Moral guardian riding the rails in Melbourne

After a month of holidays spent playing music, reading, knitting, playing Scrabble, playing with the dog and hanging out with family in the country, the return to city life yesterday was interesting.

My first stop was the hairdresser. This was well-planned after swimming and sunshine; I needed to get my city hair back!

The first challenge of the day was unexpected - I had to put on proper shoes! I have essentially been barefoot for a month. I took off the first pair I chose because they felt too restrictive and settled for a more worn pair. I hope I get back into the swing of things soon because I have a large selection of shoes.

I was relieved to discover I still had money on my myki and was able to catch a train without dealing with the machine. When I spent a weekend in Sydney during my break I noticed how clean their trains are compared to ours in Melbourne. I don't understand why our trains are so filthy. Most seats look like someone had a terrible accident and the floors are sticky. I wonder how Sydney keeps their trains so clean?

Travelling home in the afternoon was interesting. I'd had coffee with a friend and travelled just before the peak at about 3:45pm. There were plenty of seats and people were spread out. A few people were standing, absorbed in their phones and the carriage was pretty quiet. I was sitting in a single seat reserved for people with special needs. I was carrying a lot of bags after collecting all my mail which had been on hold for a month and I had space to put them without taking up another seat. I was ready to move if someone needed the seat. 

As we approached Yarraville station, a thin woman with a face permanently set to cranky disappointment stood up and hissed at a woman sitting nearby in the middle of three seats: "You didn't pay for three seats you know!" Her eyes were seething with anger and she had the self-satisfied look of a Guardian of Modern Morality.

I spontaneously guffawed. It just came out of me. I was gobsmacked at her exercise of perceived power. 

She turned on me.

"And you're not disabled are you?" she snapped, referring to my choice of seat. 

She stood near the door waiting for the train to stop. The woman who hadn't paid for enough seats and was quietly playing with her phone was looking bewildered. I laughed and shrugged. The Guardian didn't turn around as I called to her to make sure she touched off and paid for her trip.

Her face was well set, cranky disappointment was not new for her. How sad for her.

There is something to be said for "live and let live".

How would you respond?

It's all about the conversation

What is it about car trips that enable good conversation?

Today's conversation was as much about the relationship with the person as it was about being in a car; we have excellent conversations where ever we are.

Last week's conversation was revealing for both parties. Is it the lack of eye contact?

I've also written whole songs while driving alone. Thank goodness for recording apps on my iPhone! I've heard tell that driving engages the left brain. While the left brain is busy, the right brain is free to play. I've certainly found this to be true.

I like being the passenger when I'm confident in the driver. Today I was so relaxed I took out my knitting. I was on a knitting deadline and needed to finish the second sock of a pair by the end of tomorrow. It was the car trip or it was never going to happen. At one moment my mind wandered and I had a flash of death by knitting needles if there was an accident.  Was this the catastrophic thinking about which mental health professionals speak? I choose to think it was a little flight of fancy taken by my right brain.

Back to conversation in cars...I recall many occasions when I've bonded with someone or made deep discoveries or found myself on a journey of revelation when on a road trip.

In my world we could abolish interrogation techniques and instead embark on a road trip with a high value prisoner.  All would soon be revealed without the need for inhumane actions (unless you count the carbon output).

Is there a PhD in this? Alternative questioning techniques? I worry that the world isn't ready after discovering all the bins at Flinders Street Station have been removed because of "security". We'd better brace ourselves for the trains to become even more of a garbage tip.

The conversation isn't as good on the trains. Maybe it's the impact of being observed.

I'll continue that conversation over dinner in Wangaratta.

5:14pm to Laverton

The 5:14pm Laverton train was entertaining. The driver engaged with his cargo. As we pulled out of Flinders Street Station he greeted us and then said he wanted to acknowledge three very special groups of people travelling with us today.

