My twisted affair with comedy means that I frequently have to enjoy the gentle charm of the train ride to, and from, the Mecca for comedians that is Melbourne. I can't tell you what an absolute delight this is. Because that would be lying. The football enthusiasts late at night. The emo couple sucking each other's heavily pierced faces off opposite me, (and surely causing untold damage to their respective tongues, because at least one of them appears to have a tiny pitchfork through his). The iced out dudes regalling each other with tales of their sexual exploits for the benefit of the little old lady and her grandchildren across the aisle, and possibly, me. And I do indeed find their blow by blow description of lusty times 'with two hot lesbians' fascinating, erotic, and credible in the extreme. After all, what lesbians wouldn't want to enhance their lovemaking with the addition of a stoned, feral 16 year old on day leave from the detention centre?
Most of the train staff are lovely. But at least one way on each trip, there will be a 'Train Nazi'. And these train personnel are highly skilled in the art of humiliation - particularly if you BREAK THE LAW OF THE TRAIN BY PLACING YOUR FEET ON THE SEAT OPPOSITE YOU. This is an extremely serious offence, which is treated with due severity by the Train Nazi, who are all trained in what I'd describe as 'ripping you a new one', (or to be more 'p.c' - delivering this line in a loud and scathing manner): "WOULD YOU MIND REMOVING YOUR FEET FROM THE SEAT! IT'S AGAINST V-LINE RULES YOU KNOW. I COULD FINE YOU A LOT OF MONEY FOR THAT. A LOT OF MONEY. HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF I CAME OVER TO YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S PLACE AND PUT MY FEET UP ON HER LOUNGE SUITE?" To which I would like to respond: "Well it wouldn't really worry me that much, because Nanna's got plastic on her couch. All Nanna's do. It's the law." Followed by: "My Nanna's are both dead, you insensitive prick! Thanks for bringing it up."
It's gotten to the point that as well as personally refraining from attempting to achieve any level of comfort on the train myself, I am now scanning the carriage with hypervigialence for the entire trip so I can save unknowing relaxed commuters from their certain fate. I'm like the Schindler of V-Line. "Excuse me, but just so you know, certain train personnel really carry on about people having their feet on the seats, and aren't afraid to bring your grandmother into it, either!" The thanks I get for this is occasionally a sulky "Whatever" expression, (as though I'm the Nazi!), or a "Really?", accompanied by the all too familiar 'are you insane, woman?' look. But that's ok. I can live with that. It's for the greater good.
These last few weeks trips coming home from doing my comedy festival show the night before have been particularly harrowing. As well as often having little to no sleep, it's fair to say that there's quite the battle for space going on in my bloodstream between last night's bourbon, and my red and white blood cells. And this is a war that my blood cells will not win until much later in the day. In other words, I'm seedy as!
In this state, I find it harder than usual to tolerate the ambience of the country train, and the little quirks and eccentricities of the train dwellers. But yesterday, was the worst. It was so bad, I wondered if I might be being 'punked', or part of one of those shows where actors do extreme things to test people's reactions.
So in the seat opposite me, there's a guy who has 'a bit of a cold', and as such, finds it neccessary to, (there's no nice way to say this), suck the snot back into his nose. Every 60 seconds. EVERY 60 SECONDS. Without fail. Every 60 seconds, he snorts and does the snot sucking thing. I scan the train for empty seats so I can move, or pretend to get off at the next stop, (because for reasons not fully understood even to me, I don't want to hurt the snot sucker's feelings). It really sucks to be born kind.
But after a while, it's getting to me. I'm trying to read a book, which I keep having to start again every time he snorts. I start thinking of all the things I'd rather be doing, than being on this train right now. Eat raw eel. Sleep with Andrew Bolt. Stuff like that. Eventually, I'm running low on empathy, and my thoughts have turned to: Please get a tissue. Please stop doing that. Please die. Go on. You look old. You've had a good run. Please die, please die, please die, please die... Get off this train, or I will kill you. I will kill you myself. I don't have much energy, and what I do have I need to save for pretending to be perky when I get home, but I'll do it. I'll make it look like an accident. They'll think you choked on your own snot.
Just as I decide I will, in fact, jump from the train myself, he gets off. Off the train, I mean. I'm not saying 'he got off'. And I am happy. Life is sweet. Another guy sits in Snot Guy's seat. He looks a little stabby, to be quite frank, but I'm almost home. And almost asleep. The train hits something. BANG! Not something big, like a person. At least, not a big person. Probably a stick or something. But there's a loud BANG! The crazy guy stands up and scream his guts out! He screams the scream of the damned. Or someone who has been travelling with V-Line for too long. Then, he sits down. NO-ONE BATS AN EYELID! Like that's a normal occurrence on the 11.15 train to Bendigo. I am silently freaking out, fairly certain that we are all going to die. Pissed of about it, too. but fascinated that no-one is reacting in the slightest. I feel like Sean off 'Sean Of The Dead'. I get it! This is a zombie train, and everyone on it is a zombie! I'm the only one who is not a zombie. But, desperately in need of sleep and a double hit of an extreme caffeine beverage, with a Red Bull chaser, I am starting to feel zombie-like.
I stand at the door of the train before the train stops, and walk out into the real world, much more quickly than neccesary, but those zombies can get a bit of speed up. Tonight, I drive to Melbourne. And maybe have a few less bourbons.
Cath
What a horror trip, you poor thing. Mind you I pmsl at the snot guy. Snot guys are everywhere, and once you notice them for the first time your done for!!
Posted by: Taryn | April 25, 2009 at 11:57 AM