Jane Routley's Blog - Posts Tagged "fantasy-writer"
Thank God for the Salvos
Metro and the Salvos have a project going on where bands of youth workers rove the trains and stations, talking to young people and heading off potential graffiti etc. I know this because they’ve started to come to the station when out Flexible Learners come in from their school. They hand out lollipops and chat to kids and try to entice them into their Employment and drug counselling programs. Things have been pretty toxic with the FL’s these last few months. There’s been verbal abuse, racial vilification and one incident of breaking into a car and fighting with police that lead to kids being arrested. Individually they seem like nice enough kids, but it’s hard to take the long view that these are troubled kids for who need to be patiently enticed away from behavior that will lead to jail in later life when you’ve had them telling you that you’re a F***ing M*** and I know where you live. But having the Salvos there does seem to help keep a lid on things. And they had out lollipops to the rest of us too.
Not sure where this comes in the not taking candy from strangers advice my mother gave me, though
Not sure where this comes in the not taking candy from strangers advice my mother gave me, though
The Iceman Cometh
While working in the booking office at the junction, I met this week’s Customer of the Week. A vague cheerful heavyset man, he stood at the window searching though his wallet.
He’d lost something valuable, he told us.
My friendly workmate pointed out his credit card was sticking out of his shopping bag – a bag that also contained nappies.
“It’s not that,” he said, though he was glad to have it found.
“Have you lost your Myki train pass?” she asked
He kept on searching.
“No. Something much more valuable.”
“Then it must be drugs,” joked my workmate.
Funny how when making a risky joke, you sometimes get the right answer without meaning to. A moment later the man had pulled a little packet of Ice Crystals and was showing it to us with all the nonchalance of a man showing a new sim card. Apparently he should have had two packets and could only find one.
“That’s 800 dollars gone,” he said.
So there we were examining this tiny packet of highly illegal substance.
“It looks like shards of glass,” said my co-worker politely. Hard to know the etiquette of such moments, but politeness seemed the best policy at that point.
“Yes, it’s very pure,” he said. “I’ll cut it. Perhaps I left the other packet where I was before. I’ll go and look.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said
Always good to make helpful noises when unsure of etiquette.
Tucking the packet back in his wallet he moved away from the counter before turning back to correct any possible misconceptions.
“Not that I use it you understand. This is just business.”
Apparently that was supposed to be better.
I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe this station story. We aren’t sure we believe it either.
He’d lost something valuable, he told us.
My friendly workmate pointed out his credit card was sticking out of his shopping bag – a bag that also contained nappies.
“It’s not that,” he said, though he was glad to have it found.
“Have you lost your Myki train pass?” she asked
He kept on searching.
“No. Something much more valuable.”
“Then it must be drugs,” joked my workmate.
Funny how when making a risky joke, you sometimes get the right answer without meaning to. A moment later the man had pulled a little packet of Ice Crystals and was showing it to us with all the nonchalance of a man showing a new sim card. Apparently he should have had two packets and could only find one.
“That’s 800 dollars gone,” he said.
So there we were examining this tiny packet of highly illegal substance.
“It looks like shards of glass,” said my co-worker politely. Hard to know the etiquette of such moments, but politeness seemed the best policy at that point.
“Yes, it’s very pure,” he said. “I’ll cut it. Perhaps I left the other packet where I was before. I’ll go and look.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said
Always good to make helpful noises when unsure of etiquette.
Tucking the packet back in his wallet he moved away from the counter before turning back to correct any possible misconceptions.
“Not that I use it you understand. This is just business.”
Apparently that was supposed to be better.
I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe this station story. We aren’t sure we believe it either.
United Colours of Metro
The united colours of Metro
Passengers waiting for the 2.40 one Friday: a regular who is a DVD pirate (an older man who used to own a video library before Net Flicks put him out of business and pirating is his revenge) is on his way with his bicycle to play Bingo, two hipster girls in black having a little snuggle together, and, best of all, one of the regular English as a second language classes. One tall (and very talented) African guy is dancing with an Indian guy (bollywood meets the zulus) while the rest of the class clap and make whistling noises. The Railways - where different cultures meet.
