Monday 7 February 2011

I'm on the train


“I’m on the train.  Yeah I just left Kings Cross.  I reckon it went well on the whole, but no thanks to Bill.  What a plonker!  Asked the customer if he was happy with the service he was getting.  Well of course he wasn’t but there’s nothing he can do about it.  Yeah it’s OK we tucked him up like a kipper. Yeah.  Yeah.  Yeah.  Yeah......Damn tunnel”
The man opposite me looks at his phone as if somehow he can make the signal come back if he looks hard enough at it.  The tunnel is certainly causing him some anguish.  He is fidgeting and looking out of the window to see if there is a glimmer of light.  Whoosh.  We shoot out of the tunnel.
“Sorry about that.  Tunnel.  Yeah they should get rid of them all”
I think he means it, although if challenged, he would say that it was just a joke.  He and I have the window seats in one of those four seat configurations with a table between two sets of seats.  He is facing forward and I am facing backwards.  I like the backward facing seats because you can see more of the scenery going by.  If you face forward, as soon as something catches your eye it’s gone before you can focus on it.  By travelling backwards you can study it as it rushes off into the distance. 
Next to me is a middle aged lady in a smart dark suit, and opposite her is an old man in a smart but shabby suit and a bow tie.  We are all keeping ourselves to ourselves and reading or gazing out of the window.  Under normal circumstances these would be very nice companions for the journey – except for the man on the phone.
I have quite long legs, and enjoy stretching my legs out under the table if no one is sitting opposite me, but right now I have my legs tucked under my seat because the man on the phone opposite me has stretched his legs out.  He is getting agitated on the phone now and his feet are wiggling around and sweeping back and forth and side to side.  My legs are getting stiff, tucked under as they are, and I make tentative movements to relieve the pain, but come into contact with his thrashing feet.  I look up and mutter an apology.  He glares at me and carries on talking on the phone.
“I think you need to deal with Bill.  I’ve done my best with this account.  I don’t think we need to give them any more training; they just need to honour their side of the deal.  Bill says that some of the users are not using the kit and a bit of training will help them.   I say that it’s just hard luck if they don’t use it.  Bill must have been talking to Tom Neville about it because he is now saying that he would like more training AND a help desk that knows what they are talking about.  He also says that his users have to wait up to 20 minutes to get a response from the help desk.  Ha ha.  We promised them a help desk, but not one that knows what it is talking about or even one that answers the phone....”
I know this route and am pleased to note that there is another tunnel coming up soon.  Personally I think that if you supply a help desk then it should be able to help, but what do I know, the business I operate is only a relatively small one; maybe they do things differently in large organisations.  Oh good the tunnel.  He looks at his phone again and then at the black walls of the tunnel, then pushes his feet right out and under my seat where he manages to make connection with my shins.  I wince, but offer him a slightly offended look.  He ignores me and violently pushes his laptop across the table so that there is hardly any room for me to put my coffee cup down.  He picks his phone up and looks at it.  It obviously still has no signal.  He puts it down in front of him on the table and stares at it.  It must have a signal again.  He stabs a stubby finger on the send button and holds the phone to his ear.  Oh dear, it must be engaged.  He has moved his feet back to his side of the table now.  I stretch mine out.  He has a face like thunder staring blankly out of the window.  The phone rings.  He kicks his feet out again and pushes mine out of the way.  I smile an apology.
“Bloody tunnel.  Yeah.  Yeah.  Yeah.  Mmm. OK.  Well of course if you say so.  You’re the boss.  I just thought....  Yeah OK”
He clicks the phone off and stares at me as if it is my fault.  I wonder what that was all about.  He pulls his laptop towards him and pulls some papers from the briefcase next to him and, pushing away the carrier bag belonging to the old man next to him, lays them out across the table.  The old man looks up from the book he is reading and glances at the man with the phone, but says nothing.  I doubt if the man with the phone would take any notice anyway.  He is dialling a number.
“Tom.  Hi.  John Barlow, Blantyre Services.  Nice to meet you again today.  I understand you have some issues with our meeting.  You rang Phil Benson.  Phil wanted me to call you to explain.  Hmm.  Yeah. Yeah..”
So his name is John Barlow is it. And he works for Blantyre Services.  If I behaved that way, I don’t think I’d give my name away so easily, you never know who might be listening.  I’ve just been down to London doing some business as well – quite successfully as it happens.  I have a good team about me.  Unfortunately for John Barlow his visit appears to have been less successful.  It sounds as if the customer has rung his boss to complain about something and he has to call back.  His face is getting redder and redder.  I think he is getting angry, but he’s keeping a lid on it – just.
“...OK I’ll look into it.  I can only tell you what I know.  I think Bill might have been talking out of turn and had no right to offer you that level of service.  Of course if you think you may be entitled to this level of service under the terms of your contract, then I’ll be happy to honour it, but I think you’ll find that we don’t have to.  I’m sorry you feel that way, but we are very careful how we word our contracts and I can only suggest that you check it out with your lawyers, as I shall.”
He looks at his phone.
“Put the phone down on me.  Rude git”
He addresses this last comment to the window.  The old man next to him looks up again and seems to study the man on the phone.  The man on the phone turns round and catches the old man looking at him.
“What?”
The man on the phone addresses this aggressively to the old man, but before he can respond, the woman next to me pipes up.
