Slippery when wet or too sick for dinner

Probably my grossest (yeah so what?! I know it's not a real word) experience to date on public transport was the time a chick spewed in the doorway of the tram, a millisecond before she got off. Got off the tram, that is, not any other slang use of that term.

Anyway, I really should start at the beginning. This was another journey along Route 16 and everything was normal for part of the journey, until I noticed a very seedy looking lady sitting at the end of the tram. Each time the tram jerked along it's metal tracks, a panicked expression would flash across her face and her hand would clamp hold off her mouth in an attempt not too chunder. This went on for a good 20 mins and although I tried in vain to continue reading my novel, I really was far more concerned about whether she could keep her dinner down.

At last she made the move to disembark the tram and drunkenly shimmied over to the door. Thank Christ, I thought to myself, that was close. She pushed the buzzer for the next stop and the tram slowed down towards it's destination. All of a sudden she clutched her stomach and let rip an amazing technicolour yawn all over the floor of the tram. The tram stopped, the doors opened and she fled.

Everybody left on the tram was in shock. I checked my boots for speckles of puke and was glad to find them only covered in my own grime. Several people got up and moved as far as possible to the other end of the tram. I was sitting in the middle area, and I pondered my next move. But something took a hold of me, which I considered at the time to be a mature response but really was just utter stupidity. I decided to stay where I was to show that I was grown up and could handle a pile of vomit at my feet.

The tram continued along it's path and the smell of sick really started to become nauseating. But the story doesn't end here. A group of schoolboys got on the tram, unwittingly skidding through the puke as they boarded the tram. The were laughing and pushing and shoving one another like boys do, when one of them noticed the stinky mess. I took my leave of the situation and rushed to the back of the tram to watch in helpless despair. One boy threw his friend's bag on the noxious puddle and howled with laughter. The next boy pulled at the bag, then tried to push his mate towards it. This went on for about 10 mins, as my stomach clenched and I felt like I might end up re-inventing the gastric juices wheel.

Eventually the kids got off, and an older group of teenage boys got on. They were slightly more mature in the fact that they didn't try push each other in it, they simply conjured up every vomit story they could think of. Whether it was real or in a movie, they wanted to highlight the hilarious history of bile. By this point, I had turned totally green and considered getting off the tram in Armadale and getting a taxi home. Luckily the tram turned into a depot and the tram driver made an announcement that we were to change trams.

Needless to say I didn't eat dinner that night...

Wet seat

This is the story of why sometimes I'm courteous.

For a while I was catching the route 16 tram to Kew. Admittedly this route is not the greatest way to get to Kew from the city as it's mind-numbingly slow and it passes through St Kilda. Now I'm not saying St Kilda is without merit, cos it's a pretty fun place to hang out in Summer, or if you are a druggie or a prostitute. But it's a fuckin' shit place to catch public transport through. And I must emphasise, it's the 'through', not the 'to' St Kilda that's the problem.

If you catch the tram there and get off in Acland Street, you're all fine. But if you need to go further than that you are in for a bumpy ride. This is because the druggies and prostitutes get on there in search of greener pastures. The vastly overrated greener pastures of Caulfield, Armadale, Hawthorn and Kew.

One particular day I was sitting down the back of the tram, iPod in, eyes closed, when an extremely large, extremely drunk woman got on the tram. I shifted nervously in my seat, hoping she wouldn't sit next to me. She didn't, thank god but she sat on the seat directly in front of me. I was immediately grossed out by the slice of takeaway pizza that she had bought. Normally the smell of pizza at 5.30 at night on the tram would make my stomach rumble with hunger, but something about the way that she clutched hold of the greasy cupboard container really made me feel ill. She devoured the pizza in a matter of seconds and shortly afterwards got off the tram. She wasn't on here for very long, I thought to myself before glancing down her empty seat.

But it wasn't totally empty. She had left behind a puddle of urine. At first I thought maybe it was just a discolouration, an old dark stain from days of piddling past, from some other drunk who couldn't control their bladder back in 1994. But alas no, I realised all too soon when the smell of fresh wee wafted underneath my nostrils.

OK fine, I'll just move seats, I thought. I was about to get up when an unsuspecting commuter boarded the tram. They made a beeline for the empty seat. My heart started pounding as I weighed up my moral dilemma. Alert them to the issue or let them sit in it? That seat's wet, I squeaked. What? the passenger scowled back at me. It's wet, I returned, I wouldn't sit there if I was you. They walked away.

So I spent the rest of my journey home as the piss monitor, official keeper of the yellow wetness. Although it was a small act of kindness, it did reassure me that I'm not totally desensitised to the well being of strangers. Even though sometimes I do bump into people in the city and don't say sorry...