ÖV
Or Life Without My Green Nissan Micra I Called Salad.
Part One
Zurich Examples.
Public transportation in Switzerland is very special to me. Actually, it carries a significant meaning to the whole nation. Greetings to the bus-guy.
Tuesday, Berne-Zürich
I need to be at the airport at 9:30 so this calls for the eight o’clock InterCity. I am incredibly sleepy and the thought of a cup of the bad coffee from the little Elvetino-carriage on wheels makes me sit on the upper floor and keeps me awake. It is a very special morning, because none of us there going somewhere today says a word, and everyone has feet-space; it is indeed unusually quiet, so I, too, switch off my phone and close the eyes. The little friendly man is yelling from the back: „Kaffee-Tee-Gipfeli-Sandwich-Mineraaal!“
Same day, Zürich-Berne
I have always wanted to write a train story. Perhaps a crime one. There is an utterly unattractive young man in a pink pullover sitting across. I wonder if he would soon kill someone in my crime story. He definitely looks as if able to. He entered just before the train took off and asked me the damn question: Ischdanofrei? I wonder if anyone ever tried simply saying no, this here is not available for you. I felt so much like it – and instead of telling him that all the three free seats were taken by my bag, my Mac and my imaginary friend Anna I heard myself replying JA. He was rude enough to take the window seat so I had to move my feet. Naturally, he has now turned on his hiphopping Ipod, is now watching me and drawling through his yellow teeth. I have decided that his character is the one to meet his end in my book.
Saturday night, Zürich-Bern
I have just had a wonderful day. Long undisturbed sleep in the morning followed by a cup of perfect cappuccino in the Café Federal. Cooking delicious thai food with an old friend Philipp, accompanied by an excellent white wine and high quality conversation, followed by a late-night shot of grappa and a half an hour of sparkling chat with Yvonne. Having capsuled all these emotions I enter the train and try to find an available seat facing the driving direction. I hate sitting backwards but I compensate it by asking a handsome guy travelling alone if the one across him was still free. We immediately have an unspoken understanding regarding the arrangement of feet and he has cute green eyes. Everything looks promising until a minute before the doors close two giggling teenagers plump themselves next to us. Both of us throw them icy looks, and then look at each other in a silent agreement. Perhaps I could write a love-story, instead. Great material available here in the public transportation just waiting to be put down.
Part One
Zurich Examples.
Public transportation in Switzerland is very special to me. Actually, it carries a significant meaning to the whole nation. Greetings to the bus-guy.
Tuesday, Berne-Zürich
I need to be at the airport at 9:30 so this calls for the eight o’clock InterCity. I am incredibly sleepy and the thought of a cup of the bad coffee from the little Elvetino-carriage on wheels makes me sit on the upper floor and keeps me awake. It is a very special morning, because none of us there going somewhere today says a word, and everyone has feet-space; it is indeed unusually quiet, so I, too, switch off my phone and close the eyes. The little friendly man is yelling from the back: „Kaffee-Tee-Gipfeli-Sandwich-Mineraaal!“
Same day, Zürich-Berne
I have always wanted to write a train story. Perhaps a crime one. There is an utterly unattractive young man in a pink pullover sitting across. I wonder if he would soon kill someone in my crime story. He definitely looks as if able to. He entered just before the train took off and asked me the damn question: Ischdanofrei? I wonder if anyone ever tried simply saying no, this here is not available for you. I felt so much like it – and instead of telling him that all the three free seats were taken by my bag, my Mac and my imaginary friend Anna I heard myself replying JA. He was rude enough to take the window seat so I had to move my feet. Naturally, he has now turned on his hiphopping Ipod, is now watching me and drawling through his yellow teeth. I have decided that his character is the one to meet his end in my book.
Saturday night, Zürich-Bern
I have just had a wonderful day. Long undisturbed sleep in the morning followed by a cup of perfect cappuccino in the Café Federal. Cooking delicious thai food with an old friend Philipp, accompanied by an excellent white wine and high quality conversation, followed by a late-night shot of grappa and a half an hour of sparkling chat with Yvonne. Having capsuled all these emotions I enter the train and try to find an available seat facing the driving direction. I hate sitting backwards but I compensate it by asking a handsome guy travelling alone if the one across him was still free. We immediately have an unspoken understanding regarding the arrangement of feet and he has cute green eyes. Everything looks promising until a minute before the doors close two giggling teenagers plump themselves next to us. Both of us throw them icy looks, and then look at each other in a silent agreement. Perhaps I could write a love-story, instead. Great material available here in the public transportation just waiting to be put down.
tinkerblond - 14. Aug, 08:00
Been there. Done that.
o The teens: They seem to hate walking nowadays.
o The revoked-drivers-license-guy: Sits on the places facing backwards to be able to stare at every girl entering the bus.
o The junkie: No money, but in need of a warm place for a fix.
o The granny: Never got around doing the drivers license (no need when pops was still around).
o The ethno: Doesn't sit down, but likes to block the whole place with his bicycle
o The mom with her kids: Has time and it's an experience for the kids.
o The business guy: Rather works than trying to impress someone with his fast car.
o The refugee: Isn't paid enough to get a car.
o The Bus Guy: Does it for his own little social studies, and because he's a firm believer in saving earth by not using his motorcycle. (Plus, he's a small business guy :-)
Luckily, people will only sit next to me when there's no other possibility. They tend to look at me, hacking away something on my box, decide that the sound of my keyboard is too much for a whole ride, and stick themselves into the crowdy 3-people compartment.
(Lesson for today: Macs are sweet - but not noisy enough to scare people off. Or, I'm fugly :-)