"Firstly, I'd like to acknowledge all those people who gave up their seat to someone who really needed it. The second very special group I want to acknowledge is those who can actually hear what I'm saying. It means you haven't got your headphones on and turned up to eleven, which also means you're not driving everyone else nuts with [insert beat box sounds here] bleeding out of your headphones. And the third group I really want to acknowledge is those who are speaking on their mobile phone very softly. You're all outstanding people.

"I also wanted to let you know we are running a bit late, due to the tardy arrival of this train to Flinders Street. I'll do my best to make up time and get you home, as long as you're going anywhere on the Laverton Line, except South Kensington, where we're not stopping. If you're not going to any of these places, you're on the wrong train and I can't really help you! You should get off at the earliest opportunity."

As we pulled out of North Melbourne station, the train slowed right down. The driver was back.

"Good afternoon again, ladies and gentlemen. Very sorry to bother you again. I think the scenery we're now passing through is really worth having a look at - you know, under the freeway - lovely, the dirty old creek - it's so picturesque I decided to slow right down to give you a chance to take it in."

Some of us laughed.

He explained the train ahead of him was travelling very slowly, so he had no choice but to also drive slowly.

At various points, he also advertised a new bus service (the 901) running from Broadmeadows Station to the airport every 15 minutes and apologised for interrupting our reading.

I like this driver and hope he brings me home again soon.

Design flaws and "common sense"

Sometimes I wonder how things end up the way they are. It's usually little, simple things. Well they seem simple to me, but evidently they are complex. News of France's blunder with their TFT's (too fat trains) set me thinking again this week.

You'd think you'd check something like the width of trains before you spend lots of money. They've got to fit! Some might even say that doing so is common sense.

This term "common sense" is one that I wrestle with. I actually think it must be a myth. If it was common we wouldn't end up with these kinds of errors. Would we?

On my regular travels through Flinders Street Station in Melbourne I am regularly struck by a piece of poor design. Here's a picture:

Display screens for platform 12 and 13 at Flinders Street Station
© 2014 divacultura

This screen is at the entry end of platforms 12 and 13 at Flinders Street Station. Everytime I see it it sets my teeth on edge.

The first thing you might notice is that it doesn't read in numerical order from left to right. Then you might think that's because platform 13 is on the left and platform 12 is on the right.

This is not the case. Platform 12 is on the left of this screen and platform is on the right of the screen.

If you're not familiar with the layout of the platforms it would be easy to go to the right hand platform to catch the Williamstown train and go left for Sandringham.

The only thing I can think is that they put them in alphabetical order. That's a valid order, but not usually how train stations are laid out.

Would common sense say they should be the other way around?

That's before we even look at the gap between services during peak time.

Off to have my water tested!

Sitting opposite me on the train to Flinders Street this morning was an old man. Beside him sat an old woman wearing rose tinted sunglasses, gazing out the window and clutching her handbag on her lap. The man turned his head fully towards her as he spoke very loudly.


"I'VE GOT TO GO BACK TO THE DOC. BUT BEFORE I DO HE SAYS THEY'VE GOT TO TEST MY BLOOD AND MY WATER!"

The woman continued to gaze out the window, but nodded, barely.

"SO I'M ON MY WAY TO HAVE MY WATER TESTED."

...

"I DRANK THREE BIG GLASSES OF WATER BEFORE I LEFT HOME. DO YOU THINK THAT'LL BE ENOUGH? THEY SAID THAT I'LL HAVE TO DO MY WATER ON THE SPOT. I THOUGHT I'D BETTER DRINK ENOUGH SO I'LL BE ABLE TO GO. DO YOU THINK I'LL BE ABLE TO?"

Quietly, the woman said: "Yes. That should be fine."

"I SUPPOSE YOU'RE RIGHT. I SHOULD BE READY TO GO TO THE TOILET WHEN I GET THERE...LUCKY I DON'T NEED TO GO YET. THAT WOULD BE A WASTE."

The train passed the big Melbourne viewing wheel and the woman said, sotto voce: "Adrian took his new girlfriend up there on a date."

"WHAT?"

