September 25, 2014

First Class Fraud

I’d spent the day in hospital at my ladyfriend’s bedside, but had to leave to catch the last train home. As I reached the platform, it pulled up and I realised that I was stood next to the ‘First Class’ carriage. I stared down the platform for a moment, to wonder if I could even muster the energy to walk down a little ways, and promptly realised that I couldn’t. I told myself that ‘trains don’t really have a first class anymore anyway‘, and stepped on. As it turns out, trains definitely still have a first class.

I found myself a seat (whilst vehemently ignoring the ‘reserved‘ sign that was illuminated above it), and sat down. In mere seconds, I was ambushed by a smiley face, and a lady in uniform was offering me ‘tea or coffee‘. Now, my mother always taught me that it was rude to refuse a kind gesture, so I, of course, partook in some delightful tea (coffee is for people other than myself).

I sipped my tea, basking in the fine, little touches that must make wealth even more delightful than I’d previously acknowledged, when another lady in uniform came back, and informed me of all the mouth-watering, gourmet meals that were available to me and were included in the cost of my ticket (you know, that ticket that I didn’t actually have). I eschewed further thievery and politely told her that I may reconsider ‘a little down the line‘ (because I knew, and she didn’t, that I was bailing out at the first stop). She literally then began to recite what I can only refer to as ‘audible food sexting’ in an attempt to make me change my mind and agree to relieve them of a hot meal, but I again declined.

We pulled closer to our first stop (the stop at which I was swapping trains), and just as we did, the ticket inspector spied me from the far side of the carriage. He took one look (jeans, converse, tee shirt, stylish. jacket) and knew I didn’t belong. I acted nonchalant, and headed into the next carriage. I looked back to see him hurrying through his rounds, glancing up at me with every step forward. We inched into the station, and I saw him yell from the other carriage as he approached the door to me, and I stepped out of the door to the platform.

So, long story short: first class train carriages still exist, and the ladies who serve tea and dinner are too polite to tell you that you look too poor to be on them.

Join the conversation! 10 Comments

  1. But how would have ever known the distinction and style of first class, had you never partaken of it? (Your honour)

    Here in Canada, first class rail is a hit-or-miss deal. Some cars are amazingly comfortable and almost relaxing. Some of them seem as cramped as coach. In both cases, they treat you well, but….I’m not certain the Russian Roulette aspect of it is worth the price of admission.

  2. You are a true warrior in the Class War! I salute you!

  3. Keep up the good fight!

  4. I’ve had this happen to me before, and the inspector was just pressing the button to get from the next carriage over to me as I stepped off and went on my daily commute…I may have even shot him a ‘first class’ smile as I stepped off of that train, oddly enough he smiled back, more of a chuckley type smile but a smile none the less.

  5. I actually tried this one on an airplane, went to first class and took a seat. I looked like I DID belong, but the better got to me, so I got up and went to the lavatory instead. Great story.


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About Felix O'Shea

Felix is a guy who isn't actually a writer, but calls himself one when he wants to try to impress gullible people.


Weird things that somehow happen to me


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