To shake or not to shake.

I offended people today. A split second later, everyone was okay and I had their undivided attention.

I'm facilitating leadership development for the next couple of days and I usually greet each participant with a smile and a handshake. Today, I refused the offers of hands to shake on the grounds of social responsibility. I'm still struggling with a head cold and so my hands are constantly handling tissues that I've used and covering my mouth and nose when I sneeze and cough, if I don't have a tissue handy. I know that a lack of hand hygiene is one of the best ways to share germs.

The reaction of people whose hands I refused to shake, was interesting. After an initial moment of uncertainty and offence (in one case), I was then thanked for my consideration.

I know how I've felt when offered the hand that I've just seen used to wipe a nose or a mouth, or handle a used tissue: I don't want to shake the hand. Being put in a position where the dirty hand is offered and then it's shake or refuse, is awkward. I'd say it's far better to be proactive and protect others by being as mean as possible with your germs.

I also hope that those whose hands I didn't shake today will consider their own actions the next time they are afflicted with a head cold.

Something else happened as a result of my choice today. The first impression people had of me was of a considerate and respectful person - because I didn't shake hands. It seems counter-intuitive, but shows that sometimes it's worth consciously breaking with convention.

I'm off - the tissue box is calling.

when do you shake hands?

Queue anxiety - when you play outside the rules

I like the sleek new post offices. Australia Post has been thoughtful in aligning the design of their retail outlets to the focus of their offerings to customers. There's an efficient but friendly vibe, even if the queuing direction is a little unstructured.

Personally, I'm happy without structure, but yesterday when I went to the post office to buy a parcel satchel, I met a fellow customer who craves structure.

It was about 5:15pm, and there were three service spots open at the counter. The staff there were all attending to customers; there were two people waiting when I joined the queue behind them. Soon there were other people behind me. The staff were dealing with people smoothly and soon I was at the front of the queue. Because of the loose organisation of furniture to give structure to the queue, I stayed standing where I was because I was right in front of the staff providing service and would only need to take two steps forward when called.

I could feel the anxiety of the person behind me rise, when I did not move the way she thought I should. She moved in front of me and stood where she thought the head of the queue was. The other people behind me remained where they were. I said nothing, intending to step forward when called. I had no reason to assume she was actually (gasp) pushing in.

A staff member called the next person forward and the anxious woman stepped forward.

"Hello. I'm next," I said to her and the staff member.

"Oh, yes, yes, I know. Yes, but you weren't in the queue," she contradicted herself in a flurry of nervousness.

"Yes I am. You were behind me in the queue," I replied.

"Yes. I know. But you hadn't moved up and I just thought..." she trailed off. I imagine she heard the contradiction of her argument in her own ears and decided it was best to be quiet.

I paid for my satchel and as I left, the woman was being served.

I wonder what was going on for her? I've noticed the same level of anxiety in queues at places like the airport. Everyone is standing too closely and so when the person and their luggage in front moves forward, I tend to stay where I am, only moving forward when it's "worth it". I'm the same when I'm driving. What's the point of moving a millimetre forward? I thought I was going to be rear-ended on the weekend when I made the decision not to go through an orange light when I saw the number of cars queued on the other side of the intersection. I actually locked the doors of my car when I saw the anger of the male driver behind me. He swore. He punched the steering wheel. He thrashed his head. He continued to call me everything under the sun.

I sat and shrugged inwardly (after I'd made sure my doors were locked). When the light turned green I took off at a safe pace with him sitting right on my tail. At his first opportunity he flung his vehicle into another lane and glared at me as he drove past in a blur.

I'm glad I'm not that wound up. How do people live like that?

What have you noticed about queue behaviour? What are your rules of engagement?

Stream of consciousness - musings on journeys and problems and Melburnians.

Today I'm grateful that the most obvious to response to this information: "I'm going to get my hair done." isn't, "Which one?"

That sentence was really quite difficult to punctuate. How did I go?

Every time I have been to the hairdresser in 2013 it has rained on my way home. This is definitely a first world problem.

