Following on my from my posting of a while ago on the
tricky subject of Virgin Trains and their super intelligent toilets, I thought it was time to cover another of the
ills of modern day society, and that my friends, is the refreshment trolleys on
trains. Contrary to what you might think, the main purpose of these creatures
is NOT to provide refreshments. Oh no. They're designed to make the travelling
public look as stupid as possible in the shortest amount of time available.
These creatures are usually maintained by a couple of staff
who can usually manage the IQ of a retarded snail. Between them. On a good day.
You never actually get to view the trolley in its glory, as it is trundled up
the gangway. You usually notice it when it bangs past you at some speed. This
is of course deliberate, and it's designed to waft the smell of burnt coffee
under your nostrils, and to get the saliva glands working. It disappears into
the distance and will not reappear for at least 45 minutes. Of course, you
could always go to the galley to try and get some refreshment yourself. This is
however a foolish course of action, since the train sways back and forth, and
you end up falling into someone's lap, and have to mutter apologies at least
twice per carriage. It's very similar to being drunk in fact; you think you can
walk a sensible line but of course you can't, and what should be a two minute
stroll turns into an assault course. Either that, or you're like a pinball in a
machine, bouncing off the sides of the seats as you make your way down the
carriages. Eventually you get to the 'refreshments', only of course they're
not. And that's if it's open! Usually it isn't, and you have to decide if
you're going to stand around looking like a lemon, with people stamping on your
feet as they go past. Where are they going? I have no idea. So it's best to
stay in your seat, and wait for the creature to pay a return visit.
Eventually the trolley returns, and you have to manage the
first hurdle, of catching the eye of one of the keepers of the trolley. This
means that you can't read or look out of the window – oh no, you have to sit
and look hopeful. If you manage to get their attention, it's time to make your
choice, and this is where things get difficult. You can take the brave option,
and ask for tea or coffee. At this point, the keepers of the trolley know that
they have you where they want you. Which is that they have all the advantages –
not least that they're standing, and you're sitting, so you're at a
disadvantage from the outset. They can then start to toy with you, like a cat
with a mouse. 'I'm very sorry sir, but we seem to have run out of coffee, would
you care for tea instead?' translates into 'Sor'wer'outta'corfeeteastead?' and
it takes a few moments to run it through your mental translation machine. So
you say that you'll have tea.
Not that it matters, since the only difference is that you
get a green plastic mug instead of a brown one. Do NOT think that you've got
tea – it's actually exactly the same as the coffee – some brown liquid with a
plastic stick in it. Now, the liquid is so hot that the plastic stick starts to
melt as soon as it's put into the cup. They put this item down on the table in
front of you, after putting down a sort of napkin effort. This napkin is
specifically designed, for one purpose, and one purpose only, and that is to
make it easier for the cup to slide on the table. One of the keepers of the
trolley must, I swear, have a little button he (and it's always a 'he')
presses. This alerts the driver, who then breaks sharply sending the cup of
scalding liquid across the table and into the lap of the person sitting
opposite. They then let out a howl of agony since the liquid is of course steam
heated to above boiling point. This is the preferred option, even taking into
account that you have to apologise profusely, though it's not actually
your fault. It's the preferred option because of course if the train doesn't
slow down, it speeds up, thus sending the cup skittering into your own lap.
Have you ever had a cup of brown scalding liquid explode in your own lap? Of
course you have, it's a danger of living in modern society. For a moment, you
breath a sigh of relief, because the lid on the cup has saved you! The fates
have been confounded, and you, my friend, are victorious! Until of course you
try and get it. This is part of the plan, in that you're so panicked you grab
for the cup, pressing on the sides. This has the desired effect, which is that
you put pressure onto the sides, and the liquid is forced out, expelling the
lid and contents over your shirt or groin. Being British with a stiff upper lip
you don't actually scream aloud, merely whimper. You then look up at one of the
keepers of the trolley through tear filled eyes, and what do you do? I'll tell
you what you do – you apologise, that's what! As if it's your fault. The keeper
of the trolley (henceforth referred to as the KOTT, or 'bastard' for short)
merely looks at you with a smirk that even the most sarcastic person in the world couldn't
match, and says 'Would sir like another cup?' (Odd how they can make themselves
understood when they want to, isn't it!) You manage to groan out 'yes please'
and learn by your mistake, and as soon as the cup is placed on the table, you
grab it with one hand.