"I said Adrian - you know Adrian - took his girlfriend up on the wheel last week. They were on a date, you know," she repeated. I wondered what the relationship between the two of them was. Was she planting a seed, secretly hoping she would be taken on a wheel date? Was she secretly in love with the enigmatic Adrian and ready to push the other woman off the wheel at the first opportunity?

'WHAT DO YOU DO UP THERE? ISN'T IT CRACKED? WHAT KIND OF A DATE IS THAT?"

"What?"

"THE WHEEL! IT'S CRACKED YOU KNOW!"

"Not anymore. It's not cracked anymore."

The woman stood up to leave the train at Southern Cross Station, leaving the man to travel solo on his way to deposit his water for testing.

What I'm wondering

I'm wondering why I keep receiving notification that peak hour train services have been cancelled due to "driver training". Surely there's a better time to train.

I'm wondering why big organisations pass the buck and fail to take responsibility and help customers (ie citizens, the public).

I'm wondering how to extricate myself from a whirlpool of buck passing.

I'm wondering why hotel bathrooms are lit to make me look at least thirty years older than I am.

I'm wondering why caterers think that luke warm water is any way to make a decent cup of tea.

I'm wondering why rice paper rolls marked as "nut free" contained walnuts - the nut to which I'm most allergic. (I can answer this one, partially...because the chicken mix from the sandwiches was used to make the rolls and the chicken mix from the sandwiches contained walnuts. Still doesn't explain the sign.)

I'm wondering why there are still people in the catering business who think that food allergies are not serious, that is potentially life threatening.

I'm wondering why a person who has requested "fructose free" food is served a plate of fruit at morning tea. Sigh. It is marginally better than cake.

I'm wondering why I have to fight so hard to be paid for my services on a regular basis.

I'm wondering why I didn't decide sooner to call it quits with a couple of clients who are bad payers.

I'm wondering why people (ie politicians) don't take responsibility for their decisions to do something different from what they "promised" in the election campaign.

I'm wondering whether there's a definition of "promise" of which I'm unaware.

I'm wondering why people don't listen.

I was wondering why a nurse working in a health care organisation was doing theatre reviews until I realised that I'm the only embedded creative and that her theatre always involves blood, while mine involves blood only sometimes.

What are you wondering about?

* Posts will be erratic this week due to other commitments. *

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?

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?

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?

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.

myki public transport ticketing designed by Kafka

And we're back...Inspiration left me for a while there.  I think it was because I did something exciting that I can't tell you about just yet.  Time had to pass so there was space for something else to focus on.  And what better way than to talk about another bizarre process that I've discovered with Melbourne's public transport ticketing system, myki.

Things have been running fairly smoothly lately.  Generally, I've always thought that the day to day transactions with the card have run fairly well.  It's when you head into the "back office" process that the Kafkaesque trouble starts.

Last Thursday I travelled all over the place and then when I arrived at my home station, I could not find my myki.  Luckily I had registered the card so could immediately call and have the card blocked.  This protects any balance remaining on the card.  So far so good.  I also wanted the remaining balance returned to me. This is where the complexity seeps in.  They will transfer the balance onto a new myki and send it out in the mail as a result of my telephone request.  Sounds straightforward, except that I don't want or need another myki.  I have about half a dozen sitting on my desk.  These have been acquired for friends visiting or when I've arrived at the station and discovered the ticket isn't in my handbag so I've had to buy a whole new one (this could be rectified if there was a short term ticket option, but that has been explicitly ruled out by the State Government). I also acquired a couple through tasks required while I was a member of the customer experience panel giving feeback about all aspects of my experience with myki.

I asked for the balance to be put on one of the other cards that are registered on my account.  I was informed that the only way that can be done is if I fill in a paper form and post it in. The money is then transferred onto the card with the number nominated on the form. (Surprisingly) I don't even have to send in the myki I want to transfer to.  Why is a paper form required when all the details of registered cards are on my secure profile? (See what the Minister said about this issue in February 2012.)

"Why?" I asked.  "Because that's the process," came the answer.  To confuse matters further, the name of the form is "Refund and Reimbursement" which isn't really what we're talking about - it's a balance transfer.

