The morning commute - on the roads

My work has required me to drive lately. Usually, I catch public transport everywhere, but lately I've been needed somewhere that would require a circuitous route and twice the time to reach my destination if I travelled on public transport. So I have been driving.

One of the major obstacles I must navigate to go just about anywhere is the Westgate Bridge. Under normal conditions, it's about an 8 minute drive from my house. The other morning it took me 55 minutes! This morning during peak hour it took about 15 minutes to get there.

It's interesting to observe driver behaviour when there is heavy congestion. Some people change lanes regularly as if they can find the lane that is moving more quickly. This is fatal, as anyone who has jumped queues at the supermarket knows. The minute you switch, the lane you were in starts to flow and the first day trainee takes over the new lane. Other people sit right on the tail of the car in front of them. It's as if the invasion of space will urge me to move forward more quickly. This is doomed to failure too as usually there's no where for me to go. I like to keep some distance between me and the car in front so that I won't end up in a sandwich when the idiot behind me rear-ends me. Then there's the person for whom driving is a distraction from reading their facebook newsfeed. Threats of long range cameras, fines and demerit points seem to be doing little to change behaviour when it comes to mobile phones and cars. 

Despite some of the trials of public transport (overcrowding, listening to endless sniffing and coughing, along with inane or revealing conversation, delays and cancellations) I miss the main benefit - productive time. While I travel I can read or do something else like read  my facebook news feed, or post to twitter to complain about the overcrowding, endless sniffing and coughing, the quality of the conversation or the fact that I'm stranded somewhere between North Melbourne and Footscray. 

Today, the car trip to the place I was working took 25 minutes, door-to-door. On public transport it would have taken just under 50 minutes and I would have had to catch a train, a tram and then walked. Not very appealing in this cold winter weather.

How do you get to work?

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?

To borrow a phrase - I can't stand the rain

It's raining in Melbourne. It's been raining solidly for the last couple of days. Apparentlly we've received our monthly rainfall in a couple of days. I forget which month. It's a bit wearing, travelling around, hauling umbrellas, avoiding others' umbrellas, being constantly damp, managing frizzy hair, but it's been lovely to see the grass green again.

I've been persisting with my daily walk. The trains and trams are so stuffy and humid that it's actually nicer to be out in the air, even if you are a bit damp and your hair has turned into a fuzz ball. In one spot where I walk there is a glorious stand of eucalyptus trees. I pause to take in the scent. I also notice the bubbles forming on the puddles and feel sorry for the people trapped in their cars, lined up and going no where.

I've been puzzled by the people I've seen hunched over, as if they are making themselves so small, they would fit between the raindrops. In one hand they clutch an umbrella. Why don't they open it and take shelter?

Umbrellas are particularly hazardous when boarding and alighting from trains and trams. I was nearly stabbed to death by a small Asian woman who suddenly changed direction while we waited to touch off our mykis on the way out of the station. I stood very still and she looked terrified.

All the floors are slippery and I walk like a 90 year-old woman everywhere I see a smooth service. Since my fall last year, I'm acutely aware of how a simple fall can cause serious injury. I'm constantly surprised by how many walking surfaces are completely unsuited to wet weather and rushing crowds of people.

This morning's commute was chaotic. Power failures further down the line meant cancellations and delays. As the train pulled into the station 15 minutes late, the windows were dark with crowds inside and fogged with all their breathing. I insinuated myself into an inadequate space, having already let one train pass. I held onto an overhead railing at an angle just wrong enough to make me feel discombobulated when I finally arrived at my destination.

Coming home a woman asked whether station announcements are made on the train.

"Sometimes," I told her. "If you're lucky, they might even be accurate."

She looked at me like I was some kind of zealot.

Soon the voice of Metro trains announced that the next station was Seddon. It wasn't. It was South Kensington. Only two stops out. The woman looked at me with mistrust when I told her where to get off. The train, I mean. I shrugged. She could trust me - a stranger on a train - or she could trust the disembodied, malfunctioning woman with the voice. Or she could look out the window and see the name of the station.

It's nice to arrive home to a dry place; although I'm slightly nervous that the unattended hole in the ceiling will soon prove to be catastrophic.

As I settle in to watch Survivor tonight, I'm reminded to be glad that I'm not camping on a beach, even if I was in the running to win a million dollars. Or in north Queensland waiting for the cyclone to arrive.