Passengers waiting for the 2.40 one Friday: a regular who is a DVD pirate (an older man who used to own a video library before Net Flicks put him out of business and pirating is his revenge) is on his way with his bicycle to play Bingo, two hipster girls in black having a little snuggle together, and, best of all, one of the regular English as a second language classes. One tall (and very talented) African guy is dancing with an Indian guy (bollywood meets the zulus) while the rest of the class clap and make whistling noises. The Railways - where different cultures meet.
Into the Pit?
An intellectually disabled man is bickering with his mother as they wait for the train.
“Take your coat off, you’re too hot,” she says.
He pouts. “No! Shut up!”
3 minutes before the train I turn and see him at the edge of the pit sitting down and putting his legs over the edge. Is he about to jump onto the tracks?
“No, no, no!” I scream and rush at him, panic jolting through my nerves. “Please stop!” I grab his hood, which comes off in my hands, and then his collar and hold on hard, shouting, “No No!”
He bursts into tears and rolls back on the platform.
Now I feel like a brute. He wails like a small child as I apologize and tell him I’m not mad as him. “Please don’t cry,” I beg in front of the whole crowded platform.
His mother comes over, picks him up and pats him. I tell her I’m sorry for making her son cry
“I was going to let him sit till the train comes and then get him up,” she said. “It works better that way. He’s always doing it. He never gets down on the tracks.”
I’m glad she knew what was going on. When I was in training, they warned us to mentally prepare ourselves in case we saw someone hit by a train someday. I honestly thought my turn had come.
As the train rolls in, I bring out some small gifts - a bottle of water and a zoo badge. I still feel like a complete heel.
His face is red and soggy from crying but he’s pleased with the badge and gulps down the water gratefully.
“There you WERE hot,” says his mother. “I told you to take your coat off.”
“No! Shut up,” he says.
“Take your coat off, you’re too hot,” she says.
He pouts. “No! Shut up!”
3 minutes before the train I turn and see him at the edge of the pit sitting down and putting his legs over the edge. Is he about to jump onto the tracks?
“No, no, no!” I scream and rush at him, panic jolting through my nerves. “Please stop!” I grab his hood, which comes off in my hands, and then his collar and hold on hard, shouting, “No No!”
He bursts into tears and rolls back on the platform.
Now I feel like a brute. He wails like a small child as I apologize and tell him I’m not mad as him. “Please don’t cry,” I beg in front of the whole crowded platform.
His mother comes over, picks him up and pats him. I tell her I’m sorry for making her son cry
“I was going to let him sit till the train comes and then get him up,” she said. “It works better that way. He’s always doing it. He never gets down on the tracks.”
I’m glad she knew what was going on. When I was in training, they warned us to mentally prepare ourselves in case we saw someone hit by a train someday. I honestly thought my turn had come.
As the train rolls in, I bring out some small gifts - a bottle of water and a zoo badge. I still feel like a complete heel.
His face is red and soggy from crying but he’s pleased with the badge and gulps down the water gratefully.
“There you WERE hot,” says his mother. “I told you to take your coat off.”
“No! Shut up,” he says.
The naughty bear
A small fluster at the Junction - an intellectually disabled man has dropped a toy bear in the pit and staff rally round quickly to rescue it with the station’s claw thing and prevent him from going onto the busy tracks after it.
This particular man is always carrying a toy. It’s so odd because he has such a scary-looking face, crossed eyes and jagged teeth, the sort of face that would have drawn stones and jeers in a less enlightened time. From the way he walks, I suspect he’s visually disabled as well. Yet he looks clean and well-cared for and seems happy in his own world and the companionship of his toy. If you talk to him he doesn't answer. Perhaps he can't hear.