Then I was informed that I was getting the benefit of a new card without having to pay the $6 purchase price.  That's true, except that I don't want or need another card and this is a public cost which is unnecessary.  What I want is my unused balance from the lost card to be put onto one of the cards I already have.  The cost would be minimal - especially if I could do it myself through my online account. Under the current process, the cost of a new card is added.

In the interests of highlighting problems so they can be fixed, I lodged feedback, specifically asking about why this is the process. Today I received a call from Kylie who informed me about the process.  I told her that I already know what the process is and I'm interested to know why this is the process. The conversation was pointless.

"All I can do is tell you what the process is and all you keep asking is why!"

"Well that's actually what I want to know."

"Well all I can tell you is what the process is."

"That's terrific, but I already know what the process is.  I actually want to understand the thinking that designed the process and point out how silly it is."

"All I can do is explain the process."

"What's the purpose of this phone call then? Was my feedback request not clear?"

"It was clear, but all I can do is explain the process and you keep asking why."

"Who should I be speaking to then?"

At the end of that exasperating exchange I was told to contact Public Transport Victoria via email or mail.

"Where are you from then? I thought I had contacted PTV initially."

"I work for PTV."

"Isn't that who you've said I have to talk to?"

"Yes, but I'm only in the myki section."

"But I'm wanting to talk about myki!"

"You need to send an email."

It's fitting really.  With such a costly, old-fashioned and convoluted process to get $4.84 back I don't know why I thought the feedback process would be smooth, streamlined and efficient. The other thing about all these processes is that the work onus is on the customer not on the service provider.  There is a benefit to Australia Post, so that's something.

I knew it was going to be weird when I had to go through an identification process to have the feedback conversation!  I refrained from asking the one question that was on my mind: why?

My favourite things - this week

1. You may remember meeting Rose Wintergreen right here on divacultura.  Rose crowd-funded her album and I was very happy, willing and privileged to be able to contribute.  My favourite moment of week was reading about the release of her single, Feet in the Sand. You can read more and listen over on her blog.  What do you think?  I LOVE it!  If you like it too, pass it on!

2. This morning I set aside time to write a first draft of a book chapter that I'm collaborating with several other people on.  I'd had a few false starts in actually putting words down, but the ideas had been whirling around in my head for a while. I knew it was just a case of having a block of time and no distractions.  I put Bach's cello suites played by Yo-Yo Ma on the stereo and pretty soon I had exceeded the word requirement. I know that it's a first draft and now the task of editing and blending with my collaborators has to occur, but it is always thrilling to see ideas come to life on the screen/page. There's the additional excitement of discovering new insights as fresh connections are made.

3. I managed to get tickets for Sunday's AFL final match between my team, Richmond, and Carlton. Technically my friend got the tickets and they came with the news that we would need to hire a sherpa, take oxygen and leave now to get to our seats at the Melbourne Cricket Ground in time to watch the match.  I don't care!  I'm so excited.  Richmond hasn't played in the finals since 2001 and I've never been to a finals match at the MCG.  I figure you just have to do it!  As a consequence of actually going to the footy, I have had to put a hold on my lack of love for the colour yellow.  Richmond's colours are yellow and black and I just can't go without sporting my team colours.  I managed to snag the last ball of yarn in the perfect shade of yellow and figure I can knit a yellow and black beanie in time for Sunday's match.

4. My physio's declaration that it is possible for my knee to fully recover was definitely a good moment..  This made me very happy after struggling to zip my boots this morning.  (The angles were all wrong.)  Apparently my PCL (posterior cruciate ligament) has been stretched so far that it hasn't sprung back.  It's like an elastic band that has stretched too far.  Despite this, my physio is confident that with exercise and treatment it will regain its elasticity.  (My physio contributed another favourite moment when we were discussing the soreness in my left arm which had probably resulted from the fall that injured my knee.  The muscle I've hurt is called the "supraspinatus".  I heard her tell me I'd hurt my "super bananas". I felt lucky.  Imagine if it was my ordinary bananas!)

