Whoever designs public toilets needs to rethink the whole thing. Since the advent of the enormous toilet paper dispensers which hold enough paper to last into the forseeable future, there is no room to enter or exit the cubicle. The square meterage of cubicles has also shrunk, both lengthwise and widthwise. Add a container for the disposal of, ahem, ladies' sanitary items, a handbag and your Christmas shopping, there's barely room for a person. This is further compounded by a lack of hooks for hanging one's luggage. At Flinders Street station, this is a diabolical problem, as the floors are unclean and often wet - I hate to think with what. Once the door swings open, there's barely 2 cm between the edge of the door and the the lip of the loo. The space to stand so the swinging door doesn't knock you into the actual toilet, is taken up with the toilet paper dispenser. Getting in, it's a matter of slinging the bags over the shoulder and performing a physical origami act that would make a circus contortionist rethink their vocation. This results in being wedged between the toilet pedestal, the back wall and the lifetime supply of toilet paper. The door can then be flung towards the locking position, but arms are never long enough to reach the lock from there, so the bags are thrown, quoit-like, at the door in the hope that there is a) a hook on the door, b) that the target will be hit and c) that said hook will hold. The momentum keeps the door travelling the right direction, giving sufficient time to step over the bowl to the other side of the cubicle so the door can be locked.
Having undertaken the relaxing business of answering nature's call, the logistical challenge of ejecting oneself from this cell of complexity looms. The challenge is all about order. Standing up results in injuries to the face as the bags hanging on the back of the door make contact. Leaning up to try to dislodge the bags before fully standing results in considerable pain from the dislocated shoulder which follows. There's also the risk that the windmill action required could result in the bags flying over one's head and plunging to their watery death. Once that bit is worked out, the entry process is engineered in reverse: wedging in behind the toilet and the dispenser while trying to reach the lock on the door. If one can manage to open the door from this angle, then the ridiculousness of the situation is on display for all to see. And there will be plenty to see it because no matter where or when, there is ALWAYS a queue in the women's toilets. Everyone pretends not to notice, but really they're dreading the feat that awaits them. Not only does all of the above have to be accomplished, it must be done under pressure of time - there are ladies queuing - but it must be achieved with a full bladder!
Who the hell designed these?
Open the doors outwards!
Showing posts with label public nuisance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label public nuisance. Show all posts
Wednesday, 17 December 2014
Thursday, 21 August 2014
The thronging crowd - a test of mettle
If you've ever been at Flinders Street Station during the evening peak then you know the experience of being in a crowd where people are so focused on their own objective that they lose - or disregard - the people around them.
A growing crowd of eager commuters stands at the traffic lights, waiting to cross the road and enter the Station. The green man appears on the lights and we surge forward. Like the release of a dam gate, we flow in the one direction until we hit the next barrier - the turnstiles we need to navigate to enter the station. There is a narrowing of focus. This is where the jostling starts. People suddenly change direction; they cut off another's trajectory. Their heads are down, their eyes trained straight ahead. We're through the turnstiles and then there are some stairs (about 10?) to negotiate. The arrivals and departures board is right above these stairs. People stop suddenly to look up and confirm the platform from which their train is leaving. People suddenly change direction to get around the people who have turned to pillars of stone. Down the stairs and we're in an even narrower space. Most people are going into the station and so have swelled to take up the whole space. Pity the people moving against this tide. They resort to bags and elbows. Some try to keep left, but then find themselves trapped behind a SMP (slow moving person). They change direction suddenly to cut in front, usually without regard to anyone who might be behind or beside them.
I run this gauntlet regularly. I try to remain aware of those around me, but find myself becoming more bullish as I'm whacked by urban weaponry - backpacks, shopping bags, umbrellas swinging wildly, even jauntily.
Today was particularly challenging even before I reached the station. It made me think about a drama warm up exercise which is about building physical awareness of the space and the people within it. Everyone moves slowly at first in any direction, dodging and weaving through the throng. The speed builds. People rarely collide. I believe it is because participants in such an exercise are absolutely present and acutely aware of their bodies in relation to others. I've done this in a group where half the group is blindfolded. Again, people rarely, collide.
Thinking about this today, I wondered about how this kind of awareness in everyday life and activities could improve crowd behaviour, making everything easier and happier. I was reminded about my first visit to India a few years ago. I visited the southern city of Chennai. My hotel was on the opposite side of the road to the location of the nearest bank. I needed to get cash and thought nothing of stepping out to engage in the ordinary activity of visiting an ATM.
