To live in Sydney is to agree to a simple deal: never look down when you walk. It’s one of those constants everyone sticks to, but to forget it is to find yourself in a situation like I did not long ago.
If you’ve gotten off at Redfern Station and walked up the stairs to the concourse, you’ll know that the underside of these stairs are cordoned off with railings. But if you break the cardinal rule and look underneath the steps and beyond the railings, you may see a man sitting there in the shade. Those who’ve seen him call him the patron saint of the station. Others cheekily call him the Artful Dodger for reasons soon made clear.
When he’s awake from his trance, greeting him with as much as a nod is dangerous, not because he’s malicious in any way, but like it or not, he will remember your face forever. Acknowledging his existence has made him pledge a life debt to you. It’s a debt he tries to repay by granting you some knowledge you desire in your wildest dreams. Over several weeks, I slowly gain his trust, coaxing the odd grunt as I pass by his usual spot. One day, he motions me. He wants to tell me something.
“Let me tell you a story, boy.”
“Once there was a young Commerce student whose Opal card stopped working. He took advantage of this any moment he could, never being charged when he travelled. One day, he was stopped by a ‘tickie’ who upon realising his tricks, fined him so harshly he never caught public transport ever again.”
He has an archaic way of speaking, calling ticket inspectors “tickies”.
“Don’t you know, evading is as easy as not tapping on —- even a Finance major could do it. But if you want to do it without getting caught, you have to learn how to do it properly. Forget doing it on the train or the ferry. Buses are the easiest because drivers are asked by companies not to impose mandatory fare payment.”
“Of course, the best option is for you to walk straight on and just not tap. Sometimes not being the first person in line works. Being in the middle of the line makes it psychologically harder for the driver to pull you up because his incentive is to keep the line moving into the bus as quickly as possible. To stop you is to prevent that from happening.”
He pauses. “But you knew that already didn’t you? You want more.”
“See, the real issue isn’t getting thrown off by the bus driver. That hardly happens if you aren’t an idiot. It’s what happens when you tap off. Tickies work from the wee hours of the morning to late at night, so you have to remain vigilant at all times. You can spot them easily with their white shirts and card readers in hand, hunting in packs of three near bus stops. Getting around them is tough when they’re on the bus or worse, waiting for you outside. There is very little you can do if you haven’t tapped on. But some preparation beforehand makes lightwork.”
“First, memorise the location of the card readers on each bus. There are at least four, with three being closer to seats. Make sure you always sit near one of them. Sitting within an arm’s reach of the readers near the accessibility seating or near the two beside the exit doors at the back of the bus will keep you safe.”
“While tickies are crafty, one of their major weaknesses is their speed. It takes them a long time to wait for the bus to stop moving before they can come aboard. This is where your reaction time and close proximity to the card readers come into play. At any given stop, the readers turn on just before the bus comes to a complete halt. Now is your time to act. As soon as they turn on, quickly tap on and off a working Opal card before anything else happens. While you will be charged, at least now it will register that you have made the trip legitimately.”
The Dodger reassures me the math makes sense. It’s better paying an infrequent $5 when you absolutely need to instead of paying up to $550 in fines.
“If you aren’t fast enough to do this, having a deactivated Opal card may work when the tickies inevitably scan you. Tapping them registers an error, so if you do get caught you have plausible deniability for why you couldn’t tap on.”
I can tell the conversation is coming to a close because his speech starts to slow down, eventually stopping altogether. As I go to thank him for his time, his hand reaches out to me, grazing my shoulder. My mind floods with visions of Railway Square. Suddenly we are there, standing together like a ragtag duo of master and apprentice, Three-Eyed Raven and Stark. He points out someone in the crowd getting on a bus.
“Boy, let me end as I started – with a cautionary tale. Let your eyes pass over the fare evader, his life lasting four trips to Western Avenue. In the first, he is the youthful scatterbrain, where a chance moment forgetting his card led to his not tapping on. In the second, he is a chancer. If his hand hovered a centimeter too far from the reader for it to register, he wouldn’t care. The third is the radical, sticking it to the man.”
“The fourth however, is the idiot. Kicking, squealing and annoying, rude to the driver, knowing they can get what they want without tapping on.”
He takes a deep breath and we’re back in Redfern. It’s much later in the day and his body seems less corporeal, shimmering in the dying rays of the sun.
“With great knowledge comes great responsibility. Remember that! Remember to use what you learnt today well and to never be a c–”
True to his name, the Artful Dodger is gone.