5.Waiting on platform 9 at Flinders Street Station today, I watched people on platform 10 running for the train.  Human beings move in some mysterious way:. the squat woman, struggling with several bags, her body engaged in multi-directional undulation; the neat Asian man wearing a backpack shuffling, Cliff Young style - not very fast but certainly tidy;  the confidence of the long-legged lunge of a besuited, bespectacled, bebearded man;  the weirdly stiff-legged gait of the man in too-skinny jeans; the small pointless steps of the woman in stilettos running for her life to catch that train; the hopeful striving of the wannabe medalist, slowing and slumping as hope fades that he can make it before the doors shut.

What was your favourite thing this week?

When public transport doesn't connect

A friend told me a tale today.  This is a tale of missed opportunity.  Perhaps it is also a tale of mean spirits.

My friend relies on public transport to go everywhere. My friend can get around on the trains easily enough, but relies on a bus service to connect to the train service. The problem with that last sentence is evident in the phrase: "relies on a bus service to connect to the train service". It does connect. As long as you're not picky about arriving everywhere 40 minutes early or 40 minutes late.

My friend was to meet me at Flinders Street this morning 7:45am. I received a text message at 7:22am to say she had already arrived. We live on the same train line, so I wondered why she wasn't on the same train as me, leaving at 7:26am. It was the buses!

My friend told me that the last bus of an evening leaves the station at 9:00pm. The station where she most regularly travels to and from (Yarraville) has a level crossing. Commuters disembarking an outbound train are left on one side of that crossing. The buses leave from the other side of that crossing. When a train is at the station, the boom gates on the crossing come down so everyone has to wait until the train has left the station before they can walk across to the buses. Imagine the heart break as 9:00pm approaches, but a late train has meant arrival at the station almost right on that time. You're stuck on the opposite side of the tracks, the bus driver can see that a train has just come in and that the boom gates are down and chooses to drive off before the gates go up and people can get to the bus!

Situations like this are one of the reasons that people don't like to travel by public transport.  Situations like this can be fixed by planning the services to connect better and ensuring that drivers are instructed to wait for the boom gates to go up after a train has arrived before leaving.

So because of where my friend lives - about 10 minutes drive from where I live - she had to leave home at 6:45am for a 7:45am meeting in the city.  I left home at 7:15am, walked to the station and was ready to catch a 7:26am train which delivered me to Flinders Street at 7:40am - less than half an hour, while she had almost that amount of time to wait.

This is not the public transport system that one expects in the world's most livable city! But I guess it's what happens when you privatise the systems and they're all run by different people.

Do you catch public transport?  If not, what stops you?  What do you like about it?

Commuter hell - brought to you by infrastructure upgrades

It wasn't a great day for travelling on Melbourne's trains today.  Works being done over the weekend to extend the regional rail network spilled over to make travel in Monday's morning and evening peaks quite unpleasant.

I was travelling before 7:30am today and I had to be very assertive to even board the train.  It was already very full around the doorways and I had to actually shout down the train to ask people to move into the aisles.  People don't seem to pay attention to the people around them.  We really need to work together on mornings like this.  I looked for something to hang onto and then realised I needn't worry; the crush of people would keep me upright.  My sheer pantyhose didn't stand a chance in the crush of people and bags and zips.

My subscription to peak hour alerts from Metro Trains kept text messages flowing to my phone throughout the morning.  As the afternoon drew to a close, I started to wonder whether I should just book a hotel room in the city for the night and not even bother trying to travel home.  As at 6:15pm today I received a total of 18 text messages telling me that the Williamstown train had been cancelled:  7:48am, 8:10am, 8:32am, 8:53am, 9:15am, 9:33am, 9:45am...4:12pm,4:32pm, 4:42pm, 5:06pm, 5:28pm, 5:50pm, 6:13pm, 6:35pm and 6:56pm. I think my phone would have melted if I subscribed to alerts throughout the day.

