I was down the platform helping a blind man find the right carriage.

And there you have the day’s highlights.

 

Like a fish

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I arrived at work on Monday to find the Graffiti Fairy has visited over the weekend.  The outside of platform one and the waiting room were covered in tags.  According to the G.F. “Lucca has a nice penis.” Judging by the accompanying picture, “nice” means it looks like a fish.

Heavy Metal Granny

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Three generations of a family come into the station
The elderly lady is wearing an AC/DC T-shirt. I myself was a big fan years ago before Bon Scott died. But she’s older than me.
“I have to ask, are you an AC/DC fan?” I say
“Oooh yes” says she. “We’ve got tickets to the concert.” She waves at her son.
“Yes we’re big fans,” says the son. He gestures to the toddler he’s carrying. “That why he’s called Angus. After Angus Young.”
It’s lovely when families share interests, though not a lot of people go to rock concerts with their mother/grandmother.