A friend told me a tale today. This is a tale of missed opportunity. Perhaps it is also a tale of mean spirits.
My friend relies on public transport to go everywhere. My friend can get around on the trains easily enough, but relies on a bus service to connect to the train service. The problem with that last sentence is evident in the phrase: "relies on a bus service to connect to the train service". It does connect. As long as you're not picky about arriving everywhere 40 minutes early or 40 minutes late.
My friend was to meet me at Flinders Street this morning 7:45am. I received a text message at 7:22am to say she had already arrived. We live on the same train line, so I wondered why she wasn't on the same train as me, leaving at 7:26am. It was the buses!
My friend told me that the last bus of an evening leaves the station at 9:00pm. The station where she most regularly travels to and from (Yarraville) has a level crossing. Commuters disembarking an outbound train are left on one side of that crossing. The buses leave from the other side of that crossing. When a train is at the station, the boom gates on the crossing come down so everyone has to wait until the train has left the station before they can walk across to the buses. Imagine the heart break as 9:00pm approaches, but a late train has meant arrival at the station almost right on that time. You're stuck on the opposite side of the tracks, the bus driver can see that a train has just come in and that the boom gates are down and chooses to drive off before the gates go up and people can get to the bus!
Situations like this are one of the reasons that people don't like to travel by public transport. Situations like this can be fixed by planning the services to connect better and ensuring that drivers are instructed to wait for the boom gates to go up after a train has arrived before leaving.
So because of where my friend lives - about 10 minutes drive from where I live - she had to leave home at 6:45am for a 7:45am meeting in the city. I left home at 7:15am, walked to the station and was ready to catch a 7:26am train which delivered me to Flinders Street at 7:40am - less than half an hour, while she had almost that amount of time to wait.
This is not the public transport system that one expects in the world's most livable city! But I guess it's what happens when you privatise the systems and they're all run by different people.
Do you catch public transport? If not, what stops you? What do you like about it?
Showing posts with label bus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bus. Show all posts
Wednesday, 4 September 2013
Sunday, 27 November 2011
Four more weeks.
With only four weeks until Christmas, shoppers are out in force and the blaring Christmas music provides a soundtrack to the push-and-shove shopping experience. Is it any wonder online shopping is doing well? You can click and buy from the comfort of your own home over a cup of tea and fruit mince tart with pleasing music to accompany.
Why then, did I think a visit to Federation Square's Mark It would be a good idea?
In the Atrium and BMW Edge, at least it was safe from the unpredictable spring weather. Most of Melbourne was crowded into this space and most of Melbourne had missed its manners today. From the glimpses I caught over dandruff sprinkled shoulders and through the crook of elbows and past enormous ears, there appeared to be some very fine wares for sale. How one made a purchase was not clear to me. As soon as I thought I would be able to make it to the front and have an unimpeded view, a woman with an enormous bag or boobs would shoulder charge to the front.
I didn't get to fondle and I didn't get to see. I didn't get to smell and I didn't get to dangle. So not a single purchase was made. At one point a woman behind me commented that she wanted to get the business card of a particular stall so I snaked my hand through and gave her a bundle. She asked me if I worked there and I replied that I just felt her pain.
Shoppers' faces were frowning. The smell of anxiety hung heavy.
As I stood locked in by people and bags on all sides a moment of catastrophe came into mind. What would happen if there was a fire? I would surely die. We would surely die. Except those people with the giant bags and boobs who seemed to be able to get to wherever they were going.
I think my consideration of other people is what works against me in this setting. I don't say this to sound like some kind of angel - I'm not - but rather I work with awareness of people around me. I think that everyone else does too. This is not true.
I returned home empty handed and had also endured the bus replacement service. No trains are running on my line today because of track work. This will lead to improvements at some unspecified future time. At this current time, it's a gigantic pain. The buses are unpredictable in their arrivals and departures. The drivers are ill-tempered. The passengers are frustrated and lost.
Studying the signs on the various buses lined up and waiting at Footscray station, I opted for one that said it was stopping all stations to a station far down the line and then was express after that. As I boarded, I stated my station to the usher who was supervising all comings and goings. He looked alarmed and said no. This bus was express from where we were standing. I pointed out the sign to him. He agreed it was confusing. I disagreed that it was confusing and said that it was just plain wrong. He considered this. He came back five minutes later and told me he agreed with me about the sign. He made no move to correct it. I imagined lost people at the mercy of ill-tempered bus drivers on the expressway to some outer suburb they'd heard of only because it was the end of the line.