On arrival at Flinders Street today, it was a battle to get through the gates.  One of the myki readers at the Elizabeth Street Station did nothing as card after card was touched to its reader.  People hurtled down the stairs, blindly, hoping to find a train going somewhere.  Williamstown on the overhead screens was blank.  I took a punt on the Werribee line and hurled myself onto a train that was jam-packed as it left the first station on the route.  As I stood pressed into someone's neck, the text messages telling me yet another train had been cancelled, continued to flow.

The disruptions were even on the evening news.

A quick look at the Metro Trains website tells me that I have the same joyful experience to look forward to tomorrow too.

Any expansion to public transport infrastructure is welcome.  It's long overdue and so I suppose, more painful as the work is done.  I hope that in the long run these works will mean a real difference to the accessiblity of public transport.  If it's more accessible it should be more desirable...right?

My final word to Metro Trains is "turn the air conditioning up!".  When we're packed in like livestock, it doesn't matter that it's only 10 degrees Celsius outside; it's like an inferno when we're all packed together.

How did you travel today?

Good things about myki & myki mysteries

I travelled into zone 2 yesterday on the train.  I had a zone one 7 day myki pass on my myki card.  It was great to be able to get to the other end and just touch off my myki and see it deduct the little bit extra for the trip in zone 2.  I didn't have to buy an "extension ticket" or do anything else.

That's something good about myki.

I catch public transport whenever I can, including when working for clients.  Keeping track of travel expenses and GST on the old Metcard system would have been a nighmare, to the point where I probably wouldn't have bothered, or I would  have driven my car and claimed that cost back.  I love the fact that with a registered myki card I can print a tax invoice of all my travel transactions, making it easy to claim GST and business related expenses.

That's something good about myki.

I only need one card to travel, rather than carrying a poker hand of paper cards to suit a variety of travel situations. (Although used tickets did make good book marks.)

That's something good about myki.

When I lost my myki, because it was registered I was able to get the money back.  (Even though they had to issue me with a new card to do it.  The process to get the money put to one of my existing cards - which I hadn't lost - involved filling in forms; whereas getting the money back on a new card could be done over the phone.)

The first bit - that's something good about myki.

How come online top up of myki isn't instant, but auto -top up - which you set up online - is?

That's one of the myki mysteries.

How come people vandalise the machines and readers making them hard to use?

That's one of the myki mysteries (or maybe it's just a mystery).

How come Qantas can give me an electronic bag tag which knows who I am and where I'm going and check me in in seconds, but myki has to be held just-so in order to work?

That's one of the myki mysteries.

How come a new exit at platform two at Seddon Station was installed a year ago and it's still locked up?  I watched a large number of men dig a hole and the open a space in the fence. A little while later two posts were installed for the myki readers.  Then they closed the hole in the fence and the myki readers were never attached to the posts.  Everyone still has to squeeze out of the tiny and poorly designed exit during peak time as everyone has to use two machines, rendered unreadable by sun glare and vandalism.

"Exit" at Seddon Station.
Those black posts are supposed to have myki readers on them.
© divacultura 2013

That's one of the myki mysteries.  And I still don't know what went into the hole.  I wonder if it was the architect of  myki?

That's one of the myki mysteries.

Wouldn't it be great if you could use your myki to pay when you use Melbourne City Council blue bike to get around the city?

Yes it would!

Why can't I buy a myki pass for 8 to 27 days, but am locked into 7 days or 28 or more days?

That's one of the myki mysteries.


Why do people insist on touching off on trams in the city?

That's NOT one of the myki mysteries.  All of the messaging says "When travelling with myki, don't forget to touch on AND touch off".  Some of the messaging adds "to make sure you get the lowest fare". Of course people are still touching off on trams - it's crazy to expect commuters to learn different processes for using a ticket depending on what kind of vehicle they are in!

Where do the dead myki cards go?  I really hope they can be melted down and made into something handy.

That's one of the myki mysteries.

I tried really hard to come up with more things that are great about myki, but I couldn't really think of any.  Can you?

