One Brick at a Time

Those of you who know me will be shocked to the very core of your being when I tell you this: I am not perfect, and I sometimes make mistakes.

No, no – I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t false modesty on my part, this is a statement of fact – and before some of you suggest it, this confession is not further proof of my perfection. We’re not in Life of Brian land, here.

I’ve made a few mistakes over the years, and several train-related ones over the last couple of weeks. It’s the train-related ones I want to talk about, here. This is a rant, pure and simple. A written transcript of a conversation I have had with myself (and several rail personnel), and a rail (pun not intended) against the extraordinarily low level of customer service we have come to expect, and accept in this country.

Yes, it’s one of those blog entries…

As part of my current job I do a lot of travelling by train – it’s a 3 hour journey to the office, door-to-door (though only just over half of that is actually sat on trains). I generally catch the 6.30 to Grantham, then change and catch the 7.58 to Nottingham. I use a season ticket, as this saves money.

Generally, the trains run more or less on time, and I have no grievance against the journey itself. It’s when things stray slightly from the norm that problems arise.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my darling daughters decided it would be the funniest thing if she took Daddy’s season ticket from his bag (yes, I carry a bag to work – get over it) and hid it. Of course, said  daughter didn’t mention this to daddy, so the first thing daddy knows about it is when the train conductor asks to see it. Daddy decided that this was about the time to stop talking about himself in the third person, so I did.

I couldn’t find the pass, so of course I bought a ticket. A £38 ticket.

When I got to the office I checked on the National Rail website and discovered that season ticket holders could claim a refund up to twice a year if they inadvertantly leave their season ticket at home, and have to buy a daily one. Hoorah!

So, the next day, season ticket and yesterday’s ticket in hand, I went to work. When I arrived at Nottingham (where the season ticket was purchased), I headed for Information, and explained what I wanted to do. Much to-ing and fro-ing later, with staff heading into the back office, and back again, I was asked where I bought the ticket.

“On the train”, I replied. “I didn’t have my season ticket with me, and didn’t know this until I got on the train. Daughter, funny, blah, blah, blah…”

“You see, the problem is…” Oh-oh, this wasn’t going to be good, “… the problem is that the train was bought on the first leg of your journey, so you paid National Express for your ticket. National Express don’t run through Nottingham. It’d be easier if you arranged the refund at the York end.”

Oh. That wasn’t quite as bad as I was anticipating. I was going back to York in the afternoon, anyway. I’d do it then. So, I thanked the helpful (if not entirely effective) young lady and went to work.

When I got back to York station I went to Information and again outlined my plight.

“No problem, sir. If you’d like to fill in the form and sign here, we’ll sort that out for you. Could I just take a copy of your season ticket?”

Yes, of course he could. So, I filled in the refund form while he went and photocopied my ticket.

He came back just as I was signing.

“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a complication, sir.” Hmmmm… “You see, although we sold you the ticket, the season ticket was bought at Nottingham, so they have all your details, not us. You’ll need to get your refund from them.”

Networking not having reached National Express yet, then.

I explained I had already tried that, and the reasons they sent me back to York. Much to-ing and fro-ing later, the manager at York station kindly wrote me a note fro the staff at Nottingham, explaining why Nottingham needed to process the refund. He stamped the letter, and inlcluded the page number in the railway “How Not To Fuck Up” guide, for their reference.

I wasn’t in the office for anotehr 5 days, but when I got to Nottingham I explained the situation from start to finish.

“Oh, if only it were that easy, sir.”

Easy? EASY?

I handed the note across and a manager was called. He looked at the note, listened to the story, and agree to give me my refund, telling his staff member to staple the note to the refund form, just in case.

So, I got my refund, and only 3 conversations with 5 members of staff was necessary!

Now would be a good time to grab a cup of coffee, or a doughnut, or something, as there is another rail-related tale to tell. By my long, grey beard, there is.

