As regular commuters, whether it’s by car, bus, train, plane or canoe, we often find one reason or another to vent our frustration at the service provider. Here is a genuine complaint submitted by a disgruntled rail user, and it makes for quite the interesting read…
To whoever is apparently ‘running’ the national rail.
I apologise if this email disturbs you from sitting on your golden toilet, wiping your bottom with commuter’s tenner’s, & I assume it’s not even an eco-friendly one sheet wipe, but many, many plies to clean your incapable fat behind.
I picture you as a rather large man, maybe sporting a moustache, with an extremely talented grasp of Candy crush and angry birds. After all, what else are you doing with your day?
I don’t honestly know how to get your attention, as I suppose you receive countless complaints a day. However, as my mother has always taught me, God does loves a trier, and don’t eat yellow snow. So here we go.
Mr Rail, I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of a train and the rail network in general. A train is a wonderful thing, a beautiful timeless method of transport to be enjoyed by all. The Hogwarts Express for example. Now, on a daily basis I don’t expect to be greeted by a blossoming Hermione, and I don’t intend on finding room for my magical pet owl, but just a seat. Yes, somewhere to park my ar*e while I breathe in the smell of urine for 80 minutes a day. At £906 a year, that would be wonderful. The novelty of pressing up against an unwashed, morbidly obese stranger has now worn off.
Ok, so I have expressed my concern about our seating arrangement. Now please explain to me if you’ve ever heard of the commonly used word TIME. Time is a wonderful thing, ever ticking by. Irreplaceable if you will. Therefore working people like I, do enjoy getting home each night at a reasonable hour. I won’t lie to you Mr Rail, getting to work doesn’t bother me so much, I can handle with being a little late. Though on a Monday morning when my manager Barbara has been on a the session again, she does tend to take her troubles out on me. However, when its Monday Shepherd’s Pie night and I’m still sat wearily in the station, we then have a problem. After all, you can’t blame bad traffic on the M1 for the continuous delays. As a service provider you surely proud yourselves on ‘comfort’ and ‘punctuality’, both of which we’ve established you suck at harder than that poor girl caught on camera in Magaluf last year.
Very recently, over the tannoy, the announcement was raised. ‘SERVICE CANCELLED DUE TO LACK OF DRIVERS’. Now, I’m no expert, but I assume you have a backup plan if Trevor has had a bad curry and can’t make it in? If not, it would be helpful if you did.
Now then, what’s left? SAFETY. Well in short, a couple of months back I had to evacuate the train at a local station because it casually set on fire. There was little old lady who actually refused to evacuate because she had just purchased her ticket. The carriage was worried they’d witness a premature cremation, (without the soft tones of Whitney Houston in the background that would just be inhumane) though we eventually convinced her to disembark a midst climbing flames / a little bit of smoke.
I do hope I’ve expressed myself. Please ask one of your many butlers to respond to this, hopefully they haven’t had a bad curry like Trevor and can respond in a timely fashion.
Discontent and loyal passenger.