Oops, I Touched a Sleeping Stranger

The first night in a new hostel always seems a little confounding, and Space Hotel was no exception. There I had booked into a six-bed female dorm room. In the middle of the night I got up in to use the restroom. 

Upon returning to the room, it was really dark. Some hostels don’t have adequate window covering, but that was not the case at Space. It was especially murky since I had not really cleared my eyes properly and had come from the brightly lit hall.

I missed my bed, just walked right past it. When I reached what I thought was my bed, I stretched my hand out to make sure I was close enough and jumped when I touched a blanket--I always throw the covers off so I can easily hop back between the sheets.

I shuffled around and made it to my bed. Oh, and I don’t think my neighbor knew I almost got into her bed with her.

The Anti-Comedian Bus Driver

Over the first weekend in March, there were no (reasonable) rooms available in Adelaide due to it being Mad March, the festival season. Someone told me there are 200 separate events that occur in March in Adelaide! The Clipsal 500 stock car race put the city over the edge as far as rooms go. So I took a trip to Melbourne to see my friends. It worked out cheaper to do that than to stay in town. 

The bus driver on the overnight bus there thought he was a comedian, but he was only humorous in the awkward sense. He started off the 8:30 pm ride with a boisterous, “How is everyone?” Silence. “What if I make everyone give me $5? Now how is everyone?” Crickets. “How about I make it $10?” Finally someone piped up a dry, “We’re all fine,” just to shut him up. “Why are you speaking for everyone?”

After the 15 minute safety video, he went on to talk for another 10 minutes about using the toilet on the bus. “If you don’t make sure the bowl empties, it will back up and pour out on the floor of the bathroom and spill out into the bus. You don’t want that. Also, guys, please point down when you use the toilet…you know what I mean…your willie.” If they knew what he meant, why did he say it?

“I’m going to put on a movie now. If you’ve already seen it, you don’t have to watch it again. You could read or listen to music or try to sleep.” I mean, it's a bus, so I would say the options are pretty obvious. At least he didn’t repeat the safety video or the toilet spiel at every stop throughout the night.

Upon arrival in Melbourne, he proceeded to talk for 15 minutes about what you need to do if you were going on to Sydney via bus or going to the airport or taking a train or about five other options. “And if Melbourne is your home, just don’t say anything. You know what to do.”

Have a Nice Trip

Last weekend I walked by Chatime, and there was a line out the door. ‘Ooo, popular place!’ I thought to myself. I’m not one to wait in line, so I passed on by. The next day when I walked by, there was only one person in the shop, so I entered and selected chocolate milk tea.

Now in Australia, they have these ingenious devices that put a plastic seal on your smoothie or juice cup, and you get a straw with a pointy end, like Capri Sun, to stab into the drink. I punctured the top and took one delicious sip. Then I walked to the corner to cross the street.

Taking another sip, I began to cross but caught my toe on the tram rail. My beverage sprang from my hand and shattered on the ground. I thought I had caught myself and wasn't going to fall, but alas, I had not. In what seemed like slow motion, I fell directly onto the puddle of delightful drink, covering my entire left side.

Some guy asked if I was ok, very concernicus. “Yes, thank you.” I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as I walked away.

Double the Arrests, Double the Fun

Arrest Number 1:

After a couple drinks in Melbourne, Scott, Adele, and I walked to Melbourne Central station to catch the train to the suburbs, where we were staying. The departures screen informed us that our next train left in 15 minutes, so they sat down for a rest. 

Scott swiftly turned around and grabbed the handrail of the “up” escalator, but he could only support himself for a few seconds. When he had slid back down, he said, “Mon, get a video of me!” So I obliged and shot a short video.

On his third time up, two transport security officers came over and tried to get his attention, “Sir, what are you doing? Sir, get down. Sir, that’s how people get hurt.” One officer spoke with Scott, and the other addressed myself then Adele. “Do you know it’s illegal to take pictures down here?” He pointed to a sign directly behind me that I clearly had not seen. It looked something like this, but it also included a camera icon. 

“Ohmygod, no! I’ll delete them right now.” “Well don’t worry about that now.” My mouth went dry. Shit. “Do you have ID?”

