Trams and Kindness

 I went to catch a tram around Melbourne. The famous circle tram that allows you to whizz around the central city going clockwise or anti and hop on and off. 

There are many things to say about the public transport system in Melbourne.

“ Bloody Marvelous” might be the first thing that comes to mind. There are buses and trams going north and south and east and west. And for the central area of Melbourne, it is totally free.

Jump on. Space. No homeless people sleeping. Most people standing as they chat their way from one stop to the next. 

I was standing on La Trobe street waiting for the number 35, wondering whether it was a clockwise or anti day. The number 30 on it’s way to Docklands stopped. The “ stations” are in the middle of the road. The road is divided into a bicycle lane at each side then the lanes for the cars and in the middle are the four tram lines and every so often a short space for people to wait.

When the tram number 30 came by, I stood back. I wasn’t sure where the docklands was. The door where the driver sits was pulled open. 

“ waiting for the circle tram?” The driver asked me.

“ Yes,” I said.

“ Haven’t seen one all morning” , he said. “ I don’t think they’re running.”

“ Oh dear” I think I said.

“ Where are you going?” He asked.

“ Flinders Station” I said, Hoping that was a real place.

“ Jump on mine,” He said. “ two stops and get on the 58 that will get you there.”

“ Thank you, so much,” I said.

I was thinking about the bus ride I had made to partake in the Cyclavia event from 4th street in Santa Monica to West Hollywood. I had to load my bike on the front of the bus. I had never done it before and had to look at all these angry faces on the bus peering at me as I tried to work out how I could possibly balance my bike on this strip of metal and it not fall off. I eventually sorted it and got on for my ride to the joyous freedom of the automotive free Santa Monica Boulevard. We hadn’t traveled more than a few stops when a gentleman couldn’t line up his walker with the platform that the driver had activated for him to get on the bus. This guy was upset long before a bus came on the horizon. He started screaming about how he had served his country and this was the respect he got. He accused the driver, a man of Hispanic descent, of racism. He would not sit down as he hurled abuse on the grievous slight he had received. Everyone sat still on the bus. Not knowing on this Sunday afternoon whether they were watching something that would pass or stick and turn into violence. 

“ Sit down.” The driver said.

“ You call me Sir. “.

“ Sit down Sir.” The driver said.

“ You don’t have the right to address me. “

“ Just sit down” came the muffled murmur from the bus. Nobody wanting to move their lips loud enough for him to turn and spit at them. We weren’t moving. The bus was purring but not moving until angry man sat down. 

He sat, yelling as he went, for All the disappointment in his life and his thwarted moment of reckoning.

Maybe it’s because we don’t have trams anymore in Los Angeles. The tracks are still there in odd places. But the tire manufacturers and the car factories let them disappear without a whimper and made more roads for cars and buses to bump into each other . 

If we still had trams could I be standing on Santa Monica Boulevard, and have the tram driver lean out of window  and say “ are you heading away from the Ocean or towards it?”  

 I don’t know,” I could reply. “ is sunrise or sunset better?” “ You come with me and we’ll rattle along till the wheels hit the sand.  Then we’ll decide. “ Not in my City of Angels I fear.