Speaking of first world problems, the other day I was at Flinders Street Station trying to locate my train (you'd think this would be easier than it actually is). I'd been waiting at Platform 8 for a while. This wasn't random, the signs all pointed to the fact that this was the place for the 5:36 pm to Laverton. A train arrived on the platform. The crowd of waiters (not the drinks kind) surged forward under the impression that the train would be the 5:36 pm to Laverton. As we surged, the sign changed its mind and informed us that it was the 5:40 pm to somewhere else, like Frankston or Packenham. We held back. An announcement informed us that the train on platform 8 was indeed the 5:36pm to Laverton. We surged forward and settled into our seats. "Settled" isn't really the right word. We were unsettled, but I don't know how to unsettle. The sign inside the train suggested the train was going to Packenham or Frankston. People dithered. Who to trust? The written word on a sign that has been wrong before or the live announcement from a human. I assume it was a human. Just as I relaxed in preparation for my journey homeward, an faint announcement was heard outside the train which sent a ripple of anger, a shiver of confusion through the commuters on board who had foolishly trusted the announcement last time. This announcement told us that we were on a train going to Frankston or Packenham and that the 5:36pm Laverton train was now arriving on platform 9! Could we trust the announcement? We surged from the train on to the platform and found a small moustached man wearing an orange high-vis vest and asked him the pertinent question: what the hell is going on? He shrugged in response.

The shrug was like an ember on a stream of petrol. Teeth were bared. We just needed to know which train, where, so we could go home.

Off to one side of the group a woman announced:  "First world problems people! First world problems! Some people don't have a home to go to, let alone a train to get there on. These are first world problems."

That didn't even make sense. As she wasn't getting on any train, but just hanging around the platforms passing moral judgement on people responding to chaos and the cosmic joke that is Flinders Street and Metro Trains at peak hour, I wondered where she was trying to go.

Another man tried to argue to logic of how the 5:40pm train had arrived before the 5:36pm train and it should be ours! I wanted to start singing songs from "Les Mis". I refrained. By that I mean I didn't. I don't mean that I sang a chorus.  Another shrug and he would have hijacked the train and taken us all west. We would have heard the people sing!

Once you're on a train in peak hour there's the added problem trying to navigate overcrowding of the aisles when there are lots of seats vacant. They're vacant because people don't move over and fill the seats furthest from the aisles first. They hog the outside seats hoping to have a bank of two or three to themselves.

I ask people nicely if I may have their seat. They look shocked. Then they move over. I always get a seat.

Then I hand them a tissue because they will inevitably be sniffing the entire liquid contents of their head back into their nasal passages. Repeatedly. What is with Melburnians and sniffing on public transport?

This was a diversion from the hairy, smelly man who was engaging himself in detailed conversation this morning on the way into the city. I didn't mind the conversation, but the smell was hard to take in closed quarters.

Then I heard that the baby elephant born at the Melbourne Zoo nearly a year ago died overnight. I never met Sanook but I had watched a documentary about the elephants at the zoo. I felt sad.

The rain fell, providing a sympathetic background of Shakespearean proportions and a mechanism to negate the efforts of my hairdresser.

Rain soaked...observations from a bleak spring day

Federal Parliament has started again. Promises of new approaches and maturity and dignity, made only yesterday, are already hollow echoes.

It's STILL raining in Melbourne. It's summer in 18 days and I'm still wearing winter clothes and putting the electric blanket on at night.

Is there an increased incidence of death by umbrella spike?

Whenever I have been to the hairdresser this year it has rained.  Anyone need rain? I know how to make it happen.

Driving in Sydney a couple of weeks ago, I saw a sign advising that "Rickety Street is closed". So it should be. Who opened it in the first place?

Seen on the side of a crane while driving in Sydney - Men are from Mars, but this crane is from Maher's.

I'm working on a new song. The working title is "Hot Desking Blues".

How to alienate someone (unintentionally I'm sure): have them work part time, make them hot desk, have no where for them sit when they arrive at work, have unreliable email and don't invite them to events attended by the whole office. See where I get my inspiration?