“Young man.”  I love that; a great patronising put-down. “I think you should apologise to this man” she indicates the old man “and while you’re about it perhaps you can moderate your tone on the telephone or make and take these calls in the lobby area of the train”
He stares at her in disbelief.
“Listen.  I bought a ticket and I’m entitled to use the phone and sit where I like, so if you don’t like it, you can find somewhere else to sit”
He turns back to his phone and starts stabbing the keys with his fingers.  The lady next to me gets up and struggles to reach her bags from the overhead rack.  I stand and help her down with them.  She has tears in her eyes, but she is fighting the embarrassment.  She speaks to me.
“I’ve just been to my son’s funeral.  He was killed by a hit and run driver.”
I don’t know what to say.  I offer to go with her to find another seat.  She declines the offer, and walks off down the swaying train without a backward glance.
I know that the man on the phone has heard her, but he is totally indifferent.  His call has now connected.
“Yeah it’s me.  I’m on the train.  Have you any idea what you have done?  I’ve just been on the phone to Tom Neville and Phil.  Yeah Phil isn’t happy with what you’ve been saying to Neville.  I’ve had to sort it out with him.  Lucky I’m so bloody careful with the contracts isn’t it or you’d have screwed me and my commission.  In future you don’t speak unless I tell you to.  Neville will just have to live with the level of service we’ve given him and so will you.  I don’t care that they aren’t using the bloody things properly, that’s their problem not ours.  If they can’t get their fingers out of their backsides, that’s their fault.  I’m going to make sure you never get near my accounts again.”
He clicks off the phone.  He looks lost for a minute then dials again.
“Hi yes, I’m on the train.  I should be in by about 9 tonight.  I’m going to pop in to the pub for a pint before I come home, just to unwind.  What’s for dinner?  Oh OK, I’d rather it was Spag Bol, but whatever.  My day?  Yes OK, except that plonker Tom landed me in it again and I had to ring the customer and tell him how it really was, and now I’m sat with a bunch of old gits.  I managed to get rid of one of them; some old woman who didn’t know how to mind her own business.  Yes I reckon they can hear me.  If they don’t like what they hear, they can go away.  I don’t care.  OK I’ll see you later.”
He clicks the phone off, looks defiantly at me and stretches his legs out a bit more.  I have managed to sit a bit sideways so that I don’t have to tuck my legs so far under the seat to avoid him, but he is being deliberately provocative.  He then turns his glare on the old man next to him.  He addresses us both.
“Well you heard what I said.  If you don’t like it you can sit somewhere else.”
The old man gathers up his carrier bag and gets up and leaves, leaving me on my own.  I very nearly join the old man, but something makes me stay.  I guess I just don’t want this oaf to win.  He’s already made the lady next to me cry and driven her and the old man off. 
He glares at me and hacks about with his feet, but I stay put.  I don’t even move into the aisle seat to avoid his feet.  After a short while he turns his attention back to his precious phone.
The train is busy and the seats vacated by the lady and the old man are soon noticed by two youngish men in what I would describe as working clothes.  They look clean and respectable.  One of them asks me if the seats are taken.  I indicate with a sweep of my hand that they are available to them, and simultaneously feel a little guilty for the lady and old man in case they return.  The man on the phone glares at the newcomers and returns to his phone.
“Hi Tony.  I’m on the train.  Fancy a pint tonight?  I should get to the pub at about 7.  No it’s OK I’ve cleared it with her.  She’ll have my dinner ready for me when I get in.  Well if you’re there I’ll see you, but if your little wifey won’t let you out..........  Ok mate catch you later.”
“Jonny.  Hi.  Yeah I’m on the train.  Fancy a pint tonight?  I should be at the pub at about 7.  Tony’s going to try to make it too, but you know how under the thumb he is.  Yeah OK then I’ll see you some other time.”
He puts his phone down on the table and starts drumming his fingers.  To me he says.
“What are you looking at?”
I transfer my gaze to the window.  The phone rings again.  His relief is visible.
“Hi.  Yeah.  I’m on the train”
Perhaps the look on my face gives me away.  Why is it important that his correspondents know that he is on the train.
“You coming to the pub tonight?  Cool.  Not been a bad day.  Had a run in with the boss, but I reckon I’ve sorted him, and I nearly managed to get a table to myself on the train, but I’ve still got one old git and couple of hairy arsed builders on the table”
The newcomers exchange a surprised look at this, and then glance at me.  I shrug my shoulders and nod slightly.
The man on the phone continues loudly.
“Anyway, I’ll see you tonight and you can tell me all about it.  Cheers”
He smiles to himself and is about to dial another number when the newcomer to his left reaches over and takes the phone from his hand.
“Oi.  What you up to.  Give that back”
The newcomer stands up and drops the phone to the floor and, lifting one large steel toed boot, stamps on it leaving a mangled mess of plastic lying on the chewing gum stained carpet.  The passengers in the foursome opposite ours look up at this, smile, and return to their books and newspapers.
The man on the phone is dumbfounded, and doesn’t notice in time that the man next to me has reached over and taken his laptop from the table.  He drops it to the floor and stamps on it in its turn.
The man on the phone has finally found his voice and begins to berate the two newcomers.
“You’ll pay for those you bastards.  I need those for my work.  How am I going to let people know where I am....”  There is a sob in his voice.
The newcomers don’t say anything, they simply pick up the remains of the phone and laptop and put them into the man on the phone’s bag and then return to their seats. 
The man on the phone has his head in his hands and is sobbing uncontrollably.  He has tucked his feet under his seat.
One of the newcomers addresses me.
“There you go guv.  That should give you a bit of peace and quiet.”
I thank him.  They are both good lads. 

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