GOING OFF THE RAILS
GOING OFF THE RAILS
At the moment, this precise moment, I’m sat on a train travelling somewhere around England. All around me I’m surrounded, on all sides, by snow – and am staring, dumbly, uncomprehendingly, at a small notice, that states, amongst other things, that the train network I am currently travelling on – and I quote :
“...will not tolerate verbal or physical abuse and it is our policy to pursue, through the courts, anyone who mistreats our employees.”
Which is all well and good. Hurrah for them. Now is it possible they can show similar consideration for their cattle - sorry, I mean passengers?
You know them : you might have been one. Those people who they shunt around the country in overpriced, cramped conditions. The people who they keep ignorant of everything. Even basic stuff such as, for example, where the trains going, when the trains going and how its going to get there. Instead, we’re mistreated – to a similar extent by the company – and unfortunately, there is no similar charter for the people who actually pay for a service.
The simple concept of providing a service is seemingly beyond the reach of these people : all we want is to be able to get where we were meant to be several hours ago, and if that small task – that we’ve paid for – is impossible through incompetence and stupidity then please, please, treat us as human beings and tell us what the fuck is going on?
Of course, we can’t take the railways companies to court for lost productivity, for hours and hours and hours spent on cold concrete platforms in the rain whilst our train sits, just inches away, warm and cosy. But with the doors locked. Or the hours that passed waiting for a train that is just a minute away. Always a minute away. If it ever arrives.
Or about the times some of us have tried to go home, yet live in fear of being attacked on deserted train platforms late at night. Especially when trains are arbitrarily cancelled without reason, explanation, an apology – or even a notification beyond a small blue line on a distant monitor.
Fuck employee rights – what about passenger rights? What about the right to go home? What about the right to a seat? What about the right to be told what the hell is going on?
What about the right to use your ticket when your only crime is having a late-running connecting train? If I hadn’t protested so vocally earlier on this week, I’d’ve had to wait three and a half hours to start a three hour journey because Railtrack can’t run a bath let alone a service and hence I missed my connecting service.
Of course, if you miss your train because it’s their fault, you’re penalised. And prosecuted if you dare to say something honest to an ignorant and rude lackey. We’re expected to just sit there, like the typical quiet Englishman, being treated like shit and just take it without saying a word.
Of course, I’ve never been rude to train staff in my life. I’m too darn English and repressed for that. But when they start to take their responsibilities to their passengers a bit more seriously, then I’ll start to take their pathetic boasts about prosecuting normal members of the public tested to the limits of their patience by amateurish incompetents who seem hellbent on wasting our time and being rude and ignorant to us a tad more seriously as well.
© copyright Mark Reed, 1991-2003 except where indicated