This conversation was peppered by a hard-faced woman and the ferret featured man accompanying her making accusations of abuse against one of the ill-tempered bus drivers. I had heard the ill-tempered bus driver in question speak to her and thought he had a "tone" that went with being ill-tempered, but I didn't think he was abusive. I considered her as ferret features tried to pull her away. They had the look of people strung out for their next hit. People probably steered clear most of the time, so I could understand why she would assert herself by then yelling at the line of large men wearing bright orange vests announcing that they belonged, somehow, to Metro trains.
My ill-tempered bus driver shook his head and put out his cigarette. He hoisted himself into the driver's seat and flung the bus into gear, driving wildly through the narrow back streets of Yarraville, straddling tiny roundabouts and riding the kerb. Several signs and markers were lying flattened on this route and I wondered if the streets would ever recover from this episode of track work.
As I left the bus, I heard the driver's response to questions from people about whether this was the bus to the city. "No," he said in a tone that made it a four syllable word. "City's on the other side," and "side" took on the rising scale of frustration. He may as well have just called them idiots and been done with it.
One last stop before heading home and I was confronted with Christmas music playing through a radio turned up too loud and hidden behind a cheap tinsel Christmas tree. The fact that Santa Claus is coming to town sounded like a menacing threat, rather than happy news.
And there are still four more weeks.
Why then, did I think a visit to Federation Square's Mark It would be a good idea?
In the Atrium and BMW Edge, at least it was safe from the unpredictable spring weather. Most of Melbourne was crowded into this space and most of Melbourne had missed its manners today. From the glimpses I caught over dandruff sprinkled shoulders and through the crook of elbows and past enormous ears, there appeared to be some very fine wares for sale. How one made a purchase was not clear to me. As soon as I thought I would be able to make it to the front and have an unimpeded view, a woman with an enormous bag or boobs would shoulder charge to the front.
I didn't get to fondle and I didn't get to see. I didn't get to smell and I didn't get to dangle. So not a single purchase was made. At one point a woman behind me commented that she wanted to get the business card of a particular stall so I snaked my hand through and gave her a bundle. She asked me if I worked there and I replied that I just felt her pain.
Shoppers' faces were frowning. The smell of anxiety hung heavy.
As I stood locked in by people and bags on all sides a moment of catastrophe came into mind. What would happen if there was a fire? I would surely die. We would surely die. Except those people with the giant bags and boobs who seemed to be able to get to wherever they were going.
I think my consideration of other people is what works against me in this setting. I don't say this to sound like some kind of angel - I'm not - but rather I work with awareness of people around me. I think that everyone else does too. This is not true.
I returned home empty handed and had also endured the bus replacement service. No trains are running on my line today because of track work. This will lead to improvements at some unspecified future time. At this current time, it's a gigantic pain. The buses are unpredictable in their arrivals and departures. The drivers are ill-tempered. The passengers are frustrated and lost.
Studying the signs on the various buses lined up and waiting at Footscray station, I opted for one that said it was stopping all stations to a station far down the line and then was express after that. As I boarded, I stated my station to the usher who was supervising all comings and goings. He looked alarmed and said no. This bus was express from where we were standing. I pointed out the sign to him. He agreed it was confusing. I disagreed that it was confusing and said that it was just plain wrong. He considered this. He came back five minutes later and told me he agreed with me about the sign. He made no move to correct it. I imagined lost people at the mercy of ill-tempered bus drivers on the expressway to some outer suburb they'd heard of only because it was the end of the line.
This conversation was peppered by a hard-faced woman and the ferret featured man accompanying her making accusations of abuse against one of the ill-tempered bus drivers. I had heard the ill-tempered bus driver in question speak to her and thought he had a "tone" that went with being ill-tempered, but I didn't think he was abusive. I considered her as ferret features tried to pull her away. They had the look of people strung out for their next hit. People probably steered clear most of the time, so I could understand why she would assert herself by then yelling at the line of large men wearing bright orange vests announcing that they belonged, somehow, to Metro trains.
My ill-tempered bus driver shook his head and put out his cigarette. He hoisted himself into the driver's seat and flung the bus into gear, driving wildly through the narrow back streets of Yarraville, straddling tiny roundabouts and riding the kerb. Several signs and markers were lying flattened on this route and I wondered if the streets would ever recover from this episode of track work.
As I left the bus, I heard the driver's response to questions from people about whether this was the bus to the city. "No," he said in a tone that made it a four syllable word. "City's on the other side," and "side" took on the rising scale of frustration. He may as well have just called them idiots and been done with it.
One last stop before heading home and I was confronted with Christmas music playing through a radio turned up too loud and hidden behind a cheap tinsel Christmas tree. The fact that Santa Claus is coming to town sounded like a menacing threat, rather than happy news.
And there are still four more weeks.
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