A peril of public transport

At 8.35 in the morning, the 8.20 Bus arrives. As usual, I board. "Daily ticket please" I request. "That will be $10:60 thanks mate" says the Bus Driver. I am not your mate, I think to myself. I hand over the exact amount of money - be prepared always have the correct fare - I have read the helpful signs you know! Before I reach my seat, the Bus moves. Not with a smooth acceleration, but with the violent lurch of an Army Tank. Except, as I wobble to my seat, I can tell this is no Tank, more like a Car with a genetics problem.

I notice my usual seat is occupied by somebody else. "Interesting that" I utter under my breath. We travel one street block and then stop. Another unfortunate one steps on. A quick glance. Do I know her? No, but I wish did, admonishing my hormones. "You wanna' go where? Yah gunna' have to go on the 220 Bus. Nah, I cannot change a fifty. Has any of youse got some change?" Silence. First and sad lesson of Bus travel - never offer help on anything and I mean anything! The Bus moves off. I finally reach a seat and discover (after I sit down), a sticky sweet has attached itself. This is unbelievable! For only yesterday, it was bubble gum in my hair (a long story) and now it is a sticky sweet on my trousers! How am I going to get this thing off? I muse. It is in a rather awkward place. Not the best for wrestling with in Public. I weakly smile. I try to pick it off without being noticed. I knew before I started it would be a useless exercise. Every time I got a piece off the Bus went over a bump and it stuck again, even more pugnaciously to my rump. "Yes Lady. It is funny is it?" I growled. Stupid dolt, it should have been her. She is sitting where I usually sit - in my space on the 219 Bus. Finally, we reach the railway station, the graffiti capital of Melbourne. I think I will get off and go by train as it will be quicker and I can change my trousers at my destination, so no point going home now that I have started on my way. So, I pull the cord (yes a Bus that has a Cord to pull as well as buttons to push) - it snaps - all passengers on the Bus are mildly amused. The Bus does not stop - can you believe it? I duly troop down the aisle to the Driver. "Hey mate, can you please let me off at the next stop?" I am not his mate I think to myself. "Why don't cha' pull the cord, how can I be expected to know where y' wanna get off. Mind reader am I?" he retorts. Meekly I attempt a reply, "Well I didn't expect you to, but, er' the cord broke, look?" "Treat these Buses like shit youse public" came the predicable reply. The Bus stops. "OK here, master" the Driver scowls. "Yes. Have a good life" I mutter. The dolt in my seat looks through the window as I get off and smiles sweetly. I really hate her.