It’s clearly a rather naughty bear. He holds it to his ear and listens to it and then he turns it over and smacks its bottom. He does it again and again. Sometimes the bear is obviously very naughty and he puts it on the ground and turns his back on it. I suspect was how it wound up on the tracks.
What I wonder is this – is this just some game with a toy or behavior he learned from his own childhood?
This particular man is always carrying a toy. It’s so odd because he has such a scary-looking face, crossed eyes and jagged teeth, the sort of face that would have drawn stones and jeers in a less enlightened time. From the way he walks, I suspect he’s visually disabled as well. Yet he looks clean and well-cared for and seems happy in his own world and the companionship of his toy. If you talk to him he doesn't answer. Perhaps he can't hear.
It’s clearly a rather naughty bear. He holds it to his ear and listens to it and then he turns it over and smacks its bottom. He does it again and again. Sometimes the bear is obviously very naughty and he puts it on the ground and turns his back on it. I suspect was how it wound up on the tracks.
What I wonder is this – is this just some game with a toy or behavior he learned from his own childhood?
Star Struck
A group of people are milling about near the barriers at the Junction. When I see one of them having a makeup artist paint track marks on her arm, I realize they are some kind of film crew. Exciting!
They chat and eat sandwiches until the Director, a tall dark haired woman in too tight jeans and tee-shirt and an impressive set of Tattoos, turns up.
The girl with the painted track marks asks me if this is a good job to go with acting and since we already have two actors working at my station I tell her yes. (you can see one of them, wearing a plaid shirt in the current Sportsbet ad.)
The girl is wearing a street hooker outfit with the most amazingly tall black shoes covered in spikes, which she walks in with great aplomb as the crew goes down to the platform to do its shots. Her co-star (who has had to change in our toilets –shudder-) is a young girl in a school uniform with a peach coloured beanie.
I get chatting with the Assistant Director. He tells me it’s a professional shoot with funding, permits and and -well - an Assistant director. This is the Director's second film and the Assistant tells me its his job to wrangle the actors and do all the administration so that the Director can concentrate on making the film. Wow! I’m in the wrong business. I’d love to have an Assistant Writer.
But their enthusiasm is wonderful to see and reminds me that I too have a creative pursuit I love and which makes my life worthwhile. (wish it paid a bit better, but then most of us are in the same boat)
They chat and eat sandwiches until the Director, a tall dark haired woman in too tight jeans and tee-shirt and an impressive set of Tattoos, turns up.
The girl with the painted track marks asks me if this is a good job to go with acting and since we already have two actors working at my station I tell her yes. (you can see one of them, wearing a plaid shirt in the current Sportsbet ad.)
The girl is wearing a street hooker outfit with the most amazingly tall black shoes covered in spikes, which she walks in with great aplomb as the crew goes down to the platform to do its shots. Her co-star (who has had to change in our toilets –shudder-) is a young girl in a school uniform with a peach coloured beanie.
I get chatting with the Assistant Director. He tells me it’s a professional shoot with funding, permits and and -well - an Assistant director. This is the Director's second film and the Assistant tells me its his job to wrangle the actors and do all the administration so that the Director can concentrate on making the film. Wow! I’m in the wrong business. I’d love to have an Assistant Writer.
But their enthusiasm is wonderful to see and reminds me that I too have a creative pursuit I love and which makes my life worthwhile. (wish it paid a bit better, but then most of us are in the same boat)
Happy Valentine's Day
On Valentine’s day saw a sweet couple on the station - both of them good looking and hip in t-shirts and jeans even though they were probably in their early sixties. Both of them had the walking sticks and tremors that speak of Parkinson’s disease. They seemed in the throes of new love, nuzzling each other, cuddling and laughing intimately. I couldn't help speculating that they might have met at Parkinson’s rehab class at the nearby hospital. Where there’s life, there’s still a chance to be happy.