An ad on television has me puzzled. It was a Christmas sale for one of those cut price chemists. In preparation for Christmas, Nurofen is on sale. Who gives Nurofen as a Christmas gift? If you're going to give me drugs for Christmas, make it worthwhile please. Why not a tube of toothpaste while you're there? An example of the commercialisation of Christmas. More to come I fear.

The corners of my mouth turned up at Flinders Street today as I made my way to the advertised platform. Upon arrival, staff announced a platform change by using the term "musical platforms". Finally, recognition of the reality!

I think the rain is getting to me. It could be worse.

How are you?

Where to look when your driver answers a call of nature.

My regular cab driver sent a back up to pick me up on Monday morning.  I was heading interstate for work again and needed to meet a colleague for breakfast at 7am before our 8am flight.  With the end of daylight savings, I had been awake long before my 5:45am alarm, so I was waiting out the front when the cab pulled up on time at 6:30am.

Traffic was flowing pretty easily until we were about 15 minutes from the airport and then we slowed to a crawl.  I would be about 15 minutes late for the meeting with my colleague but as I had no checked baggage I was relaxed about the flight.

As we neared the airport my driver asked me whether I wanted to be dropped off upstairs at the departures terminal or downstairs at arrivals.  When I saw the carpark going up the ramp to the departures hall, knowing I would have to travel all the way to the end of the road, I was pleased I had opted to go downstairs.

About three minutes from drop off something unusual happened.  The driver turned to me in the back seat and said he just needed to pull over for one minute.  I heard something beeping in the car and thought perhaps he needed to switch the car's fuel sources or something.  Given I was so close to my destination my face must have conveyed a quizzical feeling.  "Is that okay?" he asked me.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

"I just need to pull over for one minute. Is that okay?"

"What's the problem? Can it wait until after you've dropped me off?"  We were in heavy traffic on a freeway and I wasn't clear about how or where pulling over would be achieved.

"Just one minute.  Okay?"

I decided to be more direct.  "What's the problem?"

Pause.

"I am busting for a wee. Is that okay?"

How to answer that question.

"Okay with you?" he prompted.

"Mate, I don't think I have much say in it and I don't think my approval is the main consideration."

"Is that okay?"

"Off you go."  Why was I suddenly in the role of primary school teacher?

I averted my eyes.  (It's not clear to me what the etiquette is in this situation, but instincts told me not to look anywhere.)  I stared at the dashboard and noticed that the metre was still running.  Getting paid to take a whizz is a pretty good lurk, especially in this situation.

As he got back in the car, he averted his eyes, but was in a chatty mood.

"Sorry about that.  I hope it's okay with you.  The traffic is very heavy and has taken a lot longer and I just couldn't hang on any longer."

I don't want to talk about it now!  Stop!

Two minutes later I was  greeting my colleague.  It must have been bad that he couldn't hang on for a couple more minutes.  I really don't want to bond with my taxi driver in that way.  Especially first thing on Monday morning.  I suppose it could have been worse.  He could have had a bottle and just gone where he sat.  Where does one look then? How do you listen to something else...? Perhaps I should write a modern etiquette book.

What's the most unusual or annoying thing you've encountered in a taxi?

Mobile phones at the theatre - detract from "Other Desert Cities".

Recently, I purchased a mini-subscription to the Melbourne Theatre Company's 2013 season.  It's been a few years since I had the funds and also the interest to invest in this way.  I've seen three plays and have two more to come.  Everything I've seen so far has been incredible - thought-provoking, moving, funny - everything you want live theatre to be.

On Saturday I went and saw "Other Desert Cities" at the Sumner Theatre.  The play itself has all the credentials - Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award nominations - and I'm not going to write a review of the play.  I will tell you that I tingled in the most dramatic moments and resolved into tears in the next moment.

As amazing as these moments were, they were spoiled.  It wasn't anything about the actors on stage, or the production itself.  No.  In the climactic scene a mobile phone rang.  When a mobile phone rings in this situation, it's not just the phone that causes a disturbance.  This particular phone's jaunty tune went for a long time, accompanied by whispers of "shit, shit, shit, shit" as the owner rustled through her bag. The phone is found and removed from the bag and the muffling effect of the bag disappears as the phone cuts clearly through the quiet of the auditorium.  The audience becomes restless.  Heads shake at the impropriety of it all.  There is a flicker of distraction that runs across the actors' faces.  The phone choked, we all return to the play.