On stepping out of the hotel's calm, I was immediately confronted with the practical problem of how to cross the road. The voluminous traffic never stopped. There were no designated crossings or traffic lights. Observing the traffic - reading it as a surfer might read the surf - the chaos soon revealed an order of cooperation and awareness. Vehicle horns were tooted, but the sound was a happy beep that said "Just letting you know I'm over here".
As I stood marooned on the wrong side of the road, I watched some locals cross the road. I was horrified when I saw them launch from the safety of the kerb. As they made their way across the road, the traffic happily moved around them. It was like throwing a pebble in a pond. I was astonished to see them arrive safely on the other side. I took a deep breath but my courage failed me. I waited for some more people to come along so I could follow in their wake. They did and I did. It resulted in terrified exhilaration. I suppose that living with so many people teaches you awareness.
If I applied the same principles to the evening rush at Flinders Street Station, I fear you would find my body, trampled and bruised at the end of the rush. Generally Melburnians are great to be in a crowd with. My theory is that practice makes the difference: attendance at AFL football games in huge crowds from an early age teaches people how to get from A to B when B isn't even visible and there are 10,000 people in the way. The personal electronic device is one of the problems. Headphones are plugged in. Heads are down, rather than being up and engaged with the world.
All of this thinking leaves me pondering a further question - will we evolve to have another set of eyes in the top of our heads so we can look at the device AND see where we're going and will we gain hearing sensors all over our bodies so we can be plugged in but still hear the rest of the world?
A growing crowd of eager commuters stands at the traffic lights, waiting to cross the road and enter the Station. The green man appears on the lights and we surge forward. Like the release of a dam gate, we flow in the one direction until we hit the next barrier - the turnstiles we need to navigate to enter the station. There is a narrowing of focus. This is where the jostling starts. People suddenly change direction; they cut off another's trajectory. Their heads are down, their eyes trained straight ahead. We're through the turnstiles and then there are some stairs (about 10?) to negotiate. The arrivals and departures board is right above these stairs. People stop suddenly to look up and confirm the platform from which their train is leaving. People suddenly change direction to get around the people who have turned to pillars of stone. Down the stairs and we're in an even narrower space. Most people are going into the station and so have swelled to take up the whole space. Pity the people moving against this tide. They resort to bags and elbows. Some try to keep left, but then find themselves trapped behind a SMP (slow moving person). They change direction suddenly to cut in front, usually without regard to anyone who might be behind or beside them.
I run this gauntlet regularly. I try to remain aware of those around me, but find myself becoming more bullish as I'm whacked by urban weaponry - backpacks, shopping bags, umbrellas swinging wildly, even jauntily.
Today was particularly challenging even before I reached the station. It made me think about a drama warm up exercise which is about building physical awareness of the space and the people within it. Everyone moves slowly at first in any direction, dodging and weaving through the throng. The speed builds. People rarely collide. I believe it is because participants in such an exercise are absolutely present and acutely aware of their bodies in relation to others. I've done this in a group where half the group is blindfolded. Again, people rarely, collide.
Thinking about this today, I wondered about how this kind of awareness in everyday life and activities could improve crowd behaviour, making everything easier and happier. I was reminded about my first visit to India a few years ago. I visited the southern city of Chennai. My hotel was on the opposite side of the road to the location of the nearest bank. I needed to get cash and thought nothing of stepping out to engage in the ordinary activity of visiting an ATM.
On stepping out of the hotel's calm, I was immediately confronted with the practical problem of how to cross the road. The voluminous traffic never stopped. There were no designated crossings or traffic lights. Observing the traffic - reading it as a surfer might read the surf - the chaos soon revealed an order of cooperation and awareness. Vehicle horns were tooted, but the sound was a happy beep that said "Just letting you know I'm over here".
As I stood marooned on the wrong side of the road, I watched some locals cross the road. I was horrified when I saw them launch from the safety of the kerb. As they made their way across the road, the traffic happily moved around them. It was like throwing a pebble in a pond. I was astonished to see them arrive safely on the other side. I took a deep breath but my courage failed me. I waited for some more people to come along so I could follow in their wake. They did and I did. It resulted in terrified exhilaration. I suppose that living with so many people teaches you awareness.
