Stress-Free Train Journey: The Expensive Price of Convenience

I was able to board at Amsterdam Central Station and during the hour and a half journey to Antwerp I discussed covers, checked models and ticked off my entire to-do list. It was booked within three minutes. You would almost forget that you just paid 82 euros for a return ticket. Still a lot more expensive than by car. Even with the enormously increased gasoline prices. But you also get a stress-free trip in return. At least, that was the idea.

Because I had not yet taken out my laptop when I saw a big gap in my plan: there was no socket in the compartment. Shit. I looked around desperately. There had to be one, right? I got down on my knees in the aisle to look under the seat. Nothing. And there was no WiFi either, so creating a hotspot would also drain my phone very quickly. Well great. Then I was no longer available.

In the middle of a meeting about the covers, my screen went black. In a fit of rebellion, I marched through the train, with my bag, my laptop open in my hand and the charger on top of it, looking for a power socket. I had a bite in first grade. A bit awkward under the luggage rack, above my head. So that once plugged in, my phone was dangling in the air, but I had power.

Maybe when I saw the conductor approaching, I should have already felt something wet, but I thought: he probably also thinks that for 82 euros you can expect WiFi and a socket. Also in second grade. I asked if it was okay if I was just loading my stuff and then going back to my place. But when he looked at me, I noticed anything but understanding.

A hint of irritation. A sigh. And then a gesture to the end of the compartment: “You can charge there.” I followed him like a good schoolgirl. Somehow I still thought that maybe I had overlooked the socket in the second class after all. But no. In the noisy area between two compartments, he pointed to an electrical socket under a fire extinguisher. “Here? But there isn’t even a chair here?”

The conductor had already turned around. And so there I sat for the hour that followed. On the floor in the aisle, wobbling and creaking. With my pens, notepads, laptop sleeve and bags spread around me. “82 euros,” I said to his disappearing back. But the rebellion was nipped in the bud.

This column comes from Flair 41-2023.

Marije Veerman lives with Franklin, son Kyano and daughter Liv in Purmerend. Follow Marije via @marije.veerman on Instagram.

Marije VeermanDorian JurneOctober 11, 2023, 9:30 am

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2023-10-11 07:30:00
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