Why aren't there lots of good things about myki?

That's one of the myki mysteries.

Today.

Today I was working in a room without windows.
Today I was working in a room with no air.
How can anyone perform at their best in this environment?
The sandwiches were nice.

*****

One day I would like this to happen:
I would arrive at Flinders Street Station.
I would check the monitors to see which platform my train is leaving from.
I would go to that platform.
The train would leave from that platform.
If for any reason, something happened, or I had a question, there would be helpful and informed staff who would tell me about what was happening.  Happily.  Helpfully.

It didn't happen today.
This happened today:
I arrived at Flinders Street Station.
I checked the monitors to see which platform my train was leaving from.
I had just missed the Williamstown train, but the Laverton train was leaving in about six minutes from platform 10.
I went to platform 10.
Upon arrival at platform 10, there was no information on the platform monitor saying that the next train leaving on that platform was the Laverton train.  A disembodied voice announced that the Laverton train would be leaving from platform 8 or 9.
I sighed and proceeded to complete my daily exploration of platforms 8 - 12.
The sign said platform 8.
The train that arrived on platform 8 was a Frankston train.
The Williamstown train left from platform 9.
All of this happened within the space of about six minutes.
I saw staff on other platforms.

One day I would like it to be different.

*****

Today, Yarra Trams responded to yesterday's blog post about dangerously overcrowded tram platforms in Melbourne city.
They responded on Twitter after I tweeted the post to them.  (@yarratrams).
They told me they've tried things to "regulate passenger flow", but it's a difficult spot.
I asked them what they're currently doing.
They asked me if they could refer the post to the "safety people" as they may find some of the suggestions".
I don't know what they're currently doing because they didn't answer my question and you can't tell by looking.

*****

Today I received this email from Yarra Trams in response to the feedback I lodged on their website about the issue of overcrowding:

"Thank you for contacting Yarra Trams customer feedback team. 

Following a determination of the issue you have raised, the matter has been referred to the appropriate area for review. 

A detailed response will be provided to you upon completion of our investigations. 

Once again thank you for contacting Yarra Trams and allowing us the opportunity to respond to your feedback."

Today I pondered the second sentence of that email.

*****

Today I received no response or acknowledgement of these issues from Robert Doyle, the Lord Mayor of Melbourne.

*****

Today I thought about the teachers who were on strike in Victoria today.

Today I wondered why it's so hard for teachers to be respected and remunerated for their valuable work.

Today I thought about wonderful teachers I was fortunate to have during my schooling; teachers who changed my life in some way.

*****

Today I shared a lovely, simple meal cooked by a dear friend.

*****

Today was a great day, with all its imperfection.

How was your day, today?

Whimsy in the city and on the trams.

Yarra Trams has either been training their staff in the art of communication or the organisation has been hijacked by frustrated entertainers.  I'm not sure which.

Waiting on the very busy tram platform one morning this week, I was fascinated by the customer service representative who was announcing the arrival of trams.  He took his work very seriously and clearly viewed it as a permanent audition.  He didn't just announce that it was the Number 8 tram to Toorak, he called it like we were all playing bingo.  He also displayed an incredible knowledge of what might be found along each tram route.  I was intrigued by his gusto and imagination.

This afternoon I caught the number 19 tram along Royal Parade back into the city.  As I was seated the driver made an announcement:  "Good afternoon travellers!  How are you all this afternoon?  My name is Daniel and I'm your driver this afternoon.  I hope that you are having a wonderful journey.  This is the number 19 tram and I'll be taking you all the way into the city this afternoon.  But first, the next stop is Haymarket.  Yes, I mean the big roundabout up here on Elizabeth Street.  If you have any questions, please come up and ask me, Daniel, otherwise have a great afternoon."

For a moment I thought the tram had been hijacked, but as I stepped off the tram I said "thank you Daniel" and saw his shocked face.  Why not thank him personally since he had shared his name?

*****

Along the way home, I walked through the City Square - the same square which was the scene of protests in 2011.