If I applied the same principles to the evening rush at Flinders Street Station, I fear you would find my body, trampled and bruised at the end of the rush. Generally Melburnians are great to be in a crowd with. My theory is that practice makes the difference: attendance at AFL football games in huge crowds from an early age teaches people how to get from A to B when B isn't even visible and there are 10,000 people in the way. The personal electronic device is one of the problems. Headphones are plugged in. Heads are down, rather than being up and engaged with the world.
All of this thinking leaves me pondering a further question - will we evolve to have another set of eyes in the top of our heads so we can look at the device AND see where we're going and will we gain hearing sensors all over our bodies so we can be plugged in but still hear the rest of the world?
Wednesday, 6 August 2014
Wild ride home - danger in the air on the trains
A few months ago, works were undertaken at Seddon train station in the inner west of Melbourne. One of the undercover seats was removed and a room was renovated. An airconditioner was installed. Signs designating the area as being for "staff only" were hung. I waited to see who it was for. Weeks turned into months and there was no sign of anyone until a few weeks ago, two Protective Service Officers were standing out on the platform on a cold winter's night. They had just started that night and would be there every night from 6pm until the last train.
It's a good move actually. Seddon is very quiet and the streets around the station are deserted at night. I've often felt very alone and wondered what would happen if something happened. I always greet them whenever I see them and it feels like they're becoming part of the community.
Coming home from the Melbourne International Film Festival the other night, I boarded a train with my friend and immediately felt like we'd chosen the wrong carriage. Two men were in a heated, loud argument with each other. The argument was verbal only, but aggression was in the air and I was glad to be sitting quite apart from them. A banner on the wall of the train advertised "anti-hate spray". It felt like I could do with a can in my handbag. We stopped at North Melbourne station and then the train sat for longer than usual. The argument continued to rage and we struggled to hear the announcement from the driver that we were stuck for a while because of a police operation at the next station (South Kensington).
Announcements came reasonably frequently. The driver sounded more and more frustrated as the announcements turned into statements about how nothing had changed and we were still stuck. It sounded like he had a lamb roast waiting for him at home and this was the third time this week he was going to be late. Meanwhile, the two men continued to rage against each other. My friend and I talked and swapped notes on unlocking the mysteries of our iPhones.
Soon I noticed sitting at the other end of the carriage a woman who looked deeply distressed. She was quiet, but rolling her head back, wringing her hands and seemed to be inside her own head. Her face betrayed deep pain.
I couldn't stand it any longer and decided to move to another carriage. The aggression and distress in the air was starting to get to me. We moved forward one carriage. Before long, there was yelling and a woman screaming uncontrollably, coming from the carriage we had left. I wondered where the PSO's were. They arrived on the scene shortly. It was interesting to see how they worked. There were four of them, one took the lead to engage with one of the people and the others stood around, close enough, but far enough. I didn't hear what happened, but I was pleased that people were on hand to assist and diffuse. I was glad I had changed carriages.
When I arrived back at Seddon station, there were the PSO's waiting on the platform. I hope they never have to do anything. I think just their presence should be enough to make sure they don't. I hope the people yelling and crying got the help they needed.
It's a good move actually. Seddon is very quiet and the streets around the station are deserted at night. I've often felt very alone and wondered what would happen if something happened. I always greet them whenever I see them and it feels like they're becoming part of the community.
Coming home from the Melbourne International Film Festival the other night, I boarded a train with my friend and immediately felt like we'd chosen the wrong carriage. Two men were in a heated, loud argument with each other. The argument was verbal only, but aggression was in the air and I was glad to be sitting quite apart from them. A banner on the wall of the train advertised "anti-hate spray". It felt like I could do with a can in my handbag. We stopped at North Melbourne station and then the train sat for longer than usual. The argument continued to rage and we struggled to hear the announcement from the driver that we were stuck for a while because of a police operation at the next station (South Kensington).Announcements came reasonably frequently. The driver sounded more and more frustrated as the announcements turned into statements about how nothing had changed and we were still stuck. It sounded like he had a lamb roast waiting for him at home and this was the third time this week he was going to be late. Meanwhile, the two men continued to rage against each other. My friend and I talked and swapped notes on unlocking the mysteries of our iPhones.
Soon I noticed sitting at the other end of the carriage a woman who looked deeply distressed. She was quiet, but rolling her head back, wringing her hands and seemed to be inside her own head. Her face betrayed deep pain.