How do you feel about rain?

The compulsion of the mobile phone - is that email really so important?

When I facilitate groups, I've noticed that the way I set up expectations about the use of personal devices like mobile phones, ipads, laptops has changed significantly. If I don't have an explicit conversation about boundaries and respect, then participants would be checking emails, facebook and tweeting throughout their learning sessions.

When I'm working with leaders, I talk about the messages they send to their team if they are consistently responsive to emails and phone messages. I ask whether they have faith in the team they have around them to carry on in their absence. Generally they nod and smile and tell me they have complete faith in their team. A few moments later, they'll be surreptitiously reading email under the desk.

Reading email on the phone under the desk is the same as picking your nose when you're driving the car: everyone can see what you're doing!

Why is it that the information and communication on our phones has apparently become more compelling than the interactions occurring beside us?

After setting up and gaining explicit agreement about phones being put away and only checked during breaks so that focus is intense, participants engaged and fellow students respected, usually people adhere to that agreement.  Sometimes, however, they don't. I know that this really gets under my skin and I need to make a choice about how I respond.

I'm now clear that when I've set boundaries, the group looks to me to help them hold those boundaries in place. If behaviour that is outside what the group has established occurs and is left unchecked by the leader (me) then very soon resentment will breed and the agreement will crumble.

Sometimes when I speak directly to someone about the boundaries and how they're outside them, they look to me to tell them what they should do. I don't. I remind them of where they are and what they've agreed and tell them that they need to make a choice that takes account of their commitment and respect for the group as well as their own needs. Mostly, they put the phone away and meet the needs of the group and their commitment to it.

And then at the end of the day, someone will shake my hand and say goodbye with the ipod already plugged in. Talk about feeling dismissed!

How do you manage the compulsion of the mobile phone?

Move over - where do you sit on public transport?

Lately I've been thinking about where people sit when they're on public transport, including how people interact with each other.

Increasingly I notice people sit on the empty seat nearest the aisle, even where the other two seats further from the aisle are empty. I then notice many other people standing, even when there are seats available. Other people do ask to access a seat. Often the response from people already seated is to remain where they are, forcing others to step over them to reach a seat.

I find it bizarre. I regularly request people to move over so I can sit. Mostly people respond by moving over and leaving the vacant seat more accessible for all of us. Once when someone didn't move and required me to crawl over their lap, I asked them where they were getting off the train. This enabled me to establish they were getting off after me and it just made sense for them to move over. They moved begrudgingly.

If you don't want to sit next to other people, either don't catch public transport, or don't take a seat.

This afternoon I had a different problem. I was seated and had a couple of bags on the floor behind my legs. A man sat opposite me and splayed his legs out, kicking me and my bags. I asked him to give me a moment, so I could rearrange things and it was as if I had not spoken. How weird! There we are, knees virtually pressed together and he can't hear me? Can't see me? Maybe if he acknowledges my existence in that moment of pressed together confinement, it will become overwhelmingly intimate and confronting. Better to not believe I even exist.

The other thing that drives me mad is people pressing me from behind as I stand aside to let passengers off the train, before I try and board. It's as if they think the train will leave before the one hundred people on the platform board. The same thing happens when trying to disembark during peak hour - people push from behind to get you out of the way. Then they press you up the escalators and press you through the turnstiles to exit the station.

Everyone needs to get on and off the train. We all need to travel together, so why not be courteous and considerate of each other as human beings? It's not difficult and you may even be rewarded by a smile and a thank you!

Where's your preferred travel spot on public transport? What's your strategy for securing a seat?

Blowing smoke - it's a question of manners

It was a gorgeous late summer day in Melbourne yesterday. I took advantage and met a friend for breakfast in the Village. We went to one of the old cafes that has recently taken advantage of outdoor space under trees by laying some astro turf and placing tables and chairs and removing a wall from their cafe.

It was to be expected that there would be more people than tables and so we started scouting for a couple of spaces on the end of someone else's table. We soon found it, joining a family who left minutes after we arrived. There was space for four or five other people, but we had eaten all of our food and were waiting to order our second coffee by the time we had people join us.

