Arrogance, thy name is...

Arrogance, thy name is…

…a French Railways ticket counter.

Lyon, France. Main railway station, May 2002.

There are two parts to the ticket office - 'for trains departing within the hour' and 'other tickets'.

I am in advance of my original schedule, so I have discovered that I can get the TGV (high-speed train) connection to Geneva leaving in 45 minutes. Logically, then, I join the appropriate queue: I need a seat reservation for this sort of train, but I already have my ticket.

It's a long queue. There is one counter open out of 8. Another 3 people sit at desks with the 'closed' sign up. One is playing with a stapler, one is staring into space. Another is chatting on his mobile phone.

It's 13.54.

At 13.58, a fourth guy turns up and proceeds to tie his uniform tie behind yet another 'closed' desk. It's a very long process – he's definitely not an expert at this. Lots of kisses all round as No. 5 turns up. Serious gossip ensues. Changing shifts (I can only presume it's that, but is there no overlap?) seems to be quite a social event.

The queue shifts and mutters. The guy at the one open counter seems to need a round trip to Timbuctu judging from the hand-waving and the time it's taking over there, so nothing is moving.

By 14.05, one guy sighs as he reaches up to switch his smart electronic 'closed' sign to 'open', but instead it shows some unintelligible symbols. This calls for much twittering and discussion by the other 4 newcomers, who crowd around his monitor and stare at it.

At 14.08, a guy in the queue finally cracks and states rather loudly that the French National Railways are a bunch of wankers (rough translation). Heads nod. Counter people react with supreme indifference.

At 14.11, the magic word 'ouvert' (open) appears on another board, followed by two more. Stapler-guy is still putting a new set of staples into his machine. The one with symbols on his board is looking glum.

At 14.22 it's my turn. I hand over my ticket, ask for a seat reservation, and am told it'll be an extra 30 Euros. Response from me: 'like hell it is'. I've done this only months before, and it was about 15 French Francs, i.e. less than 3 Euros.

Stapler guy's electronic sign springs to life right next to me. Then the one with symbols finally decides to play. It flashes 'I speak English' and 'ouvert' alternately. Wow!

The guy in the queue who protested before says something less than optimistic about these language skills. Mr Linguist looks a little hurt.

My counter clerk (he of the tie-tying) glowers. He hammers the keyboard again as though it's done him some permanent harm in the past. Then he informs me that the price is 3 Euros and not 30(surprise, surprise) but I'm supposed to go to the other queue and he can't do it here. Besides, the train's probably full. It's Friday afternoon - why didn't I think about this before?

"Fine," says I, not bothering to explain as tempus is fugiting rapidly. "Then I shall just get on the train and sit in the corridor if necessary."

The Guy with Opinions cheers.

"You can't," says outraged counter clerk. "That isn't done."

"Try me," says I, wishing I had the time to tell him that acting like a lazy, arrogant slob isn't done in my book either.

Amid much cursing, he hammers at his keyboard yet again, and produces a small piece of paper with a seat number. By this time it's 14.31, and I have to get to the other side of the station as it leaves at 14.36. I set off at a smart trot.

The TGV, when I get on it, is about two-thirds empty. And nobody checks my ticket, let alone the reservation, during whole two-hour stretch to Geneva.