I couldn't stand it any longer and decided to move to another carriage. The aggression and distress in the air was starting to get to me. We moved forward one carriage. Before long, there was yelling and a woman screaming uncontrollably, coming from the carriage we had left. I wondered where the PSO's were. They arrived on the scene shortly. It was interesting to see how they worked. There were four of them, one took the lead to engage with one of the people and the others stood around, close enough, but far enough. I didn't hear what happened, but I was pleased that people were on hand to assist and diffuse. I was glad I had changed carriages.
When I arrived back at Seddon station, there were the PSO's waiting on the platform. I hope they never have to do anything. I think just their presence should be enough to make sure they don't. I hope the people yelling and crying got the help they needed.
Thursday, 10 April 2014
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?
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?
Tuesday, 10 December 2013
Violence is never appropriate.
Yesterday I signed a petition. There are so many these days. I'm choosy about what I sign. The link from a friend arrived in my inbox not long after I had seen the story reported on the ABC television news.
In July this year a 15 year old girl tried to fare evade by slipping through an open gate at Flinders Street Station. She was physically assaulted by a gang of Metro Trains authorised officers. A bystander filmed the event on his mobile phone and it was reported that a state Member of Parliament requested the security camera footage under Freedom of Information.
You can read the petition and see the footage here.
I signed the petition and also tweeted the link. Nothing unusual in that. What's interesting is the mudslinging that I have received from one person on Twitter.
The person's profile says they are "right leaning" and that they are "passionate about correcting left bias". Consider their response. They ask me whether I watched the video and said that the girl took a swipe first. Well, I say that a 15 year old girl is a child and that a group of adult males carry the responsibility to act appropriately and not over-react.
They then ask me to define "appropriate violence". I thought about this only for a moment - no violence is appropriate.
I believe in responsibility and fairness. People catching public transport have a responsibility to pay the fares. This makes the system fair and sustainable. When people don't fulfill their responsibility, the operators have a responsibility to educate and minimise the amount of fare evasion. Their response in doing this should be fair and proportionate.
The fare evaded could have been anywhere between $1.75 and $5.92, depending on where she had travelled. (I'm assuming she was entitled to a concession.) When I consider this and then see the physical force used against her, I am shocked. This girl's stupidity could have cost her her life or resulted in serious, permanent injury. Yet, I'm told by my twitter troll that I am the one overreacting!
As a regular and committed public transport user, I don't want people to evade fares. I want them to pay. I want the authorised officers who have the unenviable job of dealing with the fare evading public to take an approach that is mature and educational. Instead, we have a disproportionate and violent response by people who get to wear a uniform and carry the word "authorised" in their titles. The perpetrators in question give all their colleagues a bad name and make their job harder.
Interestingly, the people with the power are the ones who get to exercise it. The girl has reportedly been charged with assault while the Metro Trains' investigation has found that the officer "exercised his functions reasonably". I have not read or heard anything about the officers who stood by and facilitated their colleague to assault the girl.
I wonder what they think this girl (and her friends and family) will think of the system and the people operating it now? I'm sure that they will be hostile and are likely to be primed to violence at the earliest hint of an encounter with the Authorised Officers. I shudder to think about the Protective Services Officers who are armed.
There's some good information over at Lawstuff about your rights and the role of various uniformed people involved in public transport.
What do you think? Were the actions of the Officers justified? Am I overreacting?
In July this year a 15 year old girl tried to fare evade by slipping through an open gate at Flinders Street Station. She was physically assaulted by a gang of Metro Trains authorised officers. A bystander filmed the event on his mobile phone and it was reported that a state Member of Parliament requested the security camera footage under Freedom of Information.
You can read the petition and see the footage here.
I signed the petition and also tweeted the link. Nothing unusual in that. What's interesting is the mudslinging that I have received from one person on Twitter.
The person's profile says they are "right leaning" and that they are "passionate about correcting left bias". Consider their response. They ask me whether I watched the video and said that the girl took a swipe first. Well, I say that a 15 year old girl is a child and that a group of adult males carry the responsibility to act appropriately and not over-react.
They then ask me to define "appropriate violence". I thought about this only for a moment - no violence is appropriate.
I believe in responsibility and fairness. People catching public transport have a responsibility to pay the fares. This makes the system fair and sustainable. When people don't fulfill their responsibility, the operators have a responsibility to educate and minimise the amount of fare evasion. Their response in doing this should be fair and proportionate.