Now, the climactic scene of this play is meaty.  Emotions are running high, secrets are revealed, characters shock us with their passion and deception.  You need to pay attention - you want to pay attention.  Then a second phone rings.  This one is two rows in front of me and I can see the owner.  Audience members around me start to groan and tut.  The phone is choked rapidly.  I want to choke the owner.

We settle back  Where were we?  Ah yes.  A third phone rings.  Just behind me - one row back, three seats away and within reach.  She actually leaves the theatre with her bag.  Good riddance I say.

Prior to the commencement of the play, a clear specific announcement is made to the audience, echoing the signs lining the entrance foyer:  "Please turn your mobile phone off."  The announcement even contextualises by adding "for the sake of the actors and the audience".

What is so hard about turning off the mobile phone?  Or if it must be left on, turning it to silent?  All three interruptions on Saturday occurred after interval.  Perhaps the announcement needs to be made after interval as well.  I find it difficult to understand why people can't take personal responsibility for this stuff anyway.  Why can't people consider their surroundings and be well-mannered enough to consider that it will be bad if their phone rings during the show.  Surely they aren't going to answer it while watching a play! So go on, switch it off.

Apart from being really annoyed myself, people were talking about the phones ringing, rather than the play on the way out of the theatre.  Such a distraction!  The actors did well (it must be so tempting to turn to the audience and berate them!).

Go and see this play.  And if you do, for goodness sake, turn your phone off!

What would be an appropriate punishment for people who leave their phones on?  Has your phone ever rung at an inopportune time?  What did you do?

Queue etiquette - what to do when the machines don't work.

When I arrived at the train station this morning, it was about 8am - the heart of the peak at my tiny suburban train station.  I knew that I had to top up my myki at the machine because the balance was less than $5.

I'm very familiar with the machine and use it all the time to top up the card. When I arrived, the was no queue and I walked straight up to the machine.  I pressed all the usual buttons, inserted my debit card, selected my account type and then entered my PIN.  Nothing happened for a while and I looked again at the display on the EFTPOS part of the machine and saw it was asking me to re-enter my PIN.  I did what it asked and continued to wait.  In the meantime a queue of people had formed behind me.  I could hear a train arriving and was keen to be on it.

Nothing happened again.  I looked again and was asked to re-verify my PIN. The train came and went.   At this point I decided to pay with cash, rather than fruitlessly arguing with the machine further.  The woman directly behind me was becoming highly agitated.  I turned and apologised to her as I waited for the machine to acknowledge any form of my money.  She said, "Do you think I could just do my top up? I want to catch the train."

I found this bizarre.  I was also wanting to catch the train and was wrestling with a machine that usually works without a problem, if a little slowly.  We all just had to go through the process with the machine in turn.

The machine spat my note out.  As I turned it over and tried reinserting it, the woman behind me asked again if she could "just use the machine while you are waiting". Waiting? I was in the middle of using the machine!  I wasn't waiting.

My response was to say that we're all just wanting to use the machine so we can catch a train.  "We all just have to wait and take our turn."

She huffed again.  The machine finally accepted my money.  The myki was topped up.  As I walked away to wait on the platform to wait for a train.  I waited for less than two minutes.

We seem to be in such a hurry these days and expect everything to happen instantly that we take it out on other people when those expectations aren't met.  Wouldn't it be great if the woman could understand that everyone was in the same boat and find a way to help?

What do you do?  What's the etiquette in this kind of situation?

Please ask me before you share.

It's 'flu season.  I don't have it, but after being on public transport today I've increased my zinc dosage and positive thinking shield in the hope that I will remain untouched.  As I catch public transport everywhere I know it's probably just a matter of time.