“Are you all English?” I overheard Scott’s officer. “We are," he indicated himself and Adele, "but she’s American,” Scott replied.

I handed him my driver’s license. “Are you a resident or traveling?” “We’re all traveling on working holiday visas.” He wrote down my name and asked my date of birth. He wanted to get correct documentation since America is not down with the rest of the world, which writes dates day-month; we write dates month-day.

He asked for Adele’s ID. Now, Adele had done nothing wrong, so she had taken a step back. She looked as terrified as I felt (and, as it turns out, also looked). He took her info down in his notebook, as well.

As he handed us back our IDs, Adele asked what happens next. “Oh this one’s trouble,” he indicated to the other officer but offered no explanation. The guy who had been talking with Scott piped up, “We can’t fine you because you’re not residents.” Sigh of relief.

Scott later informed us that as soon as his officer saw his ID, he said, “Oh shit. You’re English, so I can’t issue a citation.” I don’t understand why the guy talking with Adele and I couldn’t have offered us the same courtesy--he just left us hanging.

And to top off almost being arrested, the departures screen lied to us. There were no more trains from that station, so we missed the last one back. Then we had to battle hundreds of others trying to hail taxis right at shift change, so it took us an hour to finally find someone who would take us there. 

Arrest Number 2: 

The next day, as we were riding the train into town, two transport officers came through the car checking everyone’s Myki (metro) card to make sure everyone paid for their ride. When he came up to us, he looked at me with my feet up on the seat and said, “Do you know that having your feet on the seat is a finable offence.” Crap not again. “No.” “I’ll need to see your ID.”

I start to retrieve my license. “Since I’ve caught you doing it, I will have to make a report. If the transport authority decides to issue a citation, it will come in the mail.” I feel immediately relieved because, having been through this the night before, I now know I won’t be fined.

Handing him my license I answer, “Ok,” polite and agreeable, “I’m American, so how does that work?” He gets snippy, “You’re not a resident?” “No, sir.” “Are you living in Melbourne?” “No.”

“Are you staying in Melbourne?” inquired his sidekick. “We’re staying outside the city tonight, but we’re staying in a hostel in the city tomorrow.” “How long have you been in Melbourne?” “Just for the weekend; I’m going to Adelaide Tuesday.”

The guy jumps back in, “Common sense tells you not to put your feet on the seat. Do they have trains in the state of” he checks my ID “Illinois?” “Yes.” “Do they allow you to put your feet on the seats there?” I wasn’t going to stoop to his rudeness level and reply that no one really cares if you put your feet on the seat, nor would anyone get fined for having feet on the seat. If a transport employee did come through and cared enough, they would just ask you to please put your feet on the floor.

“To be honest, I’ve never ridden the train in Illinois.” That was a lie, but really it’s been years since I did. He reiterated the common sense bit and moved on, not bothering to take down my information.

By the way, it’s not as if I had muddy or even dirty shoes, in which case common sense would have kicked in, and I would not have had them on the seat. Also, I could have informed him that the train from Melbourne to Adelaide does not have such a rule, since we all had our feet up a couple weeks prior. Had he been polite about the whole thing, I may have felt sorry for putting my feet on the seat, but as he was exceedingly rude, I don’t.

Here's Your Sign, part 2

More signs that amused me:

Some people I know should set these up

Seems cheap for pot

At the beach, maybe waves should be expected

And you can help prevent them pooping on you

Say hello to my little friend. It'll blow you away...literally

This dog is so talented, its poo spells "poo"

Put your hands in the air, like you just don't care

Even when I do hold on, I still flail about

You know there was a spitting problem if they had to put up a sign

So polite and helpful

This warning should apply to "abled" people as well as "handies"...ok, maybe just me

Didn't know this was a song until a few days later

Maybe one should not be packing either dogs or cats

We want our flames fully clothed

I'd be more worried the handle was hygienic

What soundtrack are you putting to the visual in the restroom?

Mexican steroids may actually be way more dangerous than a delicious burrito

Oh, haha...burgers...I wondered where you were going with that

Maybe Jesus is not the best spokesperson for YOLO

You're grammar is awful