The fare evaded could have been anywhere between $1.75 and $5.92, depending on where she had travelled. (I'm assuming she was entitled to a concession.) When I consider this and then see the physical force used against her, I am shocked. This girl's stupidity could have cost her her life or resulted in serious, permanent injury. Yet, I'm told by my twitter troll that I am the one overreacting!
As a regular and committed public transport user, I don't want people to evade fares. I want them to pay. I want the authorised officers who have the unenviable job of dealing with the fare evading public to take an approach that is mature and educational. Instead, we have a disproportionate and violent response by people who get to wear a uniform and carry the word "authorised" in their titles. The perpetrators in question give all their colleagues a bad name and make their job harder.
Interestingly, the people with the power are the ones who get to exercise it. The girl has reportedly been charged with assault while the Metro Trains' investigation has found that the officer "exercised his functions reasonably". I have not read or heard anything about the officers who stood by and facilitated their colleague to assault the girl.
I wonder what they think this girl (and her friends and family) will think of the system and the people operating it now? I'm sure that they will be hostile and are likely to be primed to violence at the earliest hint of an encounter with the Authorised Officers. I shudder to think about the Protective Services Officers who are armed.
There's some good information over at Lawstuff about your rights and the role of various uniformed people involved in public transport.
What do you think? Were the actions of the Officers justified? Am I overreacting?
Friday, 6 December 2013
Lawyers & politicians - taking calls on the train to Footscray.
Travelling home last night I was reminded why my heart sank with the recent news that aviation authorities are considering lifting the ban on the use of mobile phones on aircraft.
Just in front of me a bored looking young woman, dressed in a chain store suit, pale blue shirt and adorned with fake pearls, made a call. She was like, oh-my-god, like, describing how awful her job is? But also how, like, busy she is and she just realised - oh-my-god - they'd be stuffed without her. To add to the charm of this inane public conversation, her voice had a particular quality; it struck right at the heart of my brain - loud, piercing and monotonous. She stared into space and her lips barely moved as she spoke.
She's working at a law firm. Two of the clients are witnesses in the royal commission looking at churches who abused kids and stuff, you know, whatever that things is. Oh my god. She rolled her eyes and looked at her phone. Thankfully she had fallen victim to the mobile phone black spots on the train line to Footscray and the call had been terminated. We had all been spared. Not for long. Her phone soon rang and the conversation continued.
A whole bunch of documents had been delivered to the law firm and they had just sent them over to the barrister, thinking all the documents were in the order on the index, but then they weren't!
The call cut out again. Another brief reprieve for the rest of us.
This happened 10 more times. I wouldn't have the patience for that. I'd send a text and tell the other person that I would call when I arrived home and could talk in privacy.
Just before Footscray, a phone rang behind me and a woman answered.
-
"What? Oh crap! Is that man, whose name I can't mention because I'm on a train, being obstructive? I thought we had the support of the Minister and the Secretary on this! .... Is Lucy there? Well, she's such a B - I - T - C - H!'
I felt like turning around and telling her that we could all spell.
This was the atmosphere in the train carriage for about 15 minutes and it was unbearable. Can you imagine being on a long haul flight for twenty or so hours and being subjected to other people's endless phone conversations?
I'm sure that if you were sitting next to me on a train or a plane and I was engaged in a conversation on my mobile phone, I would come across just as awfully as these two women.
I remember once sitting on a tram and a woman opposite me was issuing directives to someone on the other end of her phone. It was like sitting in a meeting at work and at the end of a long day at work, the last thing I wanted was to feel like I was still there. I didn't say anything verbally, but my body language must have been telling her to shut up! She interrupted her call and asked me if I had a problem. I told her that I did actually and that I probably wasn't the only one. People around me started to nod, so I continued, telling her that we had all finished work for the day and didn't care to sit in her meeting.
She looked stunned and was about to push back when other people nearby gave me a round of applause! She hung up and then gave me some body language to let me know she was not happy. The rest of the tram was though!
I've noticed since I updated the software on my iphone, I can send a text with the push of a button if I don't want to or can't answer the phone. Why can't people wait until they have some privacy and can also be considerate of others? Or why can't they be witty, erudite and speak in melodious tones? Perhaps we really do live in a post-privacy world.
What do you think about allowing mobile phones on planes? Do you answer your phone in public and talk at length? Are any subjects off limits?
