Connex is the worst example of the abuses of monopoly I have seen in my life.
For those of you who may not know, the current fractious and gloriously inefficient Melbournian transport system is the result of Premier Jeff Kennett's privatisation of what was formerly a unified, state owned and operated industry.
The grand old days of the Met featured elderly, genial tram inspectors, who helped mothers with prams get into the quaint green vehicles, who would sit down for a chat with little children like myself, and manually staple a hole your weekly, monthly or yearly ticket to track your patronage. Trains ran on time, and were rarely canceled. When they were, the reason was announced, and it was generally a good one, not this "signaling error" bollocks of the current day. Buses were not the best, but at least they came on time and the drivers were nice enough people who just tried to do their job.
Flash forward to the woeful, government subsidised crap of today. This system, running late and often with chronically canceled trains, could not even survive on it's own without Sate government subsidies. Ticket inspectors and real staff have been replaced with humming machines that only take change.
Dozens of stations formerly manned by government employees were turned into dead stations, filthy and dark places lit by insufficient lighting and "monitored" by a single camera who usefulness is questionable. There are big red buttons at these stations, manned by grumpy, unseen bureaucrats who explain with as few words (and as little actual explanation) as possible why all trains on the Upfield line have been canceled for the night.
These places are places that I would never like to see my younger sister or grandfather at, yet both of my family members regularly travel through these places.
I'm going to put up pictures of Jacana, Moonee Ponds and Merlynston Station at night to give you an idea of what I'm talking about.
On top of that, today (16/09/07) I witnessed a travesty. I alighted upon the 9:25pm Broadmeadows Train to Flinders Street. As I walked down the empty carriage, I attempted to find a seat that was not covered in grime. Newspapers, discarded drink bottles, sticky remnants of chewing gum, mysterious patches of dark matter that I can only describe as "rank" filled the carriage. I walked down the entire length of three carriages of the empty train, and could not find one seat that was not dirty, settling for a little bit of rank beside a discarded Mc Donalds drink.
The train left 2 minutes late, as per usual, making up its driver's lazy time by offering the narrowest possible window for which the doors remain open at any given stop. An of course, there were the prerequisite ticket "inspectors", who came and checked my ticket. I showed them the ticket, and of course, came the additional: "Where is your concession card?"
Concession card?
Oh yeah. The card that we paid up to $20.00 for, the little piece of paper form a corner or some bureaucratic form to prove I'm a student. Despite the school uniform that I was wearing for four years of Melbourne High. Despite both my high school and university student cards. I still could be "faking" my student status to save a measly $10 on a ticket - so you charge me $20.00 to prove it. Nice little money maker you got there, considering the tens of thousands of students who use public transport.
Instead of the genial elderly gentlemen of my youth, we have big, unshaven Gestapo in trenchcoats, trudging eagerly toward commuters who have dealt with sub-par service and non-functional ticket machines to "check their tickets". Not once, but twice did this occur to me, both on the first train and on the 10:50pm Flinders St train to Alamein. I mentioned to the first bunch of Gestapo: "This train is bloody filthy, mate.", to which he glibly replied "Yeah, I know. They're all like that."
They're all like that. And you know it.
Let's see. In most developed (and by developed, I mean civilised and reasonable) cities, inspectors sell you a ticket if you don't have one. In Japan, one can "buy the cheapest ticket indicated on the vending machine and pay the difference due at the fare adjustment office at your destination station before you go through the exit wicket."
Wow.
I got on the train to Mary's house, and some poor sop runs to make the rapidly closing doors. I move to help him, but he helps himself with a heroic lunge, forcing open the door for just a second and getting into the train.
The Gestapo don't like that. Three of them, prowling like some pack of wolves, they corner the poor fellow and talk down to him, Law & Order interrogation style, telling him that getting on a train by forcing open doors is an offence.
Connex. We apologise for any inconvenience caused.
For those of you who may not know, the current fractious and gloriously inefficient Melbournian transport system is the result of Premier Jeff Kennett's privatisation of what was formerly a unified, state owned and operated industry.
The grand old days of the Met featured elderly, genial tram inspectors, who helped mothers with prams get into the quaint green vehicles, who would sit down for a chat with little children like myself, and manually staple a hole your weekly, monthly or yearly ticket to track your patronage. Trains ran on time, and were rarely canceled. When they were, the reason was announced, and it was generally a good one, not this "signaling error" bollocks of the current day. Buses were not the best, but at least they came on time and the drivers were nice enough people who just tried to do their job.
Flash forward to the woeful, government subsidised crap of today. This system, running late and often with chronically canceled trains, could not even survive on it's own without Sate government subsidies. Ticket inspectors and real staff have been replaced with humming machines that only take change.
Dozens of stations formerly manned by government employees were turned into dead stations, filthy and dark places lit by insufficient lighting and "monitored" by a single camera who usefulness is questionable. There are big red buttons at these stations, manned by grumpy, unseen bureaucrats who explain with as few words (and as little actual explanation) as possible why all trains on the Upfield line have been canceled for the night.
These places are places that I would never like to see my younger sister or grandfather at, yet both of my family members regularly travel through these places.
I'm going to put up pictures of Jacana, Moonee Ponds and Merlynston Station at night to give you an idea of what I'm talking about.
On top of that, today (16/09/07) I witnessed a travesty. I alighted upon the 9:25pm Broadmeadows Train to Flinders Street. As I walked down the empty carriage, I attempted to find a seat that was not covered in grime. Newspapers, discarded drink bottles, sticky remnants of chewing gum, mysterious patches of dark matter that I can only describe as "rank" filled the carriage. I walked down the entire length of three carriages of the empty train, and could not find one seat that was not dirty, settling for a little bit of rank beside a discarded Mc Donalds drink.
The train left 2 minutes late, as per usual, making up its driver's lazy time by offering the narrowest possible window for which the doors remain open at any given stop. An of course, there were the prerequisite ticket "inspectors", who came and checked my ticket. I showed them the ticket, and of course, came the additional: "Where is your concession card?"
Concession card?
Oh yeah. The card that we paid up to $20.00 for, the little piece of paper form a corner or some bureaucratic form to prove I'm a student. Despite the school uniform that I was wearing for four years of Melbourne High. Despite both my high school and university student cards. I still could be "faking" my student status to save a measly $10 on a ticket - so you charge me $20.00 to prove it. Nice little money maker you got there, considering the tens of thousands of students who use public transport.
Instead of the genial elderly gentlemen of my youth, we have big, unshaven Gestapo in trenchcoats, trudging eagerly toward commuters who have dealt with sub-par service and non-functional ticket machines to "check their tickets". Not once, but twice did this occur to me, both on the first train and on the 10:50pm Flinders St train to Alamein. I mentioned to the first bunch of Gestapo: "This train is bloody filthy, mate.", to which he glibly replied "Yeah, I know. They're all like that."
They're all like that. And you know it.
Let's see. In most developed (and by developed, I mean civilised and reasonable) cities, inspectors sell you a ticket if you don't have one. In Japan, one can "buy the cheapest ticket indicated on the vending machine and pay the difference due at the fare adjustment office at your destination station before you go through the exit wicket."
Wow.
I got on the train to Mary's house, and some poor sop runs to make the rapidly closing doors. I move to help him, but he helps himself with a heroic lunge, forcing open the door for just a second and getting into the train.
The Gestapo don't like that. Three of them, prowling like some pack of wolves, they corner the poor fellow and talk down to him, Law & Order interrogation style, telling him that getting on a train by forcing open doors is an offence.
Connex. We apologise for any inconvenience caused.
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