Your ordeal is not yet over however, since you have to
choose something to eat. Of course, you can't see what is available through
your tear filled eyes. At this point, another choice looms. You can ask them
what is available. Of course, they're going to sigh heavily, so you are aware
of the impact that you're having on their day. In order to retain the upper
hand they run through the list of items quickly. It goes something like this:
'Cheesentomato,cheesenpickle,hamm
anickle,plaincrispssalternigarcheesenyunfruitakeorcheesynac'. It doesn't make
any sense – it's not supposed to. That's part of the plan. The onus is back on
you to look like an idiot. You can say 'I'm sorry, could you repeat that?' in
which case the KOTT says it again, only faster.
'Cheento,cheeickle,hmic,plcrp,sac rpcanac' and you still have no idea what's on
the menu. You decide that, to save face, the best thing to do is to say 'I'll
have the last one please'. This is a grave error, because you get some odd
breadstick things that were cardboard tubes in a previous existence, together
with a pale yellow substance. What the hell are you supposed to do with it? Eat
it? Eat it? I wouldn't give it to a starving dog. However, since you've bought
it, and you can't not do something with it, you stab a cardboard stick into the
yellow stuff. The stick breaks, as it was designed to, and you have to excavate
the thing from the yellow quagmire with your fingers. Time Team would have a
difficult job doing it, let alone you, a complete novice. Then you have to eat
it. It's best to close your eyes and think of something else at this point.
Don't expect the yellow stuff to taste of cheese. The closest that it's come to
being cheese is when the producers of this muck put 'cheese flavoured' on the
packaging. It's a compilation of emulsified fat, rusk and more chemicals than
you need to poison the entire underground system of Tokyo.
This is therefore not the sensible option to take. In fact,
there isn't a sensible option (other than not to bother in the first place, but
hunger has got the better of you), so instead of asking what's available you
point at something at random. The KOTT knows that you've just asked at random –
they're specially trained to look into your tear filled eyes at this point in
the proceedings, and they know that they've got you. It's like a lucky dip at
this point. They do what they always do, and that's give you the item that
they've got most left of. This is going to be a wasp sandwich. I kid you not,
there's a factory just outside Halifax
that produces them. Of course, they take the wings off, since they're not easy
to digest, but other than that… you get whole wasps. Well, at least they're
crunchy I suppose, unlike the yellow cheesy quagmire. Naturally you're sitting across
from an experienced traveller, who just looks at you and you can tell what
they're thinking. 'Oh my god.. he's got the wasp sandwiches!'. In a moment
they'll lean over to their colleague and murmur something that you can't quite
hear.. you can only catch 'idiot' and 'wasp sandwich'. Within a short space of
time, by some process you don't understand, everyone in the carriage knows that
you've got the booby prize. People will go past your seat on the way to the loo
and nudge each other 'He's the bloke who ordered the wasp sandwich'. You know
that you're doomed for the rest of the journey, because you can't ever, ever,
get up to use the loo yourself since people will look up at you and snigger.
Bastards, the lot of them.
Of course, the ordeal is not yet over, because you've got
to hand over some hard earned cash for this gastronomic disaster. This is
difficult, because you're still using one hand to hold the cup of steaming
napalm. You fish around for some coins, but you don't know how much it's going
to cost. This is where they have you again, because they KNOW you don't know how
much it cost. They won't tell you of course, because that would spoil the fun.
Oh no. They wait until you've got a few coins and then say 'That'll be seven
pounds and 33 pence please sir'. This is not a random number – it's chosen to
make it as difficult as possible for you to get the right money. So you stuff
the coins away, concentrating on getting a tenner out of your wallet, which you
pass over. They then say 'Sorry sir, we have no change'. Of course they bloody
do. They've got change from the other poor fools who have bought wasp
sandwiches before you. Are you going to complain? Of course not… by now, you
just want the ordeal to end. At this point you'd agree to anything, just to
escape the withering gaze of the KOTT. If they said 'Are you the person who
poked that baby in the eye three carriages further up?' you'd say 'yes, I
confess, it was me! It was me!' just to get them to go. Medieval torturers have
nothing on these people. 'Will you confess to being a witch, or would you
rather have napalm liquid poured over you followed by a wasp sandwich?' You're
gonna take the easy option every time. So you mumble something about 'keep the
change' while you seethe inside. Finally you can breath a sigh of relief, since
the trolley moves onto the next idiot. It's at this point, and this point only
that you realise that you've just paid ten quid for two cups of napalm and a
wasp sandwich. This keeps you occupied, and you don't notice anything else
while you juggle the napalm and the 'food' to ensure the whole sorry affair can
be concluded as quickly as possible. Especially you don't notice that the train
stops at 'Upper Flossing by Gum'. This is
unfortunate, because if you noticed that, you'd realise that you were on the
wrong train from the start and instead of going to Liverpool, the next stop
isn't until Exeter.
Bastards.