Just in front of me a bored looking young woman, dressed in a chain store suit, pale blue shirt and adorned with fake pearls, made a call. She was like, oh-my-god, like, describing how awful her job is? But also how, like, busy she is and she just realised - oh-my-god - they'd be stuffed without her. To add to the charm of this inane public conversation, her voice had a particular quality; it struck right at the heart of my brain - loud, piercing and monotonous. She stared into space and her lips barely moved as she spoke.
She's working at a law firm. Two of the clients are witnesses in the royal commission looking at churches who abused kids and stuff, you know, whatever that things is. Oh my god. She rolled her eyes and looked at her phone. Thankfully she had fallen victim to the mobile phone black spots on the train line to Footscray and the call had been terminated. We had all been spared. Not for long. Her phone soon rang and the conversation continued.
A whole bunch of documents had been delivered to the law firm and they had just sent them over to the barrister, thinking all the documents were in the order on the index, but then they weren't!
The call cut out again. Another brief reprieve for the rest of us.
This happened 10 more times. I wouldn't have the patience for that. I'd send a text and tell the other person that I would call when I arrived home and could talk in privacy.
Just before Footscray, a phone rang behind me and a woman answered.
-
"What? Oh crap! Is that man, whose name I can't mention because I'm on a train, being obstructive? I thought we had the support of the Minister and the Secretary on this! .... Is Lucy there? Well, she's such a B - I - T - C - H!'
I felt like turning around and telling her that we could all spell.
This was the atmosphere in the train carriage for about 15 minutes and it was unbearable. Can you imagine being on a long haul flight for twenty or so hours and being subjected to other people's endless phone conversations?
I'm sure that if you were sitting next to me on a train or a plane and I was engaged in a conversation on my mobile phone, I would come across just as awfully as these two women.
I remember once sitting on a tram and a woman opposite me was issuing directives to someone on the other end of her phone. It was like sitting in a meeting at work and at the end of a long day at work, the last thing I wanted was to feel like I was still there. I didn't say anything verbally, but my body language must have been telling her to shut up! She interrupted her call and asked me if I had a problem. I told her that I did actually and that I probably wasn't the only one. People around me started to nod, so I continued, telling her that we had all finished work for the day and didn't care to sit in her meeting.
She looked stunned and was about to push back when other people nearby gave me a round of applause! She hung up and then gave me some body language to let me know she was not happy. The rest of the tram was though!
I've noticed since I updated the software on my iphone, I can send a text with the push of a button if I don't want to or can't answer the phone. Why can't people wait until they have some privacy and can also be considerate of others? Or why can't they be witty, erudite and speak in melodious tones? Perhaps we really do live in a post-privacy world.
What do you think about allowing mobile phones on planes? Do you answer your phone in public and talk at length? Are any subjects off limits?
Monday, 11 November 2013
All the "stupid people"
Some days I wonder what I would write about if I drove my car everywhere and never caught public transport. Other days I wonder whether my experiences are a true reflection of the public transport experience.
I was waiting at the tram stop in front of the State Library on Swanston Street. My hairdresser had called to tell me he could fit me in half an hour earlier if I could get there. I could. I had just been planning how to fill in half an hour when he called. So there I am, waiting for the advertised three minutes before the number 8 tram was due to arrive.
"Excuse me!" I heard a man's voice say. I looked around, more out of curiosity than any specific reason for thinking his plea was directed to me.
"Excuse me! You, lady, come over here!" He seemed to be addressing me. I pointed at myself and cocked an eyebrow.
"Yes, you!"
I was taken aback. I was just standing waiting for a tram. I felt like I was being summoned to the headmaster's office. What could I have done? I didn't want to be commanded by a man in uniform to do anything - those desires were quenched when I went through a misguided "I want to join the airforce and fly fighter jets" phase, fed by seeing the film "Top Gun" - even if the said uniform consisted of a fetching orange high-vis vest with the words "customer service" plastered across the back.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Just come over here." He pointed to something behind the tram stop on the lawn in front of the library.
I took a tentative step. The high-vis vest didn't give him the amount of power he was exercising.
"Look at those stupid people!" he pointed and exclaimed.
I saw two punks with spectacular hair. One, the woman, had fire engine red in a mohawk with spikes that were at least 30 centimetres long. The other was a man and he had the same spikes, but in jet black. He was standing behind her and doing something with her hair.
