on umbrellas and mateship

I was waiting at the bus stop, like I do at least twice a day, and the rain wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. Luckily, the kindness of my fellow bus-rider wasn’t either.

Last week, Sydney was experiencing some pretty shocking weather. It was cold, there was a light – but persistent – wind, and the rain wasn’t showing any signs of stopping, despite all rain dance attempts. I was alone at the bus stop, awaiting the bus that would take me to the station that would put me on the train that would take me to the burbs. The bus stop was without a covered shelter; it was, instead, merely a pole and a sign.

Soon, a fellow bus-rider appeared. He was wearing two hoodies beneath a hi vis vest, and his skateboard was leaning against his knee. He didn’t make eye contact with me.

I smiled at him (which I don’t think he saw because of the aforementioned lack of eye contact), and proceeded to recheck the bus schedule. It was late. Classic.

Only one person fit under my mini umbrella, and that one person was me. I was wearing a raincoat, so the main purpose of the umbrella was to cover the backpack I was wearing – which had notebooks and dry clothes for the weekend inside it. I didn’t have a lot of space to share. As I stood there in the rain, my jeans getting pelted by the sideways spray and the occasion car-to-puddle splash, I watched the rain hit Amigo One harder. As I watched the rain seep into his hood, I wondered how inappropriate it would be to invade a strangers’ personal space for the sake of a little rain protection. It was, essentially, the plight of “why didn’t I bring a bigger umbrella??”

Soon, my amigo and I were joined by a third bus-rider. He was carrying a laptop bag, and wearing a rather short and worn polo shirt. He reminded me of someone I used to work with (but just who, I couldn’t put my finger on) and he had a tight but warm smile. He must’ve been cold but he was dry, protected from the downpour by a rather large umbrella emblazoned with some IT company logo. He too checked the bus schedule. It was still late. Classic.

Amigo Two’s arrival brought a bout of heavier rain (not associated with his arrival, but timed just so). He stepped back from the bus schedule, and ended up next to Amigo One. His umbrella, held in his left hand while Amigo One stood to his left, was big enough for both of them.

I looked on, smiling – I’m sure – like a total goober, infinitely impressed and inspired by the power of the human condition. The two amigos also didn’t make eye contact, standing side-by-side, silenced by the dull pitter-patter of the wet season. They were both one step closer to being dry.

They ended up getting on the same bus too, but sat nowhere near each other, I noticed, as the bus pulled away and left me waiting for the next one (still late).

In that moment – that wet, cold, dreary moment – under that umbrella, two spirits were a little less dampened than they were before.

Coming back to Australia and witnessing such interactions makes me so proud. We’re a nation of loud, rough-seeming, lovable nuts; of larrikins and legends; of big thinkers with big ideas; of opinionated people from every imaginable background; of intelligent individuals with poise and cultural understanding; of labourers, 9-5ers and 5-9ers, desk-doers, leaders, and friends.

Somehow, in this melting pot, it works. I’m so proud to say I’m from a country where sharing umbrellas at bus stops is a normal occurrence. I’m proud to say I’m from a country where individuals, daily, embody Australia in all its glory, keeping the legend of mateship that inspires this country alive.

Next time, I promise to have a bigger umbrella, so I can keep a mate-I-haven’t-met-yet dry too. Maybe we’ll even double our luck and the bus will be on time. (But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ve heard there’s a “rain dance” for public transport too?)

R.