Three people sat down and within seconds, two of them had started to smoke cigarettes. I am an anti-smoking non-smoker and find the idea of sharing a table with a bunch of smokers abhorrent. We were outdoors, but I still think that good manners would dictate they seek permission to smoke before lighting up. We were there first and they were joining us. If we sat down where people were already smoking, it would be a different matter.  If permission had been sought I would have politely replied that I did mind if they smoked and would prefer that they move away from the table to do so.

We weren't going to be there much longer, so neither of us said anything. I wasn't in the mood for a confrontation. I was also quite unsure about what the actual laws are, not that the legal position should preclude common decency.

I'm interested to discover that smoking in outdoor dining areas is allowed in Victoria, subject to the position of the walls and whether or not there is a roof. There were no walls and no roof (other than a lovely canopy of trees) so these people weren't doing anything "wrong".

I'm left wondering why the smokers - an increasingly small minority - are allowed to hijack the best spots when dining out in Melbourne.

Would you have said something? 

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.

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?

Something in the air?

Christmas could be an opportunity for people to be nice to each other.  For strangers to smile at others in the street.  For people to stand aside and let someone pass.  For us to look up and see each other!  It would be a Christmas miracle.

I've had the dubious pleasure over the last couple of weeks of needing to keep conventional office hours for a particular project on which I'm working.  This has involved hitting the train and Flinders Street Station right in the middle of the morning peak.  Once I've survived that first odyssey, I then make my way to what might be the busiest tram stop in Melbourne.  On a platform that barely holds the crush, I wait for the number 1 tram to South Melbourne Beach as I am elbowed and jostled by the surge.  There's only one thing worse than this surge - the angry surge when the tram is too packed and people are left behind.  It's not a long wait between trams at that time of the morning, but why wait two extra minutes where you will endure the elbows and glares of your fellow travellers, when you could be pressed to a stranger's arm pit with one side of your face and mashed against the door with the other?

There is always a queue to exit Flinders Street Station at the top end, the end nearest the Yarra River.  That side still has old metcard gates that are slow to work with the myki card and it can take a long time to get through.  I figure everyone's in the same boat, so you just need to be patient and wait your turn.  This view is not shared by everyone in Melbourne.  I know! Shocking to discover!

I joined a queue and while I was waiting one of the staff came and switched the gate next to me so that we could use it to exit.  (Before he did this it was set so that only people wanting to come in could use it.)  As it happened, I was able to step up and be the first person in that line.  (No, I did not shoulder charge anyone, I just stepped across and that's how it worked out.)  I touched my myki to the reader and nothing at all happened.  I held it still, bearing in mind the detailed operating instructions every myki user must know - I didn't swipe, wave, jiggle, show, tap or fling.  I touched and held still.  Nothing.

Behind me I heard a woman's voice.  Apparently she'd been screaming at me for the last three seconds and I only noticed when she poked me in the back.  "GO THROUGH! Can't you just GO THROUGH?  LADY?  GO THROUGH!!!!!"

I realised she was speaking to me.  I turned and was about to explain that I needed to touch off to ensure I was charged correctly, but it was a bit hard with a fire breathing dragon behind me.  I said nothing and stood my ground and touched my myki to the reader again.  Mercifully, it worked and as I walked through, the dragon surged past still screaming at me to GO THROUGH! LADY!

I just shook my head.  For goodness' sake.

"Some people!" I looked up.  A young man had spoken.  He looked at me sympathetically.  I smiled.

"You heard that woman?" I asked.

"Yes!  Can't believe that would happen in Melbourne."

"Maybe she's not from Melbourne.  Maybe there's something in the air."

"Maybe there's something wrong with her."

"Well, there might be.  So that's her problem."

"Yeah."

As I wished him an excellent day, we came face to face with dragon woman who had by now secured a wide perimeter around herself and was glaring at everyone.  I felt the urge to say something - or elbow her out of the way - but decided to stay out of her way.

The last I saw of her she was burrowing her way onto an over crowded tram.  Glaring at all in her path.  I wondered how long it would take before she pushed someone too far.

******
I arrived home and discovered my crazy neighbour arguing with the very nice man who had spent the last two days replacing the old analogue television antennae with new digital ones.  It had been a big job and Antennae Man was friendly and even-tempered.  When Gottfried accused him of microwaving us, Antennae Man just continued repeating the words "television" and "reception".  He slipped once and said "satellite" which led to a re-opening of the microwave question.  Antenna Man regrouped quickly and went back to his mantra - "television", "reception". This time I noticed he was shaking his head.

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?