"Who?" I asked.
"The ones with the stupid hair! How ridiculous. People are stupid you know!"
I shrugged nervously. I didn't really think they were stupid.
"Each to their own," I chirruped.
The man shook his head and looked at me before saying, "People in this world are so stupid. Don't you think?"
"Not really. That's my tram." It really was the number 8, although I would have happily boarded the next tram to anywhere just to avoid a continuation of the proclamation.
I took my seat and looked again at the two punks, just ordinary people in each other's company, albeit with spectacular hair. I wondered what the tram man had seen in me that caused him to think I would be sympathetic to his conservatism. I rethought my entire outfit and wondered whether I should ask my hairdresser to do something wild with my hair. Then I wondered what the man was so insecure about that he needed to point others out to complete strangers. It wasn't as though the two punks were imposing their hairstyles or choices on the tram man. Although if I saw him in his high-vis customer service vest, I wonder whether I'd think he was stupid.
I was jolted out of my thoughts by a woman screaming at her children to sit down. I could hear her over the music on my ipod. I looked around and saw three small boys cowering in silence. She continued with a tirade of contemplation about why they had to all be so stupid.
She should be careful, they could all grow up to be punks.
Here's how I came out of the hairdresser. Brighter red, but no spikes!
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| Infinite selfie. © divacultura 2013 |
Monday, 17 December 2012
Wardrobe malfunction of the intimate kind - now I understand the term "travelling pants".
This post is about underwear. My underwear. Specifically, my underpants, knickers, undies, panties, grundies, pantaloons, bloomers - whatever name you prefer to give them.
I had a very unhappy relationship with them today. Not for the whole day. The bad behaviour specifically commenced as I arrived at the train station. To be clear, the problems started when I was just far enough from home to make turning back and throwing the evil creatures (should that be plural or singular?) on the fire. I don't actually have a fire to throw them on. It would be a metaphorical fire - probably just the bin, but I would have flames of anger in my eyes as I put them there. Alternatively they would have gone in the laundry basket, eventually been washed, and then made their way back to my underwear drawer. From this drawer I would pull them out again in a few weeks' time and stare at them with narrowed eyes, trying to remember whether this was the badly behaved pair, or just another pair that looks like any other pair. My memory would fail and I would put them on.
This is clearly what happened this morning. I'm fairly certain that I've spent at least one day before doing battle with my under garments.
The morning started like any other - I woke up to the alarm, headed straight for the shower, put my pyjamas back on to eat breakfast, do my teeth, hair and makeup, before finally putting my clothes on. Now the underpants in question looked normal in the beginning. Even after I put them on and walked around the house, everything was fine. There was NO SIGN of what was to come. Kind of like a relationship where everyone's on their best behaviour in the beginning and it's all down hill from there.
Just as I reached the train station and began walking up the steps to the pedestrian overpass, the waistband started to roll. I learned today that a rolling pantie waistband is like a snowball - it gathers momentum and there's little that can be done about it. This was a fairly dangerous position to be in, considering the rest of my outfit comprised of a dress. If the snowball reached the bottom of the mountain, so to speak, the potential for surprise was great.
I took the opportunity of what I characterised as the relative privacy of the pedestrian overpass to readjust. I like to call this manoeuvre "hoiking". For example: "Taking cover between the galvanised fencing of the pedestrian overpass, I hoiked my underpants up, once and for all." The last part of this sentence is just wishful thinking. I spent the day hoiking. It was disconcerting. And not just for me. I should also confirm that the privacy of the pedestrian overpass is relative to thinking that when you're driving your car and picking your nose, no one can see you.
By the time I arrived at my place of work for the day, I was fairly certain that I hadn't read the instructions properly and had somehow put them on upside down. The other possibility was that they were haunted. I don't even want to contemplate that.
As a result of my problem, I was extremely efficient. I spent the day glued to my desk chair and achieved quite a bit. The only time I left my desk was for the three hour Christmas lunch function we had today. I quickly found a chair at a table and was not going to move. Until I discovered the Kris Kringle routine and realised that it would involve me walking to the Christmas tree in front of fifty of my new colleagues, while my underpants continued their practical joke. I seriously contemplated removing them all together, but the combination of wearing a white dress and the presence of nuns suggested that this was not a solution.
