Feeling warm and fuzzy on the #57 tram

Have I mentioned that I like trams?

They rock!

Take today's trip into the city for example. Waiting at my stop with an Asian woman and her young daughter. As the tram pulls up the Aussie driver spots the woman and her daughter and starts waving to the girl. As they get on he proudly says hello in their language and they exchange xmas greetings.

I settle into my seat and watch the hijab-wearing West African woman search in her purse for coins for the fascist coins-only ticket vending machine. She realises she only has a $5 note and starts to panic at which point an elderly Australian woman taps her on arm and points to the old Chinese man who has noticed and is holding out $5 worth of coins. She accepts with a lovely smile, sitting down and then shuffling over to make space as a young pregnant woman gets on.

At the next stop an 'Aussie working bloke' gets on the tram carrying approximately 3 cubic tons of scrap metal, perfect for gouging eyes and piercing lungs when the tram stops suddenly. The driver, having had no response to his 'you can't get on with that mate' warning, comes barreling down the tram and an almighty altercation ensues, with the exceedingly grumpy bloke getting back off after the driver stood his ground with the silent support of the whole tram.

We carry on and the tram gets progressively fuller as more and more xmas shoppers get on, heading towards the city. An elderly woman gets on and gratefully accepts my seat. She rewards me with an entertaining evesdropping conversation with the young pregnant woman about her grandchildren, their ages, schooling, plans for the future etc.

I reluctantly get off at my stop, amply reminded why it is that I love trams.

Ashley who?

"So I was sitting on the train right? And these 3 kids were sitting behind me and one of them was like SUCH a try hard!"

Y'know, one of those girls who has just just got her slappa L-plates and is revelling in the fact that she's a grownup girl now and super proud of her newfound sexual prowess (rrrrroawwwww!). There were 3 of them sitting there but she was the only audible one, sort of excitedly talking and being all grownup, dishing the dirt on exes ("He can't get it up!") and the various bitches who had crossed her ("Just cos' I slept with her boyfriend she gets all seppo!")

A highlight for me was an exchange between the guy she was sitting with where he asked "Ashley who?" and she replied, "You know, the one who looks like me who gave you head who you kissed right after! Remember? I found out and asked you 'how's the sperm?' [cue: maniacal self-satisfied cackling]"

Nothing like a good sperm joke to end the day :-)

Boogie Mamma!

I usually take the train home in the evenings around 7pm - a commuting time now reknowned for its smiling faces and good vibes. A couple of weeks ago though, my partner told me about a passenger he had seen, who sounded like just the solution. Last night I had the pleasure of sharing his company.

I boarded the carriage and found to my delight that a man in workman-type clothes was playing blues on his harmonica - not busking for money mind you - just playing for the love of it. He looked maybe one baguette short of a gourmet picnic but boy could he play.

Initially it was short set-pieces of a few chords (I suspect designed for serenading the passengers or simply announcing his presence) as people boarded at each station. As we pulled away from the city and the train got faster between stops the pieces became longer and more vigorous, incorporating foot stamping and tapping the harmonica case against the back of a seat. At the end of one particularly vigorous piece he yelled out 'Boogie Mamma!' All songs were timed to last the distance between stops so the longer you stayed on, the longer the concert.

I was sitting immediately behind him, facing in the other direction, and it was great to watch all these jaded commuters discretely smiling and looking appreciative (after the initial WTF?! - type response of course), although no one clapped or let on that they did like it.

As I reluctantly got off at my station, I murmured "Have a good night mate" to him (in my best pseudo-ocker accent - notice the cunning placement of the 'mate' for authentic effect). The result was a broad grin and a "You too, merry xmas" from the Boogie Man. Brightened up my journey no end and left me feeling rather warm and fuzzy and just a wee bit seasonal (but don't tell anyone).

Lost in translation?

Chilling out on my usual 10.14am train ride into the city (hardworking student-type that I am) and find myself spending most of the journey staring at a woman's chest.

Now this is not really typical behaviour on my part (honest!) but the chest in question belonged to a middle-aged Vietnamese woman who was dressed in the standard 'tidy-casual mother' attire: exactly the right length blue jeans, black undershirt with black jacket over the top and gold 'Mum Jewellery TM'.

I was staring because the black shirt under the black jacket appeared to be one of those blokey humour t-shirts. You know the kind, "my other car is a porsche', 'if you can read this the bitch fell off' ad infinitum titter titter titter. This one read 'So you're a feminist? How CUTE!'. What's more, the word 'cute' was in those fabulous pink sequin thingys that mums of a certain age are so fond of. Have to admit that it looked a little incongrous emblazoned on the chest of this particular lady but there you go, I guess there's a misogynist (or poor interpreter?) in us all.