Travelling home this evening, I was encased in a carriage with a man who was sweating so much he had to mop his face with a handkerchief repeatedly during the journey.  He was coughing without covering his mouth, generously sharing whatever he was carrying with all of us and doing that revolting super sniff.  I'm not talking about mere sniffing where one breathes in through the nose.  I'm talking about the action that results in whatever is residing in the nasal passages being inhaled back down the throat.  Oh the sound that signals that!  It is a beastly symphony! Worse than the soundtrack of a horror film.

One person making these sounds within a carriage seems to trigger the sinuses and throats of at least half of the fellow passengers.  Soon it becomes a percussive symphony, threatening illness with every beat, every vibration.

At one level there is the rhythmic sniffer, recognisable by the single sniff every four beats or so.  It doesn't sound particularly congested but it IS annoying.  If they are nearby, I usually offer a tissue.  They either take the tissue or they shut up.

Add in coughers at various pitches.  The wet tenor cough, awful with rattling.  Sometimes in harmony with a soprano toddler who is guaranteed to not cover the mouth.  The dry barking baritone, usually played in triplets, offering interest with the cross rhythm it adds.

It's hard to believe that all of this is is barely enough to drown out the loud talkers on mobile phones revealing private details of their sex lives, deception of parents, financial failings and the more mundane bitching about co-workers and flatmates.

Days like today help me understand why Japanese people are frequently seen wearing masks.  I breathe into my scarf, am choosy about what I touch when I'm out and about and avoid touching my face or putting my fingers in my mouth.  I often refuse to shake hands or if this is not possible I carry hand sanitiser in my hand bag.  I use it after touching things that are likely to be germ laden and before and after I eat.  Can you imagine what would be on the handles in trains, the rails on escalators and staircases...and money?  Shudder. When I'm home, I just wash my hands.

As far as I know, I don't suffer from OCD but I will suffer if I can't work and therefore can't earn an income.

As a community service, I wish everyone would be considerate about when and how they share their germs and diseases. Asking permission before you cough all over me would be polite.  And I will refuse permission every time!

Behaving badly

On Saturday night I went to the cinema with a friend.  While I go to the movies regularly, it's been a while since I've been there during a peak time.  These days I go during a weekday when I don't have work on.  It's a much more pleasant experience being at the movies when there are hardly any other people filling the other seats.  I also tend to see art house films where the audience tends to be filled with film buffs who take the experience of watching a film seriously.

My experience on Saturday night left me shaking my head.

We were seeing "Bel Ami" and were allocated seats in the second row from the front.  The film was screening in one of the small cinemas at Yarraville's Sun Theatre and we decided to see how we went.  If it was too close we could come out in the first ten minutes and have our tickets refunded.

The Sun doesn't show a lot of ads before the sessions start, so you don't have fifteen minutes of slack; you really need to arrive on time.  In the smaller cinemas, people standing up or walking to their seats will result in a silhouette of their head being superimposed over the film on the screen.

The film had just started when a pair of latecomers arrived and discovered other people sitting in their seats.  Instead of everyone resolving it quickly and politely, there was an extended, robust discussion about seating arrangements.  They were right in the middle of the cinema and therefore were also in the line of the projector.  Everyone was turning around to see what the commotion was and then the inevitable shushing began.  I'm not sure how they resolved the issue but eventually they must have as the noise subsided and the silhouettes disappeared.

To the left of where my friend and I were seated was a group of three women.  I'm not sure why they bothered to pay for a ticket to go to the cinema.  They spent most of the film reading emails and sending text messages on their mobile phones.  They also consulted extensively with each other over the content of the messages and the drafting of their replies.  It was incredible!  The film seemed entirely incidental to their world, let alone the fact that other people had also paid and were interested in actually watching the film.  Shushing did nothing to modify their behaviour.

Ushers would have been helpful, I think.  I remember seeing another film where a group of people were so inconsiderate in their behaviour that in desperation I left the cinema to find an usher to come and deal with the situation.  It worked, but it seemed unfair that I had had to step out of the film and that the people concerned had not responded to requests for them to, er, shut up.

What's the etiquette these days?  Am I being unreasonable to expect to be able to enjoy a film without being disrupted by the behaviour of other patrons?  What do you do to silence the rabble when you're at the cinema?