station stories

Not what you think

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

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

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.

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

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

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

Verdi_conducting_Aida_in_Paris_1880_-_Gallica_-_Restoration

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.

Unicycle hockey

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.

 

Self harm – a station story for Mental Health Week (Trigger warning)

On the railways we see quite a few people with mental health issues one way or another.  Anyone who does customer service with the public is bound to. When I’m cooking BBQ for the other staff at the show, I get a chance to catch up on the news from round our region and this year we somehow got to talking about mental health issues. In particular three women – B—A — and H — who regularly appear at railway stations and threaten self harm (code word for jumping under a train) Everyone has a story of dragging these ladies off the tracks, restraining them, or handcuffing them to a rail until the police and social workers come.

The most famous of these is B.  I never met her, but I suspect she was the subject of the regular weekly SMS you used to see on the system. <<Train delays. Female threatening self harm at S– .>>

One of my current workmates knew her as a child and says she was a nice kid but that the family was seriously dysfunctional.

For a long time the rumor has been floating round that B finally went under a train and is dead, but at the show one of the ticket inspectors said he’d seen her all cleaned up and with a little girl on some kind of access visit.  I hoped this was true but on the last night of the show another ticket inspector told me he’d seen the report.  B was dead.  She’d slipped and fallen while standing on a bridge parapet threatening to jump. Sad and particularly so for the daughter.

I’ve described A– in a previous post.  She’s an overweight woman in her late twenties who sometimes visits the junction when I was at the barriers.  She is often wearing a wrist band and usually she has a bandage on some injury or other.

She sits and smokes and tells you hair raising stories of how she took 7 sleeping pills on a country train and had to be put off and how she gets scary voices and how she likes to torment the security guards who all hate her and are out to get her anyway. She tells all these stories in a jolly voice as one would tell a joke. At first her weird narcissistic need to impress scared me.  4 hours of it can be pretty overwhelming.  Then a workmate told me that whenever it gets too much, say “the boss is getting angry with me for chatting and I have to stop now.” Oddly enough A respects this and takes herself off.

Now I have an escape hatch I find I can talk to A– ok, especially since one of the security guards told me she loves cats. So I do my best to get her onto the subject of cats. But what I really want to ask her is “why??” Why do this? Surely there must be more satisfying ways to spend the short life you have. Maybe the right words at the right time might put her back on track.

I never seemed to have got the chance to say it and I suspect it doesn’t work like that anyway.  A– eyes gleam with mania as she tells her stories. I suspect she has little else in her life. Logic doesn’t apply here.

The third self harmer H– I know quite well. For a while she was attending the youth mental health service near my station and one day I found and held her wallet for her until she came back.

She’s a solid sort of girl in her early teens, the sort of fierce gallant girl who would be good at rugby or roller derby, someone who might be a bully or a protector against bullies. I’ve seen her acting like an idiot on the train surrounded by a handful of slightly sneering school fellows going “Oh that’s just H–”.  She used to sit sometimes on the edge of the platform with her legs over the edge and I’d tell her she was worrying me but leave it at that.  One time she’d clearly had a bad day because she stood on the side of the platform with her toes sticking out over the edge just staring fiercely down onto the tracks.  When the train came she just kept standing there. It managed to stop about three metres from her and the driver sat there looking worried.  Stalemate!

So I went over and put my arm round her and coaxed her away from the edge and stood between her and the train until it came in.  She got on and was taken away and I didn’t think anything more of it.  Just adolescent hijinks. Getting a thrill out of stopping a train.

Last time I saw her she told me she’d moved away and wasn’t travelling on that line anymore, which I took to be a good result.

But was it?  While working at the show, a ticket inspector tells me he’s seen three security guards try to stop H– jumping on the tracks and that she’s just as bad as the other two.  He talks of mace.  I so hope he’s got the wrong person or that his information is out of date. She’d seemed so much quieter and more confident the last time I’d seen her.

Everything I’ve seen H– do, seems like just adolescent attention seeking behavior.  But has it gone toxic – turned into as mental health issue – as it has in A– and B–? Will it take over and maybe take her life?

 

A most gratifying rainstorm

Many rivers to cross. The Moonee Ponds Creek http://larissamacfarlane.blogspot.com.au/
Many rivers to cross. The Moonee Ponds Creek
http://larissamacfarlane.blogspot.com.au/

During a recent rain storm, an assortment of passing cyclists were taking shelter in the waiting room with the rest of us huddled masses. One of the cyclists approached me.

“Are you the lady who writes the blog,” she asked.
I was delighted to think someone was reading me and admitted to the crime.
Thus I met Larissa MacFarlane Printmaker extraordinaire. I took a look at her website which is at http://larissamacfarlane.blogspot.com.au/and fell totally in love with this wonderful print of the train line near the junction station where it goes under the freeway and over the river. You can cycle or walk through this area and it has a strange noisily silent “special” atmosphere, kind of like a modern temple to the Gods of progress or business. I think Larissa has captured it perfectly.