A regular
G, one of our regulars is extremely disabled. He drives his wheelchair with a stick mounted on his head and communicates by tapping out words on a communicator. Were I so disabled, I think I’d be scared to leave the house, but G goes out to his job most days and has a busy social life. Recently I was tasteless enough to tease him about checking out the pretty girls. The way he taped out “I’m engaged” and the dignified way he looked at me as it sounded out, made me feel rather small. Serves me right!
Yesterday he was waiting for a friend at the barriers and we got chatting. Hundreds of people headed for the Soundwave festival were going past and my task was to call out “Soundwave passengers - buses to the left!” at regular intervals.
I was startled to hear a little mechanical voice repeating my words. G had typed the words into his communicator and helpfully kept pressing the button at regular intervals until his friend arrived and he shot off in his wheel chair to greet him.
Yesterday he was waiting for a friend at the barriers and we got chatting. Hundreds of people headed for the Soundwave festival were going past and my task was to call out “Soundwave passengers - buses to the left!” at regular intervals.
I was startled to hear a little mechanical voice repeating my words. G had typed the words into his communicator and helpfully kept pressing the button at regular intervals until his friend arrived and he shot off in his wheel chair to greet him.
Fare evaders
Fare Evaders
Rail employees try not to travel in their uniforms. If you do, you run the risk of having someone have a loud pointed conversation on the next seat about how crap Metro is (apparently you are supposed be so cut, you go home and sort this out) or how Myki (the ticketing system) is the worst thing that ever happened (I kid you not. This person must have had a pretty easy life up till then.)
However the other day, I didn’t have time to change. As I pottered down the aisle looking for a seat, a young man did a double take, seized his laptop and fled out from the carriage. Lol! I suspected, and the woman opposite thought so too, that he feared I was a ticket inspector bringing fines and recriminations. Even though I am the greeniest, leftiest, bleeding heart liberalist person you are ever likely to meet, I enjoyed a dazzling moment of evil villain glee at having a young man flee before me. Bwahahaha! Everyone has an inner fascist somewhere.
Rail employees try not to travel in their uniforms. If you do, you run the risk of having someone have a loud pointed conversation on the next seat about how crap Metro is (apparently you are supposed be so cut, you go home and sort this out) or how Myki (the ticketing system) is the worst thing that ever happened (I kid you not. This person must have had a pretty easy life up till then.)
However the other day, I didn’t have time to change. As I pottered down the aisle looking for a seat, a young man did a double take, seized his laptop and fled out from the carriage. Lol! I suspected, and the woman opposite thought so too, that he feared I was a ticket inspector bringing fines and recriminations. Even though I am the greeniest, leftiest, bleeding heart liberalist person you are ever likely to meet, I enjoyed a dazzling moment of evil villain glee at having a young man flee before me. Bwahahaha! Everyone has an inner fascist somewhere.
Heavy Metal Granny
Three generations of a family come into the station
The elderly lady is wearing an AC/DC T-shirt. I myself was a big fan years ago before Bon Scott died. But she’s older than me.
“I have to ask, are you an AC/DC fan?” I say
“Oooh yes” says she. “We’ve got tickets to the concert.” She waves at her son.
“Yes we’re big fans,” says the son. He gestures to the toddler he’s carrying. “That why he’s called Angus. After Angus Young.”
It’s lovely when families share interests, though not a lot of people go to rock concerts with their mother/grandmother.
The elderly lady is wearing an AC/DC T-shirt. I myself was a big fan years ago before Bon Scott died. But she’s older than me.
“I have to ask, are you an AC/DC fan?” I say
“Oooh yes” says she. “We’ve got tickets to the concert.” She waves at her son.
“Yes we’re big fans,” says the son. He gestures to the toddler he’s carrying. “That why he’s called Angus. After Angus Young.”
It’s lovely when families share interests, though not a lot of people go to rock concerts with their mother/grandmother.
