I ditched the quiet carriage in favour of crunchy crisps, kids and conversation
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Version 0 of 1. For all the public shaming of racists on public transport, in my experience the worst insults are most likely to be muttered by the people who stalk quiet train carriages, wielding the baton of public decency. How did a well-intentioned idea to give people some peace turn into an excuse to hurl abuse? A policy to inspire consideration of your fellow traveller has become a vehicle to vent spleen and prejudice. Do you take the quiet carriage? It reveals more about you than you might think. On some trains in New South Wales, the network has banned loud music and mobile phone conversations and urged people to keep chatter to a minimum on half its long-distance carriages. Other states have too. The zealots – or sound wardens – have taken this dollop of authority and run with it. Related: Click! Whoosh! What annoys you most about technology in our lives? But what is quiet? Tapping on keyboards (as I am now, the horror), conversations of more than five words and the existence (noisy or otherwise) of children are being phased out by the wardens. If you take a quiet carriage, expect exaggerated sighs, coughs and long-distance stares from the outset. And in some cases, apparently, expect insults. On a train travelling north from Sydney one evening during the Sydney royal Easter show, the adult-to-child ratio on the quiet carriage was about five to one and the rest of the train was packed. It didn’t look good from the start; too many showbag sweets. As the day’s events were excitedly retold in the quiet carriage, a well-dressed woman lowered her glasses, exhaled loudly put down her novel. She accused a fellow passenger of being a “bad mother” and instructed her to keep everyone quiet. “Bad mother” replied there was little she could do since all the other carriages were full. This wasn’t an acceptable excuse to the self-appointed sound warden, who tried to gather a posse – with some success – to criticise “bad mother’s” parenting and her as a person. The quiet carriage policy had quietly expanded to ban children and permit abuse of parents. Another day, another abusive exchange. This time, a south Asian man had the temerity to enter the quiet carriage while talking on his mobile phone. A lot of people hopping on at inner-city stations don’t realise they’re on a quiet carriage – only a couple of stickers at each end announce the existence of the silence zone. Another self-appointed sound warden began to gently simmer before making a half-hearted attempt to ask the chatterer to “keep it down”. As this sound warden reached a crescendo of impatience, a mutter of the words “curry muncher” rang through the carriage, as did the real reason for his anger. I have never seen the sound wardens take issue with well-built white men with tattoos who chat on their phones. The right to travel on a library on wheels goes only so far. This exchange tipped me over the edge, and I decided to start commuting in the “normal” carriage. It’s like a breath of fresh air. You can hear crisps being munched, people chattering and listening to (sometimes bad) music. Ditch the quiet carriage and get on board the conversation carriage It’s so refreshing after the pressure cooker of previous “quiet” trips where people like to pretend they’re not sharing a small metal box with about 70 other people. Scrapping them would not be a “victory for yobs”. Conversations with total strangers – updating them on the sports match I’m listening to, or chatting about where they’ve just been on holiday – have been a welcome dive into the unknown. On a quiet carriage I know exactly what I’m in for – cranky people. But on a normal carriage, I learn about a more interesting side to human nature, among other such pleasantries as, er, eating lamb. So, I’m making a call to commuters: ditch the quiet carriage and get on board the conversation carriage. It’s not what we want but it might just be what we need. |