AUCKLAND WAYS.

Auckland Star, Volume LVI, Issue 245, 16 October 1925, Page 9

AUCKLAND WAYS.

USING THE SLOT-BOX.

HUSTLE AND SELFISHNESS

THE TRAM AND BUS BORE.

(By TETROC.)

Apparently we gave the men of the American fleet the impression that we were a mild-mannered, go-as-you-please eort of crowd in Auckland, with no particular hurry in life, but, if one may be permitted to say so for the benefit of "dyed in the wool" Aucklanders, the people in the South have better manners in the bulk. The Americans thought we were a quiet, good-natured crowd because we took our time over things, but their opinion is a biased one, because, in the Land that is Dry. life is so fast that even if you marry in baste you have no time to repent at leisure. Still, Aucklanders have £Ot a few yards start on the rest of >"ew Zealand in the hustle business. Over three years ago now, when the writer first came up froiri the South to live in the Dominion's largest city j he wrote an article or two contrasting northern manners with thwre of the south, but such an article fnyji his pen would be impossible to-day, since Auckland ways have grown on. him, and a visit to Christchurch «r some other centre of no interes',; north of Cook Strait, merely strengthens his impression that the south is dflll, and a good place from which to le away. However, there are a few obnoxious habits which it is difficult to assimilate, however enamoured of the north one may be. A Good Penny-worth. Take the penny-in-the-slot telephone, for instance. These inconveniences are great test machines for measuring selfishness. Only the other night the writer had an urgent call to make, having arranged to ring at 7.30. Ar-ris-ing outside a slot-machine he found a wheezy, corpulent old man in possession. After three minutes, interest in the ancient one naturally became keener. He took his time, despite the battery of eyes trained on him through the glass, and yelled at the unfortunate at the other end of the wire in a high-pitched voice. Apparently he was a master boiler maker or some other obscure tradesman, for he produced a type-written statement, with columns upon columns of figures, and started to read these off, pounding the slot-box ■with his fist now and again to emphasise his points. After seven minutes of this the old fellow got tired of the game, and hung up, but before he emerged to give place to the waiting crowd—by now assuming the proportions of a queue—he had the nerve to take out a note-book and jot down something, using the telephone as a

shelf! • This so enraged the writer that he drummed furiously on the glass ■with his fingers, whereat the old boy looked pained and wheezed out with much dignity. A young woman, evidently just away from her work in a restaurant, was the next to use the 'phone. She had noticed the writers impatience, and apparently felt obliged to throw at him an assurance that she "wouldn't be half a jiff." Well, that half-jiff was an eternity. The time was now 7.43. The girl got the receiver off 'the' hook, and listened for the humming sound —listened for fully a minute. Then she ventured to do the dialing act, but what a laborious business she made of it! Three minutes passed and she never opened her mouth. In the end, she clapped the receiver on, and turned —oli joy! But no! She was not finished.' She had another number to Jnint for in the ragged book dangling on the end of the wire. Anyhow, when she finally got that friend at the other end she gave him just about the whole of her mind. It was pretty clear that she had been "slipped up" on an appointment. After she had slammed the door, I made a bulldog rush for that slot. I beat a love-sick couple by inches, while the rest of the crowd cooling its heeU eyed mc through the glass as though I were a child murderer. Meekly but adroitly, in best office-phone style, I twirled those numbers and breathed a prayer that there would be no "distinctive intermittent buzz' , to tell mc my man was engaged. Heaven protected mc, a working man, and I heard my friend' 9 voice on the ■wire. Mv penny tumbled into the slot and I fairly stuttered my brief, "Rishto, Alf, wait for mc!" and then dashed from the horrid box to catch a passing tram. I glanced back to see the queue growing more bellicose as the sweethearts took possession and prepared to annoy the waiting sufferers with an exhibition of giggles and cuddles.

"A Seat, Madame!" Then there is the bus and tram bore, who is always in a hurry. You will be standing on "a jammed back-platform of a tram when this selfish hustler will leap from a safety zone, wriggle under the chain, and push aboard, to stand on your feet and knock your hat off, without so much aa an apology. Trailing along a few seconds behind is a tram but half-filled, but your hustler simply couldn't wait for "it. Yet when he gets to his stop the chances are that he will stand for five minutes talking to an acquaintance. Every suburbanite who must use a bus to get home knows only too well the selfish one-section rider, who crowds the buses to the exclusion of those who live .half-a-mile beyond the terminus. One -wonders why he is not satisfied with the trams. Of late, I have been taking more than usual notice of the behaviour of men in the trams. When I first came to Auckland I got the impression that men never by any chance gave up their seats to strap-hanging women, but I corrected it when I saw a Supreme Court judge rise one day to provide a seat for a lip-sticked shop girl, while twenty les9 illustrious "gentlemen" looked on and sat tight. We All Know Her. This brings mc to another phase of tram manners. Any observant man knows that there is a type of female tram rider that is richly deserving of the name "snag," which, of course, all her intimates have labelled her. She is a manhunter on the trams, ever on the lookout for the chance to deprive some poor working fellow of his seat. Watch her push in, sail past the empty double-faced seat npnr the door, and tower over some tired-looking male. Another new arrival ■vill take the uncomfortable double seat near the door, and the dame is left standing. Then it is that the victim of her scheme will get up and let her have his seat. She never says "thank you," but takes it as a matter of course. The chances are that the poor tired gallant will regretfully knock out his pipe and go through to the non-smoker, where there are half-a-dozen vacant seats, but it suits the "snag" better if he hangs on thit strap all the way to the Serminua,