I trundle back to the graffiti (I mean) railway station. My hand strategically placed over my trousers. As I walk up the ramp to the platform the train pulls in. "Blast!" I yell as I commenced to sprint and over I went. Bang! Plod feet in a tangle and landed near flat on my face. "You all right mate?" enquires a kindly voice"Cannot stop to help ya', gotta catch the train y' know?" Yes. I knew. The caring and sharing society strikes again. Probably an economic rationalist or a novelist. I clawed my way up back onto my now untangled feet. No damage done except to my pride and my sense of civic decorum. Thankfully, the dolt on the Bus did not see me. If she thought I was pathetic on the Bus when I sat on the sticky surprise, she would be having a right old jolly now. Finally, I reached the Booking Counter. "You the bloke that fell up the ramp?" asks an anonymous apparatchik. How can you fall up a ramp I thought? He must be another English language mangler. I hope this guy is not another mate. "Do you need a ticket. mate?" he insincerely asks. "No thanks, I have got one already?"I gurgle in reply. "Oh, by the way the next train has been cancelled. Defective, mate", he intones. I am not his mate, I confirm to myself. "Yeah, vandals ya' know. Probably local hoons" he continues to drone on. No, I didn't know. Did I ever do such things when I was young? Now I only want to vandalise those who want to vandalise a community with their policies of disenfranchisement of public utilities: (political manifesto statement ends). "When is the next one?" I plead. "Aw, not for another 40 minutes, I guess?" is his reply. "You guess or you know?" I snide as a smart-alec remark that got what it deserved, read on: "Listen mate, you got a problem with that or sumthin'?" is his withering, disdainful comeback. How many times must I puzzle over this, I am not his mate! I shrugged. It is going to be one of those days. I turn around and go back down the platform ramp. Past the sight of my rise then fall and back to the Bus stop. Now let me see, there should be a 216 Bus in three minutes. I will wait for this one. Three eternal minutes pass. The 216 Bus arrives - it is full. "Sorry mate. I cannot fit you in" sheepishly tones the Driver. Not another mate! "When is the next one?" I venture to go into hostile territory with this question. "Dun' know" the reply. Now, this is getting a trifle ridiculous. It is only a simple Bus journey, just like I have done a hundred times before. I bet the dolt in the 219 Bus has arrived at her destination? No doubt smiling at my expense and she sat in my seat all the way for sure. "That's it! I have had enough" I exclaim. An elderly gent waiting at the Bus stop looks bemused and enquiries, "What is it mate?" Oh no, not another bloody mate. They are everywhere like unreconstructed verbs. "Nothing" I seethe to myself. "Want to share a Taxi? You look really flustered?" he helpfully suggests. "No, go away you gangster!" is my pathetic response, not even remotely witty let alone erudite. It was a dumb thing to say too. He looked at least 100 not out and I noticed he was WW2 veteran. Now I have got a conscience problem coupled with a clear ethical collapse as well. Finally, a 220 Bus arrives. My luck has changed, it is empty! "Only going to the Depot mate" says the Bus Driver. Note reader - another mate. "Wanna' come along?" he continued. Might as well, I conclude, I can get another Bus during the changeover and I am certain I will have a seat, sticky sweet free. Nevertheless, I still board the Bus with fear. Mercifully, no conversation takes place and the journey is relatively uneventful. Except when we near shoot a red traffic light. I have lost count over the years of how many Bus Drivers routinely adopt their own set of traffic rules. We duly arrive at the Depot unharmed. "What has happened to your trousers? Looks like you shit ya' self!" exclaims another Driver. Wails of laughter ensure in the gaggle quaffing on their cups of tea. Could I ask the Government to reinstate Capital punishment I seethed in thought? "That's it!" I say to myself, again. "Taxi!" I cry looking toward the Depot Manager. Two hours later and at least six telephone calls courtesy of the helpful Depot Manager, the Taxi arrives. "Where to mate?" mumbles the Taxi person. Note this; I am in mate-restraint mode now. "Home" I reply with a sweetly voice in monosyllable. "Aw, come on where is home mate?" waving his hands asks the Driver. "That way, yonder across the Maribyrnong River" I point defiantly westwards. "OK mate. No worries mate. Wanna' talk mate?" the clutch pedlar asks. "No" is my terse reply. I asses the 'mate count' is off the Richter scale now. After enduring the Taxi Driver going the wrong way up a one way street and hearing about the evils of everyone except himself plus the aroma from his garlic enhanced breath, I arrive at home, utterly exasperated. "That'll be 35 bucks, mate" comes the request. When he said mate, you can guess the rest. I enthusiastically embarked on a search for my new wallet. "Ah, mate" I say, "You are not going to believe this. I have not got my wallet": (readers may recall I lost it a few days ago and had only replaced it yesterday). Look of incredulity followed by a Mafia grimace comes from the Taxi Driver. "Yeah, mate?" I love the word 'mate' now. "Looks like we have got a problem" I gingerly suggest. "No, mate. You?ve got a problem" he menaces. I plead, quite pathetically, for understanding and compassion. I explain that I really am a decent simple plodding sort of bloke. Quite harmless and honest, a battling crossword fan and cricket lover. I even call him, with great respect, a 'mate', again. As you can see, with me, principals hold no currency when faced with a 'wallet crisis'. As the Taxi Driver explains, quite vividly, what he is going to do with me, a familiar face comes into view. Now where have I seen her before, hormones aside? She comes closer. The hormones go back to sleep. "The watch will do mate" demands the Driver. "The watch?" I babble back with incredulity. "Yeah, while you go inside and get the fare". The familiar face stops. "Having trouble are we?" she smiles. I do know her. I cringe. It is the dolt from the 219 Bus! The one who took my seat. "Hello luv', he causing you a problem?" No, never. Not me. No. No. Never, ever. I mitigate to myself. I am only a meek boy, prone to cower in the crisis of a dilemma. "Nah! Reckons he has lost his wallet, cannot pay the fare, yet" menacingly said by that lovely nice Taxi Driver - my new best mate. This really is quite silly. I am standing in the driveway of my house about to be martyred by a Taxi Driver who seems to know the dolt from the 219 Bus! "Well, you are lucky I came along" she motions toward me. Me, lucky because of you? Do not make me laugh! "Missing this?" she states, opening her bag. A familiar shape appears. Pristine with some loot sticking out and a transport ticket peeking out the side. "You left it on the 219 Bus when you stormed off" she smarmingly adds. Who? Me? Storm off, never. "How are your trousers?" she asks. I hurriedly place a strategic hand in a deft covering movement. Now I was becoming incredulous, though still mindful of my weak and vulnerable position. I was going to be humiliated by the dolt who took my seat on the 219 Bus and whom I might add, smiled as I fled to catch the train, before my rise then fall. Playing her card, she handed back my newly minted wallet. Now I know why on the Bus she was smiling. She knew about my leaving the wallet on the Bus. "You'll find it all there" concludes this clever one. I wished some cash, what little I had, was missing. I could have accused her of stealing. Although, I knew, she was not the type. For a moment, I knew I had to be nice. As I should be anyway, irrespective of dolt-types. But, I wanted to score a point off her nonetheless. Yet, funny how circumstance can mellow the moment. "Thank you" was all I could utter as I weakly surrendered. She turned to the Taxi Driver and still smiling said, "See you later dear. Would you like some steak for dinner?" "That'd be fine darling" he replied. He was laughing too as I paid my fare. "Tip mate?" he insisted! I feigned deafness and glared. Stirred and shaken, I crawled inside my sanctuary home, pride bleeding profusely. I changed out of my sticky sweet trousers and put on some Punk Rock music - real, real, real LOUD! And stayed home for the rest of the day, chagrined.

The lesson from today?

None of this would have happened if I had sat. Where I usually sit. On my seat. On the 8.20 morning 219 Bus, which arrived at 8.35!