It looked quite different today.  The yarn bombers had been visiting and painted the trees with wonderful bright colours.  The whimsy made me smile.

©divacultura 2013

© divacultura 2013

© divacultura 2013

*****
Having arrived home, I received a text message at 5:53pm advising me that the 5:50pm train to Williamstown had been cancelled.  I was pleased that the message was unnecessary, but frustrated at the pointlessness of the message.

Cue circus music, fluff your hair - it's time to commute in the rain!

There are some things in the world that are meant to be fluffy: kittens, toys, towels, dandelions, bunnies, Santa's beard.  You will notice that my hair is not on this list; especially when I've spent some money to have a sleek, smooth blowdry.

Yet here I sit, fluffy haired, exhausted from the epic nature of my journey from work to home - if "epic" can appropriately be applied to traversing a mere 10 kilometres.

All week, people have been complimenting me on my smooth locks.  Curls and ringlets had been framing my face for the last month.  The first appointment I made upon my return to the big smoke was with my hairdresser.  Urgent magic was required to cover my - ahem - grey.  I decided that straight hair would be a nice change.  With the weather in Melbourne being bone dry and all the rain falling in the north I thought my investment would last a week.

Today as I was sitting at my desk deeply engaged in a telephone conversation, I looked up.  I suddenly panicked, thinking I had been swallowed into some kind of fluorescently lit hell where time has no meaning and it was actually midnight.  It wasn't.  It was 5:10pm.  It just looked like midnight.  Ah, the gods were playing with us for their pleasure, causing a downpour and throwing in some wind right on going home time.

My journey home involves a short walk to the unsheltered tram stop through many lanes of cars; a ride on a tram; navigation of one of the busiest tram stops in Melbourne to walk across to Flinders Street Station; a train ride and then a seven minute walk home from the local train station.  It sounds like a lot when written like that, but usually it's fine.

Today it wasn't fine.  Today my hair went fluffy.

In my handbag I always have a compact umbrella.  My rationale is that I'll always be prepared in the event of unexpected rain.  Melbourne's reputation for changeable weather has been well earned, so this is a good thing to do.  Except for one thing - compact umbrellas are useless when it does actually rain.  This level of incompetence is elevated to pointlessness when the rain is accompanied by wind.

Now my hair is fluffy.

If that wasn't enough to deal with, I arrived at Flinders Street station with soaking trousers and feet.  Luckily, I also travel with a pair of thongs in my handbag so my beautiful, expensive shoes are not ruined in heavy rain.  According to the information provided on the screens in the station, I only had to wait about 8 minutes for a train home.  I entered the station at about 6:10pm but only boarded the 6:32pm train at 6:38pm.  I had been waiting on platform twelve for the train that never came.

Then we had the opportunity to participate in one of the practical jokes that Metro Trains likes to organise occasionally. I've been in this one before: the screens tell you to go to platform ten.  After a couple of minutes, an announcement tells you that the train will now be leaving from platform 12.  The commuters heave a sigh and scramble over to the other platform.  Upon arrival there, an announcement says that the next train leaving from that new platform is to a completely different destination from the one you were expecting.  All staff have disappeared from this platform.  The screen has gone blank and there are no announcements being made.  As you confer with other commuters, you hear the faint sound of an announcement being made back on platform ten informing any passengers who are left on platform ten that the train there is in fact the train that everyone who is now on platform twelve is expecting over there!

To make it even more fun, you organise this prank to occur during a downpour so everyone is wet, cold and cranky and the platforms are super slippery.  If you only make announcements at the last minute this adds excitement as people ignore the warnings not to run and run to catch a train.

As I finally walked home from the station I was grateful for my thongs but also struggling to keep them on my feet.  There was so much water I thought they might float away from under my feet.  This is what I experienced in Darwin during a tropical downpour.  At least the rain there was warm.  The rain in Melbourne is not warm, even in the middle of summer.

At least my house isn't flooded and I have a warm shower, clean dry clothes and a warm bed for the night.  But...my hair is fluffy.