I went to London last week on work business. I bought a train ticket online;  the cheapest one I could get – I’m all about value for money for my firm, you know.

I got to London easily enough. My journey was on a “Grand Central” train, rather than National Express. It was ok, but no wifi, no plug socket (which meant my laptop battery didn’t survive the journey) and the seats were a bit grubby. The bacon sarnie from the buffet car was surprisingly ok, though.

So, work done up in that there London Town, and slight panic on the tube, as it was touch and go whether I would make it back for my desired train.

I didn’t. I missed it. By less than a minute.

Damn, blast, and other terribly British expletives.

Not to worry, it wasn’t even 5.00pm yet – there’ll be plenty of other trains back to York.

Oh, ho ho! But there weren’t. Well, that were, but in a very real sense, there weren’t, either. The 4-something train I was going to catch was the last Grand Central train back to York, and my ticket was only valid on Grand Central services. I’d have to either stay overnight, or catch a National Express train.

How much is the National Express ticket, please? “Fifty five pounds, sir, but you can’t buy it from me – you’ll need to head into the ticket office, yonder.” (He didn’t actually say “yonder”, but I’ve always liked the word, and try to use it wherever possible).

So, I head out to the cashpoint, withdraw some money and go back into the ticket office.

Single York, please. “Certainly, sir. That’ll be £93.” Cough, splutter. But the man in the information booth told me it was £55. Is there a later one that’s £55? I’ll wait? “No, sir. £55 is the cost of a Grand Central train.” I already have a Grand Central ticket. “So, why do you need another, sir?” Because there’re no Grand Central trains left! Is there a cheaper way for me to get to York?

TAP-TAP-TAPPETY-TAP

“No, sir.”

So, I went away to have a little think. I could pay £93, or I could stay overnight at a hotel that would cost less than this, and travel back the following day on my existing ticket.

A thought struck me, as these things sometimes do. It was entirely possible that the gentleman behind the ticket desk was incorrect in his tappety-tapping. I went to a ticket machine and asked it how much a ticket to Doncaster would be, and from there, a ticket to York.

Armed with this information, I went back to the man at the ticket desk.

So, how much would this be? “Forty six pounds, sir.” Forty six pounds. Not £93. When I asked earlier if there was a cheaper way to get to York, would it perhaps not have been appropriate to tell me to travel to Doncaster and change there? I’ll have those tickets, please, and please write down the train times.

So, he sold me the tickets. There was only an 8 minute window between trains, but that was ok – the trains were usually pretty good.

So, I get into Doncaster, the train only 6 minutes late. I have 2 minutes to find the train and the right platform. I check the info board, and notice a train due to leave at the time I am due to be on it. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice that there were 2 trains due to leave at this time. Guess which one I caught…

So, I got on the wrong train, and ended up in Leeds (having stopped at every train stop and, I think, bus stop on the way) and waited 30 minutes for the connection to York.

I ended up getting home 3.5 hours late, due to missing the original train by 1 minute.

Now is the time to remind you that at the beginning of this missive, I mentioned that I sometimes make mistakes. I fully appreciate that it was my fault I missed the train, and my fault I didn’t check the return ticket closely enough to see it was only valid with a certain carrier (to be honest – it never crossed my mind that such a ticket existed).

What I expect (yes, even now – optimistic fool that I am), is that when something goes wrong, staff in positions of “Customer Service” take that title seriously, and actually attempt to give service to their customers, rather than view each person that approaches them as something to be moved along as quickly as possible so they can get to the next person-to-be-moved-along.

This is all due to privatisation, of course. I couldn’t “upgrade” my ticket to travel later that afternoon/evening, as my ticket was not valid on a train run by a rival company. The problems with the refund earlier on in this increasingly lengthy rant were caused because systems run by two different operators were incompatible with each other.

I’d write more, but my train is due in 10 minutes, and I don’t want to miss it, for obvious reasons.

Arse.