Ukrained at the Train Station

Following the whirlwind of gluttony and indulgence which was my brother’s visit, I immediately boarded a train for Vinnytsia (the closest city to me).  I met up with my tried and true travel companion, picked up supplies (I’ve learned my lesson about not being prepared with food), and prepared for another eleven.  Being a planner, and wanting seats together I had bought tickets for this train at the very beginning of the month.  The date of departure was April 28^th.  It seemed as if everything was good to go.

When we got the train station, with substantial time to spare, we were Ukrained in a serious way.[1]  Our first cause for concern was the fact that our train was not showing up on the timetable.  Generally trains are listed on these timetables about an hour before they are scheduled to depart.  Slightly apprehensive, we went to the Information desk and were told that the train would be on the 3^rd Platform.  We went to the platform and found a train going our way.  It was even going through our destination.  Slightly hopeful, we were immediately disappointed when they looked at our tickets and told us to keep moving on.  I felt like Forrest Gump getting on that bus:  “seat’s taaaeken.”  Again we went inside to regroup.  Upon reading some notices near the ticket windows we were informed (recall, from a flyer, not the INFORMATION! desk) that our train no longer existed.  Back at the information desk we told the woman our train did not exist.  We passed her one ticket, and then the other.  Following a brief search she handed one ticket back with a new seat.  The other ticket, apparently, had disappeared.

Now those that know me may be aware that at certain times, and during certain situations my cheeks flush as red as China, with rage and I have difficulty keeping my mouth shut.  This was one of those times . . . after biting my bottom lip to keep quiet, and with a furious mien I started yelling, telling the woman that she needed to fix this and give me my ticket.  I also gently reminded her that this was not our mistake.  The attendant at the desk did not look for the ticket at all.  In fact, she simply started crossing herself and saying: “I didn’t steal the ticket.”  Of course I was not in any way accusing our denizen of customer service of theft, that would be rude.  I simply wanted my ticket back.

Luckily, I do not know the proper grammatical constructions to swear at people in Ukrainian, so I didn’t say anything too bad.  Picture a three year-old yelling, and that’s probably what it sounded like.  (I should probably be thankful, nobody patted my head and said “awww, the wittle guy is angwy.”)  Also, it is fortunate that my tried and true travel companion is much more even headed than her friend.  She was able to talk some sense into me.  We got out of line, and she walked over to the entrance to the booth, the door marked “forbidden” and tried to speak reasonably.  I poked my head in, and right next to where our opponent was sitting, on the floor there stood a ticket.  I pointed it out and, sure enough, if was my ticket!  Now, to give credit where credit is due, though the lady at the information did not so much as turn around in her seat to look, she did apologize, and with that I’ll call us even.

With both tickets, and an existing train situated we went to a train station café and had a beer.  Slowly, and steadily I decompressed and got ready for some successful half-marathoning.  Another hour and a half or so, and we got on a train and reached our destination.  My blood pressure was no worse for the wear.

That’s all I know for now.  Hope all is well.

Be good,

Pete

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[1] Ukraine can be used as a verb.  Conscientious readers may remember this from a post from last year.  Those that prefer not to delve into the past will have to try to learn from context clues the meaning of the verb.  If you’re unsuccessful, or I am not clear enough with my narrative, feel free to ask for the dictionary definition.