Timed to perfection...

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Is there a way to rush for the train, get your ticket, and make your train, without looking like a mangy street cat at the end of it all? (hereafter "Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend")

In the last three days, I have found the answer, and I urge you all to follow my winning ways, so that you can spare yourself the pain, sweat and tears that comes with being Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend who has sadly missed their train.

Method #1:

On Tuesday, I arranged to meet up with a friend from my previous work. I call her Mussus D and she calls me Sharon, because we both think Kath and Kim is hilarious and find it easy as pie to switch on the Aussie strine. She's more of a Mussus D than a Kimmoi and is definitely not a Kell, while I'm more of a Sharon than an Ebony-Ray and am also not a Kell. She recently had a baby girl (maybe she can be Ebony-Ray?) and Tuesday was the first time I would be seeing her post-birth.

Factoring in the walk to my local train station, I left myself an hour to get to Chatswood. The walk was relatively speedy by my standards and I got to to the top of the station steps with 25 minutes to spare. Chatswood from my stop takes precisely 16 minutes, and I felt good, I was in control. For once, I wouldn't have to run lopsided like Bambi on Rollerskates down two flights of stairs; for once I wouldn't have to thunder across the platform, with my jangling buckle boots announcing my arrival and inviting all on the platform to stare and follow my chunky sprint to the ticket counter, only to see me inevitably fall short, fumble my change and miss my train by a matter of seconds. I basked in the luxury of feeling ahead of schedule, and ambled slowly up the platform.

The key to knowing whether a train is coming without looking to the very end of the railway tracks, is to observe the actions of the elderly. Why, you ask? Because, they are the one group in today's society who will always be early. Everything takes longer, moves more slowly, requires more preparation time, so of course they'll be the first to stand for approaching trains, buses, trams, cars, horses, ferries, lions, tigers and bears.

I remember recalling this self-imposed tip as I ambled up the platform because I noticed a little granny steadying herself to stand up from the bench and inching cautiously towards her tartan trolley full of goodies. But how could this be? I had been at the top of the steps only 20 seconds before and there was no train to be seen!! I reassured myself that it was just granny being super prepared and super ready for the train when it should turn up, and continued at my snail's pace stroll.

But what was this? This time an elderly man, a classy one dressed in his Sunday best, was reaching for his hat. Was there really a train coming, because then I ought to have gotten a wriggle on right there and then- For the record, I could hear no train, there was no announcement about a "train approaching platform 2" and I was annoyed that these two were misleading me. What was this man doing? I mean, there is such a thing as being too early- it just means you have to stand for longer! In fact, I was just about to walk up to him and tell him that "the train's not coming yet", when the ghost train that I had neither heard nor seen coming suddenly chugged into view.

Of course, my body reacts as it always does in times of hurry; there is no surge in adrenaline, I just stop. I stopped cold in my tracks, stood with my mouth agape, and debated whether to run and snatch my ticket from Doogie Houser (my ticket guy looks like Doogie Houser) or act Cool Cat, and keep walking as slow as I was because I dreaded having to become Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend, and anyway, there would always be another train. I watched as the train stopped, and the doors snapped open. That was all it took.

I sprinted full steam ahead to the ticket counter: Please let Doogie be fast today, please let Doogie be fast today, I thought as I ran. But alas Doogie had chosen that precise moment to leave his post and was caught in the act trying to sneak out for some lunch (Who does that, when there's an approaching train?!!). I rapped my knuckles on the counter and he whipped back around, saw my frantic waving and sauntered back ever so leisurely to his post. I only had a 50 note, and he only has two hands and ten fingers, so obviously it was going to be a big ask. I told him my destination. He feigned not having heard me. I told him again. He fumbled the notes, the coins, the ticket and even he seemed to lose hope as he shoved them in one mighty mound under the slot in the plastic screen. I tried to scoop everything up and dropped a coin. By this stage the train doors were zooming shut, I scooped up the stray coin and lurched towards the train. They were shut.

F*ck! I walked all Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend-esque down the platform and that's when a super Cool Cat with the skinny jeans and hoodie who had just gotten off the train, used his brains to save the day. I myself have never seen this manoevure being used before, but it sure is effective. He feigned jumping back on the train- and I don't mean halfheartedly, I mean, he committed to acting like he was running for the train and jumping on, and this trick of the eye, was enough to fool the train man into opening the doors to let him on. In the instant the doors opened, Cool Cat stepped aside and without a word bowed towards the train as a waiter would when guiding customers to a table. "Aww thanks!" I huffed, and on the train I hopped.

So there you have it, Method #1 to winning your battle against the Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend. Clearly, it is a little tricky as you need:

1) A good Samaritan who
2) knows this trick

but it's a fine trick nonetheless and I reckon everyone should spread the word and give it a go.

Method #2:

Yesterday, MasterChef (aka My Sister who is a top notch cook) shouted mum and I to an afternoon of high tea and opera at the Opera House's Guillaume restaurant. This restaurant boasts a consistent record of two to three hats and the food, never-ending tea and bubbly, and Opera Singer to boot, did not disappoint. All you high tea fanatics out there, take the plunge, ignore the poshness and austerity of the oldies who comprise a large chunk of the diners, and eat, drink and enjoy every minute because it's an awesome way to spend an afternoon.

Anyway, so on our trip into town, mum and I found ourselves teetering dangerously close to Mangy Streetcat's Best Friend territory. We had finished descending the double set of station steps and were a metre away from the ticket counter when the train arrived. Third in queue, could we make it? Always the reliable one, Doogie was at the counter once more. "Two Returns to the City!" I barked and had to resist the urge to pull out my hair as he thoughtfully thumbed slowly through the notes, grabbed clumsily at the till and dispensed with the tickets. Doors closed. Mum and I looked at each other. She doesn't travel on trains much and looked forlorn and sad. We had been so close.

From somewhere up above or below, or to the side, a voice shouted "On you get love" and the doors burst open again. Only for an instant. No sooner had we leapt on had the doors closed again, and we rejoiced in our good fortune. Victory!

So: Method #2 is a little easier. It just requires some well directed sad faces, slumped shoulders and dejected posture, and the train ride will be yours.

Method #3:

On the same trip to high tea and still flushed from our earlier success, we got off at Wynyard and went down the steps on platform 6 for the final stretch to Circular Quay. We shouldn't have been surprised when we saw that the train was already there. And frankly I wasn't. I was becoming quite the pro and I was confident in my ability to coax those train doors to open if they ever closed. Mum who was none the wiser scuttled down the stairs, calling to me to hurry up. I rolled my eyes and kept walking down slowly. When I got to the bottom, mum was frowning 'til her frownlines could go no deeper. The doors had shut. I hooked my arm with mum's elbow and scanned the scrolling screen to see when the next train would arrive.

"Which station are you going to?"

It was the man on the train in charge of the doors.

"Circular Quay", I said pretending to look decidedly lost and confused.

"Come on, get on then, this is the one" commanded Nice Train Man in Charge of the Doors.

*Vooom!* the doors opened once more, we hopped on and we were winners will be grinners once more!

Method #3: Act like tourists, lost and confused, and the train man will help you out.

So if you're like me and your timing is anything but perfect, just remember the moral of today's story:

"Thou who is punctual will not necessarily beat Thou who is not punctual."

Deep, huh?