On the buses
And to wrap up the year - yet another tale of tossers who enjoy bullying... everyone:
Yours truly ended 2008 with a blazing fight with power-crazed ticket inspector on a South London bus - a verbal brawl that was as enjoyable (I won, by miles) as it was instructive to anyone who doubts that even a little power is too much in some hands..
It went like this: a bunch of us South Londoners, strangers all, were sitting quietly on the bus, riding along, and talking, sleeping, or thinking about dopey Christmas, etc, when the doors sprang open and three ticket inspectors charged on - one at each of the bus' three doors.
You see an awful lot of these drongos on the South London buses these days - and boy, did these three fancy the job at hand. They were part of that arm of Transport for London that considers ticket inspection a martial art. They leap on the bus yelling 'tickets and passes! Tickets and passes!' and waving badges, and generally shoving themselves in your startled face. Occasionally, you get ticket inspectors with a sense of humour, or who are reasonably forgiving of old giffers who've dared to board a near-empty bus three minutes before their freedom passes become valid, etc, but not these twats. No fear.
They strode up and down the bus, demanding - rather than asking - to see people's travelcards, and ripping £20 from fare-dodgers like they were taking a Christmas commission. People weren't given the chance to explain why they hadn't swiped an Oyster, or bought a ticket, as they sometimes are - they were just told to cough up the £20.
And okay, sure - people should pay for bus rides, and those of us who do pay (my travelcard costs the best part of £100 a month) don't appreciate those who evade, but is it really necessary for ticket inspectors to act out their Wyatt Earp fantasies when they catch someone out? Do they have to loudly demand the fine then and there, insist that the transgressor shows ID, and make that person tell the whole bus where they live?
People should at least have a chance to explain before they hand all that personal information over. Maybe the ticket machine at their bus stop was broken (happens all the time), or they forgot to swipe their friggin' Oyster because their kids were screaming when they got on the bus. Maybe they couldn't afford the fare - there's plenty of poverty in New Cross and Deptford, and it's doubtless getting worse. Maybe they've watched the news every night this year and now think 'well, if bankers can rip everyone off and get away with it, so can I.' Who can really say? What I can say is that these uniformed power-jocks feel far too free to demonstrate that the power to catch others out is a thrill.
Certainly, the guy who came to inspect my ticket was riding high: he was speaking a lot louder than he needed to, and giving everyone a very cold eye. So, I did what I often do when I'm asked to present my travelcard: I asked to see the inspector's ID.
Now - there are very good reasons for asking ticket inspectors to identify themselves: Oyster cards are full of personal information which you have to part with for the privilege of manageable fares, and a couple of times now I've been asked to present my card to people who've said they were carrying out 'surveys' rather than ticket inspections, and I couldn't really tell who they were. Also, I like a bit of intimacy with anybody who is about to give me a metaphorical rubber gloving - and so I asked our man to show me his ID.
He wasn't pleased. 'You want to see my ID?' he said, still speaking loudly.
'Yes,' I said. 'This Oyster is full of my personal information and I want to see your ID.' He looked at me, then brought out his ID, which he flashed at me in a cursory manner. I didn't get a good look at it, so I just sat there and looked at his hand.
He didn't care for this at all. 'Don't you think that's me?' he said aggressively. I told him I wasn't too sure, and asked him for another look. The problem was that the photo by the badge was small and bent in half under the middle strip in the leather folder.
'I don't know if that is you,' I told him. 'The photo is under the cover.'
He really started to take exception here: he got very angry, fast. He demanded again to see my ticket. I said I would show him my ticket when I was convinced he was who he said he was. He started to yell, and said he was going to ask me to step off the bus. I said I wasn't going. He said again that he was going to ask me to step off the bus. I said I wasn't going. On it went. You get the picture. I said he would have to call the transport police if he wanted me removed. I had a valid ticket. All he had to do was bring his ID closer, and we'd be underway.
He tried to tell me that he thought I was abusive. I wondered why asking to see ID from someone in a position to inspect my personal information counted as abuse. He was no happy camper by the time I presented my ticket - and even less pleased when his little machine informed him that my travelcard was valid. He went down the other end of the bus then. We both knew my request didn't warrant a call to the coppers, and I'd paid my fare.
So. That would have been that - except that he wanted to have the last word. The last thing that power-junkies want is to lose points - to a woman, no less - in front of a busload of people who already hate them. And so this guy kept looking at me. I looked back at him. He wouldn't let it go.
After about ten minutes, he came up with an idea. He decided to get into a bit of public name-calling. 'That girl is racist,' he announced loudly to the bus and his fellow inspectors - for all the world as if asking to see an inspector's ID was a biased behaviour.
I thought about yelling 'and you're sexist', since we'd reached a low point of wit, but the three of them had rolled off the bus by then - they stood beside the road, laughing and giggling and carrying on. Suffice to say that exercise was not about ticket inspection - it was about a bullying a busload of people from a poorer part of town, and trying to damage anybody who resisted.
On the bright side, these inspectors will make great baliffs under the new regime.
Happy New Year.
