When someone screams "Tram" or "Fire" or "Trump Won Michigan," your first instinct is probably to assume that imminent death is upon you. Maybe your life flashes before your eyes. Hopefully that's a worthwhile ten seconds. (At least five of my ten seconds would be twins complaining about what I cook. You're jealous, I know).
Your first instinct is probably not to assume that there is a tram two blocks away doing what trams do. Which is follow the track. Because screaming Tram doesn't do anything in that situation except scare the shit out of your father.
It's an unfortunate truth, but Tessa has inherited an unfathomable (to me) fascination with modes of transportation. It almost certainly derives from Grandpa Jim, given that my side of the family appears to regard modes of transportation as modes of transportation. The Douglasses have as much interest in trams as we do in, say, the ingredients in baloney or the proper way to shuck an ear of corn. It's something we might get around to figuring out but, in all honesty, probably not.
Grandpa Jim regards trams and trains as the sacred cows of the west. He has been known to ride a train for two hours and then wait fifteen minutes to take the return train two hours. He has been known to believe that the only problem with the three day train to Perth is that he was asked to leave the train on the third day. During these journeys, he has been known to contemplate Absolute Block Signaling, Bulkhead Flatcars, and Journal Bearings and is more than willing to share these things with you. He has been known to purchase timetables on Ebay for pleasure reading. However, to my knowledge, Grandpa Jim has never screamed "TRAM" in the middle of a crowded restaurant, so I suppose Tessa is one up on him.
So, one Saturday, I agreed to spend several hours hunting down the fabled trams and taking them to the end of the line. Tessa spent most of our time downtown shouting "Tram" in the same way that construction workers whistle at women and Dustin Hoffman counted matches in Rain Man. Impulsive and pointless. I felt a bit embarrassed every time she screamed because people reacted by ducking and staring wildly around (you know, for the runaway tram). I was also afraid that an ex-military black ops Aussie might assume that my code name was Tram and take me out. I spent a lot of time trying to decide whether performing a sidekick would rip out my hamstring.
This is the beginning of the journey. Notice our expectant smiles.
Tessa absconded with my phone and demonstrated why the upselfie is not a good idea.
Mid Journey. Entering the contemplative phase. Possibly thinking about journal bearings.
Nearing the end of the journey. Her glazed eyes probably stemming from an awareness that it's about to end. My glazed eyes tears of joy that it's about to end.
Why did we do this?
Because it's a tram and we can.
In Adelaide it turns out you can also ride bronzed pigs. The excitement level is about the same.
