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.