I went home for a couple of days, probably about 24 hours or so, simply for an orthodontist appointment. The journey down was fine - funny coincidence as I recognised both the two girls sat opposite me from both of my old schools - a nice relaxed hour and a half journey to my local train station. My mum picked me up and we went to my orthodontist appointment, all fine and dandy. Had a lovely home cooked meal, a great 12 hour sleep in my old bed and the best shower of my life the next morning. If you’ve ever lived in student accommodation you’ll know that the showers leave a lot to be desired.
The time came to come back home. It was Friday 13th, and while I’m not a superstitious person I thought there was something bound to go wrong. I’m just, as Steve Carrell’s character says on The Office, “a little-stitious”. We left the house late as we decided to have tea time fifteen minutes before we were supposed to leave, only then I can’t drink a hot cup of tea in ten minutes - who can - so we left ten minutes late. Luckily we had planned for contingency time so I got to the station ten minutes before my train back to Manchester was due to leave.
Now, put yourself in my shoes. You’re a little teary from having to leave home again so soon, not realising just how much you’d miss it, you’re a little flustered from being worried that you’re going to miss your train, and as you descend the stairs to Platform 6, you see a train there, waiting, it’s doors open. Nowhere on the train does it say where it’s going and you just assume “this is my train”. You check your seat reservation again to see which coach you’re on but at this point the guard is yelling at you saying “if you’re getting on the train you need to get on now!” so I did, hopped on the coach in front of me and thought “this is okay, I’ll just make my way down to Coach E when I’m on the train”. I didn’t bother checking the time as she train pulled out of the station, it didn’t even occur to me that I could be leaving at 16:41 for a 16:50 train. So I’m trying to find my way to Coach E and get to Coach D, thinking that just one more coach and I’ll be in my seat, the stress will be over and I’ll be on my way back to Manchester where I can have chocolate and wine and cry a little bit because I miss home.
I stopped short as I saw the First Class sign on the next coach. No way could I have accidentally booked a first class ticket. I check again. Standard seat reservation, Coach E seat 27. There is no Coach E on this train. Great, I think to myself. There’s been a glitch with the booking system and they’ve put me in a seat that doesn’t exist. I’m just about to leave my little spot where I’m fuming between Coach D and First Class (hanging out next to the toilets like the classy gal I am) to find a train attendant to ask where I should sit, and then I hear an announcement over the tannoy.
“You’re on the 16:41 Virgin train to Bangor, stopping at Crewe…”
The rest of the announcement disappears into nothing as the news sinks in.
I’m on the wrong train.
I’m going to Bangor.
I’m supposed to be going to Manchester.
I’m on the wrong bloody train.
Something you should know about me is that my first natural instinct, when anything at all goes wrong, is to cry. My eyes well up and I get hot and my nose prickles and even if I don’t want to, I will absolutely start crying. It’s not howly crying at all but I do panic and you know when you’re crying and you do that panicky breathing thing where you kind of go “ehehehehehehehe” for a while and then every now and then it goes “eheeeeeeheeeeeeEheeee” before quickening up again - that’s what I do. My second natural instinct after I started crying, was to phone my mum. “I’m on the wrong train,” I pant heavily down the phone to her.
My mother’s first instinct is to laugh.
My little sister’s first instinct is also to laugh.
My father’s first instinct? You guessed it.
Once I’d calmed down a bit and I was able to explain exactly what had happened, my mother told me to find a train attendant and ask what I should do. Luckily at that moment a kind lady with a really nice red lipstick on walked past the toilet and stopped short a the sight of a snivelly, mascara-streak-covered teenager hanging out near the toilet.
“Are you okay, honey?” she asks me, placing a hand on my arm. This only makes me cry more.
I laugh slightly so it doesn’t seem as if I’m so lame. I don’t think this strategy works. “I’m just on the wrong train, that’s all,” I try to cover up my mistake and laugh it off. “I’m supposed to be going to Manchester but apparently I’m on the way to Bangor instead!” I grimace in a slightly sarcastic way.
She, thankfully, laughs along with me. “Oh, that’s okay! You can just stay on until Crewe and get another train from Crewe to Manchester.”
This news is like music to my ears but also apparently I didn’t want to stop crying. So there I stood, hanging out awkwardly between Coach D and First Class near the toilets because there were no spare seats, snivelling away to myself while posh men and women on the right, comfortable train walked past every now and then to go to the loo and the shop, casting glances at the awkward sad person. All. The. Way. To. Crewe.
Incidentally, the train journey to Manchester from Crewe was fine and fabulous and I only made it home an hour later than planned.
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Here are my Snapchats, by the way.
Have you ever had any disastrous train mistakes? Let me know in the comments below!!
Em xx
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