Sydney's Song Read Online Free PDF Page B

rushing into the foyer. I held the lift for him.
    â€œThanks.” Tie in hand, he flashed me a white smile as he swept in with a faint whiff of citrusy aftershave. His hair was still a bit damp from the shower. “And good morning.”
    He dropped his small backpack and, facing the steel-wall mirror, he put his collar up and deftly knotted his tie to perfection, the quick, precise actions showing that he was used to this tie-tying routine.How good he looked.
    His beautiful eyes caught mine in the mirror and he turned to face me with a smile. I smiled back. His grin broadened. He tilted his head and said, “You know, if you press number four, we’ll get to our destination. You have a six o’clock start too, don’t you?”
    Bummer! In embarrassment I punched the lift button behind me. Pete’s eyes were laughing with a teasing glint.
    It was a beehive upstairs. We had so many visitors. All the big bosses from Sydney’s trains, ferries, buses, and other clients were here—before 6am.
    Briskly I set up to work.
    â€œWelcome to the Transport Infoline,” I responded to a very faint sound creeping through my headset. “This is Sydney.”
    â€œSydney… Is that really your name? Or is it because we’re in Sydney?”
    â€œBoth,” I blurted, suddenly nervous. “I meant, my first name is Sydney. How can I help you?”
    â€œRightio Sydney, Charlie here from Chatswood. I’m going to the Saturday game at Olympic Park. But this morning I saw a trackwork notice up at the station. So how will I get there by six?”
    â€œI’ll work it out, could you please hold the line?”
    I punched the MUTE button. The MUTE button was there so callers would not hear if an agent—that was what we were called—sneezed or coughed. Or would not hear when I called my manager. “JUSTIIIN!”
    I was frantic. Much later they would develop a sophisticated system when the entire trackwork information would be loaded. But on that first day of my working life they gave me a big bundle of STN, or Special Train Notices. This was the train schedule used by train drivers. They also gave me a thick printout of various trackwork buses.
    Hands trembling in trepidation, whatever eloquence and organisational skills I possessed evaporated. Even with the-also-panicking Justin’s help, it took me 20 minutes to match the working numbers of two trains from the STN and the much-hated replacement bus. That’s correct, 20 minutes! This immediately boosted my respect for train drivers’ intelligence.
    I had to say, Charlie was a most patient and polite customer. For the whole time I was fumbling with the fat STN, he only prompted me once, with a questioning tone, “Well? One-three-hundred five-hundred?”
    The call centre was housed in a huge, open, squarish floor. Later an interior expert would bring in designer colours and comforting green plants, but originally it was a plain sunny room. Five or six workstations were joined in a flower-like pod. With spacious distance between the curvy pods, there wasn’t the slightest sense of claustrophobia.
    Instead of cubicles or high partitions, curvy low dividers of about 20cm rose between us—enough to make sure our stationery did not go on vacation into another agent’s territory. In this very friendly setting we could easily see each other and chat between calls.
    Sinead of the curly red hair and Irish accent happened to sit next to me that first morning.
    As a backpacker, she hardly knew Sydney (except how to cheat using an Orange Travelpass, of course.) Therefore it was natural that I helped her to spell the Aboriginal names of the callers’ origin or destination.
    â€œWoolooware,” I would answer her question while pressing my MUTE button in the middle of a call. “Double-U double-O L double-O double-U a-r-e. Woollahra. Double-U double-O double-L a-h-r-a.Woolloomooloo…”
    After