I just accepted a job offer in The Hague. I am as excited as The Happy Goat (surely a bad omen). I was offered at a conference in Bristol. It's the closing dinner and some silly dancing with new to-be-colleagues. With a suitcase in hand, I rush to catch the 10:30pm train from Bristol to London, Paddington. Still in high heels, dressed up from closing dinner, I put the suitcase on a luggage rack and happily settle into my seat. Luckily I have all night in London, I'll just get to the airport and catch a few hours of sleep there. I stare out of the window, contemplating life in The Hague. Train is swarming with pimpled British kids returning home from parties. It's also swarming with one Suspicious Individual, also a pimpled British kid, who is eyeing me strangely. He sits behind me and I am convinced I feel tugging at my coat as if he was trying to get into my pocket or purse. He doesn't know however that he's dealing with the Worldly and Street-smart Traveller. I take my coat and purse and place them in my lap ostentatively, turn around and stare the Suspicious Individual down. That's right, kiddo. I know your game.
Suspicious Individual leaves, then comes back with a beer, then leaves again. At least five times. Each time he passes, we have a staring contest. I check my suitcase, it's still on the luggage rack.
British kids are loud and obnoxious, drinking beer and joking about. I am outdoing myself in giving them the evil eye, till I finally tire and drift to sleep. I check my suitcase, it's still on the luggage rack. We're in Reading, only one more stop to go.
Can't wait to get off and make it to the airport to get a few hours of sleep on a bench somewhere. We're arriving in Paddington, yay. People crowd by the door, I get my purse and a coat and go for my suitcase.... it's gone. I stare at the empty luggage rack in disbelief. Looking around in panic. I even think I see a glimpse of my suitcase in the crowd rushing away from the platform, but for some reason I don't run after it. Instead I search frantically for a train conductor. I find one and together we turn the train upside down, though it makes little sense.
Bitter and resigned, I go find police officer somewhere. Two nice chaps took me in to the train police station and started writing up the report. That's when it all actually started.
See, I was to catch a plane at 8:40 am....plenty of time, one would think. My train from Bristol pulled in at 12:30am. But this is Britain.
One of the nice police chaps tells me the subway doesn't run at night. He gets online and finds out that there is "engineering work" being done on the First Capital Connect line to the aiport. He prints out the schedule for me - the first subway leaves at 6:23am. Cutting it close, but doable.
At 6:23am, I am tapdancing in front of the platform 15 and 16, from which the said subway is supposed to leave. The grumpy employee that I pull out from the kiosk there tells me they don't open till 6:40am. A bit nervous, I consult the grumpy kiosk guy on the best course of action. He sends me to Farringdon station, assuring me there is no engineering work done today...after all, it's Sunday. The train comes at 7am.
At Farringdon, I run to the platform for the Lutton ariport. Closed. I go find another grumpy kiosk guy. There are no trains until 1 pm, but I am sure to catch a train from King's Cross....just one stop over. It's about 7: 20 by now.
King's Cross is a frikkin maze. I run from this end to that, finally find the appropriate platform. No luck. I find yet another, this time extremely grumpy kiosk guy and he says there is engineering on the line. I shove my prinout from the web under his nose, but it does not seem to move him much. Perhaps he was beaten as a child.
I must find a cab STAT. If I miss this flight to Vienna, I might miss my connection to Boston. I attempt to find a cab that takes credit cards. Aaaaahahahahahaha.
That only takes me another 20 minutes. Finally I find one that takes pity on me. There's a 15% surcharge, as if I care anymore. Total is close to 140 GBP. I am stoicism impersonated. With just a hint of a bitter aftertaste.
The cab pulls into the airport at 8:40 am. My flight has left. I call my mother and sob like a silly school girl. Back to stoicism impersonated. I buy another flight to Vienna, where my mom will meet me with food, clean t-shirt, and underwear. May god bless and keep my mother in good health forever and ever amen.
Upon my return to Boston, I started an immensely entertaining conversation with the First Capital Connect.
I emailed them to complain that a) the information I got from their website was incorrect, and that b) their employees have mislead me three times, sending me to wrong stations and giving me bad information. I wrote a long detailed treatise about what happened step by step, minute by minute, and how much it ended up costing me.
This is the gem of a response I received:
We recommend that customers always check their journey times with National Rail Enquiries on 08457 484950 before travel as timetables can change at short notice. Alternatively journey details can be checked on the internet at www.nationalrail.co.uk... The stations teams at manned stations are always happy to provide assistance with any enquiries.
Brilliant. They advise me to check their website and talk to their friendly employees. I knew it. I shouldn't have been so excited about the new job. The Happy Goat fate got me good this time.
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