My one-man war
Two of my more eccentric habits are my deeply-ingrained loathing of ticket inspectors on trams, and my tendency to goad them at every available opportunity. For those readers not from Melbourne, let me briefly digress. Once upon a time, trams had individuals on board known as conductors, or connies. As well as selling you your ticket, they would assist tourists with directions; help the elderly, infirm or pregnant on or of the tram; and provide a vague sense of security when travelling late at night. Then, one day, in the name of economic rationalism, the state government did away with conductors, because they weren't cost effective. Since then we're have non-cost-effective scratchy tickets introduced (whereby you were supposed to scratch off the silver gunk covering the date and hour of your journey to demonstrate how long yout ticket was valid for; not exactly practical if you carry your spare tickets in your purse or wallet, where they chafe and rub and flake); non-cost-effe...