I devised a better one. I would grip my waist with my forearms and just hold everything up and together. This meant it was extremely difficult to collect a gift from under the tree, but because I'm new, I think everyone was beating themselves up about not noticing the weird arm disability that I have. Everyone was too polite to say anything. I hope prayers are being said in the name of my healing.
I planned to rip these traitorous knickers off as soon as I arrived home, but the phone rang and I was distracted. I'm STILL WEARING THEM. Some hours later. They seem to only misbehave when I go out. Oh and the cut is totally misnamed. On the label it says "hipsters". In my book, that means they're meant to wrap around the hips, not the knees - or worse, the ankles! I'm pretty sure "anklets" are socks and I've never HEARD of "kneesters". Although they sound more hip than they should. Perhaps I should market them for the hipsters to wear with their drop crotch jeans.
And I can't believe there was a film called "The sisterhood of the travelling pants". Who would make a movie about this?
I had a very unhappy relationship with them today. Not for the whole day. The bad behaviour specifically commenced as I arrived at the train station. To be clear, the problems started when I was just far enough from home to make turning back and throwing the evil creatures (should that be plural or singular?) on the fire. I don't actually have a fire to throw them on. It would be a metaphorical fire - probably just the bin, but I would have flames of anger in my eyes as I put them there. Alternatively they would have gone in the laundry basket, eventually been washed, and then made their way back to my underwear drawer. From this drawer I would pull them out again in a few weeks' time and stare at them with narrowed eyes, trying to remember whether this was the badly behaved pair, or just another pair that looks like any other pair. My memory would fail and I would put them on.
This is clearly what happened this morning. I'm fairly certain that I've spent at least one day before doing battle with my under garments.
The morning started like any other - I woke up to the alarm, headed straight for the shower, put my pyjamas back on to eat breakfast, do my teeth, hair and makeup, before finally putting my clothes on. Now the underpants in question looked normal in the beginning. Even after I put them on and walked around the house, everything was fine. There was NO SIGN of what was to come. Kind of like a relationship where everyone's on their best behaviour in the beginning and it's all down hill from there.
Just as I reached the train station and began walking up the steps to the pedestrian overpass, the waistband started to roll. I learned today that a rolling pantie waistband is like a snowball - it gathers momentum and there's little that can be done about it. This was a fairly dangerous position to be in, considering the rest of my outfit comprised of a dress. If the snowball reached the bottom of the mountain, so to speak, the potential for surprise was great.
I took the opportunity of what I characterised as the relative privacy of the pedestrian overpass to readjust. I like to call this manoeuvre "hoiking". For example: "Taking cover between the galvanised fencing of the pedestrian overpass, I hoiked my underpants up, once and for all." The last part of this sentence is just wishful thinking. I spent the day hoiking. It was disconcerting. And not just for me. I should also confirm that the privacy of the pedestrian overpass is relative to thinking that when you're driving your car and picking your nose, no one can see you.
By the time I arrived at my place of work for the day, I was fairly certain that I hadn't read the instructions properly and had somehow put them on upside down. The other possibility was that they were haunted. I don't even want to contemplate that.
As a result of my problem, I was extremely efficient. I spent the day glued to my desk chair and achieved quite a bit. The only time I left my desk was for the three hour Christmas lunch function we had today. I quickly found a chair at a table and was not going to move. Until I discovered the Kris Kringle routine and realised that it would involve me walking to the Christmas tree in front of fifty of my new colleagues, while my underpants continued their practical joke. I seriously contemplated removing them all together, but the combination of wearing a white dress and the presence of nuns suggested that this was not a solution.
I devised a better one. I would grip my waist with my forearms and just hold everything up and together. This meant it was extremely difficult to collect a gift from under the tree, but because I'm new, I think everyone was beating themselves up about not noticing the weird arm disability that I have. Everyone was too polite to say anything. I hope prayers are being said in the name of my healing.
I planned to rip these traitorous knickers off as soon as I arrived home, but the phone rang and I was distracted. I'm STILL WEARING THEM. Some hours later. They seem to only misbehave when I go out. Oh and the cut is totally misnamed. On the label it says "hipsters". In my book, that means they're meant to wrap around the hips, not the knees - or worse, the ankles! I'm pretty sure "anklets" are socks and I've never HEARD of "kneesters". Although they sound more hip than they should. Perhaps I should market them for the hipsters to wear with their drop crotch jeans.
And I can't believe there was a film called "The sisterhood of the travelling pants". Who would make a movie about this?
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