T is a Dirty Letter

Or, Public Transport is a Royal Pain at the Very Worst Possible Moments

When I had my First Day Trial at Chaddy, I had to take a tram, then train, then bus to get there. Wait, that didn't sound half as painful as it was: First, I had to wait in the cold for the tram to come, and when it finally arrived, I squeezed in like just another sardine and tolerated the oh-so-near-yet-so-many-stops-more ride to the train station. Part One down, wonderful. I'm good on time, as I'd planned.

Part Two: Did I say just another sardine? Make that just another whale in a sardine can. That's what it felt like, at least. No worries, I can find my own little spot at the platform and wait for the train that never seems to arrive because Attention All Passengers: The 11.04 Pakenham train departing from Platform 1 is due to arrive at 11.23. Connex appologizes for any inconvenience caused. Attention Ladies and--

WHAT???

Part Two Point Five: I am finally at the Murrumbeena Station, running so late my stomach is knotted to make a sailor proud. Some frenzied asking and frantic walking later, I manage to make it to the right bus stop, and believe me, there are many. Of course, the bus is not due til another 10 minutes of eternity.

Did I mention I've never tram-train-bused to Chaddy before? I had absolutely no idea where I was, nor did I have the store number on me to tell them I was running late. This was becoming worse than a nightmare, because this was painfully real.

Part Two Point Seven Five: The bus comes, I board, and then as busses are known to do, it waits. And waits. I swear my innards were going to spill right out of my mouth any moment then.

Part Three: And you think: she's finally made it!

But not before having to try and find the store! And when I say find, I mean treasure hunt. If my brain was actually working, I might have prayed I'd find the Information Counter along the way so I could ask for directions. Which I did, eventually, which then lead me to where I needed to be. But not before the Manager from Head Office called, and I had to well, take the call. While huffing and puffing and all flustered, running madly around to find the store, in high heels.

I'm telling you, I could feel strands of my hair turning grey.

That, my friends, was my virgin day at work, my eventful First Day Trial. Arriving like The Queen an entire half hour late!

Then, of course, there was The Fourth Day in the City. I should have so seen it coming, just when I was making such a good comeback as well. Stupid Murphy.

The short version of things is that the tram in front of the one I was in hit a car. Or the car hit the tram, I don't know. Whatever.

There I am, merrily on my way to work and very pleased with myself for making it past the trial despite the very bad first impression, and the next two days of work after, when Ladies and Gentlemen, There has been An Accident in Front of Us, We Expect to be Delayed for the Next Five Minutes Or So, and the tram comes to a full and very much past five minute halt. I was so on schedule, up until then. Was I being jinxed or what?

You have no idea how stressed I was sitting there, watching a growing number of tram drivers gathering around the car, taking long drawls from their cigarettes and moving like they were in some slow, country town. And the car was sitting on the tram tracks. It was just sitting there, very still and very assuredly blocking any trams from moving forward. Now I know I said the car was hit. I meant a door was dented -- no one died or got hurt, the wheels, engine, steering was intact and as they proved a zillion eons later, it had no trouble being driven off the tracks like it was brand new.

I couldn't get out and change trams, and like the first time, I couldn't call to say I was running behind because, like the first time, I hadn't expected to be calling the store 10 minutes before I was due in to work let alone for the second time, and so, didn't have the number on me. How many bloody store numbers am I meant to keep anyway? I was brilliant blue in the face, and utter panic, pure frustration and livid anger is a bad mix, let me assure you.

Trams and Trains and Transport and Time, Trifle With Me Not! One day I might be diagnosed with clinical anxiety, and then I'd really feel like sueing someone, and it may well be you.