Anyone would find an empty section on a busy tram suspicious
How they react to why says much about their culture
At the far end of a busy, late afternoon tram in Geneva, Switzerland sits an almost empty section. Six of the eight seats are free. Across the other two lies a teenage girl, curled up and looking a little poorly.
Though some travellers steer clear, stop after stop an optimistic few can’t believe their luck and make a beeline for the free space. Some just get a closer look; some almost reach an empty seat.
None takes one.
Sick
The girl, maybe 17 or 18, laying across two of those seats looked more like she wanted to sleep than needed to sleep; like someone with a migraine willing life to go away until the pain does. There were no obvious drink cups around but a noticeable patch of reasonably fresh, reasonably clear fluid streaked the floor.
For PPW a closer look was enough. Not one to get involved, not one to risk my suit but not one to run away either I took up station in the door-space with a couple of other travellers, all going to great lengths to seem preoccupied; checking their phones, looking at the tramline map or focussing on downtown Geneva passing by through the windows.
Sicker
As the journey progressed the girl sat up and proceeded to vomit repeatedly on the floor of the tram. Not especially smelly, not especially voluminous, not especially chunky. Maybe half a dozen times she heaved watery, salmon-pink hued puke while those nearby shuffled uncomfortably and waited for the sweet release of their station to come.
The girl never spoke to anyone nor looked to anyone for help. Maybe she didn’t need it; maybe she didn’t want it.
Maybe she knew she wouldn’t get it.
Sicker still
For a middle-aged Englishman, I’m neither proud nor ashamed of my part in this. I’m not fleeing but I’m not getting involved either. Like most people I have a life and while it doesn’t reflect terribly well on my character, I simply don’t want to get involved in a stranger’s problems. Especially messy ones.
And I give myself an out that, in spite of three months in Geneva, my French still extends no further than recognising enough of a menu to approximate what I’m pointing at when ordering.
Frankly I’d expect most people to react in the same way, and most of them did.
But not all, and here for me is an interesting difference. In England, at least the provincial parts, on a fairly busy late afternoon bus or train there would be the same groundswell of elderly women heading home from their shopping or off to see friends. And I can’t believe at least one of them wouldn’t head over and at least ask the girl if she needed any help. In my culture after all one of the few things you can depend on is old people not minding their own business.
But in Geneva, things appear different. Not only did the little old biddies steer clear with the rest us, at least one stormed off to the other end of the carriage, venting her disgust in a series of pointed, high-pitched French phrases I couldn’t literally interpret but nonetheless fully understood.
When in Rome
I don’t go around judging people, especially when I’m not part of their culture. Perhaps this is a common problem in Geneva, though I haven’t seen it before nor since. Perhaps these locals know this sort of thing only too well. Does Geneva have an underage drinking problem (though I couldn’t smell alcohol)? Does Geneva have a drugs problem that these symptoms fit?
And the girl is hardly blameless. In my youth I did my fair-share of over-drinking with the consequent urgent vomiting from time to time; but I’ve never done it on public transport. Okay, there are no toilets on the trams, but in the centre of Geneva they stop at least every minute; if you’re feeling like you’re going to be sick you get the hell off and you take it somewhere quiet. However bad you feel any decent person would always have the presence of mind and respect for others to do that.
What this girl did was disgusting, inconsiderate and unnecessary. But the fact that absolutely no-one tried to help, and that some actively and vocally expressed their disgust still surprises me a little.
Was it that they knew something I didn’t? Was it just that famous Swiss sense of privacy and respect? Was it that this particular group of people didn’t care? Was it that they were just too busy?
Or was it because she was black?