Let the train take the strain

So, made the train, after showing remarkable restraint at the ticket office.

I got to the station with only 4 minutes to spare and thankful, as I raised across the forecourt, that there was no queue at the ticket office. I approached with haste, aware that the clock was ticking and I still had to get to the platform before the doors would lock. Seeing your train pull away as you race along the platform is a most dispiriting experience.  But it looked like today was going to be a good day.

The station staff had other plans.

I hope the staff at Lime St station did not think it rude of me to interrupt their conversation,  or at least I attempted to. My request for a ticket didn’t seem to disturb them in the least.

I’m sorry I had to raise my voice in order to repeat myself.

Momentarily baffled by the concept of a day return ticket, and no doubt enjoying our interaction and wishing to extend the conversation further he asked me which train I would be catching.  And it is here that I would like it to be noted that I exercised such remarkable self-restraint by not shouting back “THE ONE THAT’S ABOUT TO LEAVE WITHOUT ME ON PLATFORM FIVE, YOU BUFFOON!”

Moving with all the speed of an aged sloth that had forgotten what it had gone upstairs for he began to suggest a price, changed his mind, offered a new price and slowly punched buttons as I began to throw money at the window in desperation. I paid for the ticket and waited for the glass barrier to slowly revolve and yield its treasures.

I might have said Thank You. Come to think of it, I might have send many, less complementary things. In fact I elected to say nothing at all. I scraped up the ticket and change and tore towards the ticket barrier and platform 5.

On this occasion I made it, but only just.

Ah, the contradictory delights of privatised public transport.



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