22:10 IR2346 to Luzern. I make a calculated decision. Carriage 4. Statistically, it’s far enough from the entrance chaos, close enough to escape if needed. I sit down, open my laptop, tell myself I’ll be productive for once. Two minutes later, three guys in football scarves sit down across from me with beers already open. Of course. Of course it’s carriage 4 tonight. They’re loud, but in that friendly, chaotic Swiss way. Debating something extremely serious like which canton has the worst drivers. One of them insists it’s Vaud. The other two react like he just insulted their entire bloodline. I put headphones on. No music. Just a social barrier. Train leaves. Smooth. On time. Feels like maybe I got away with it. Then the conductor shows up. Not the usual one. Young. Focused. Slightly too upright posture. You can tell he’s either new or trying very hard not to get yelled at by someone named Brunner. He scans the football guys. No issues. They joke with him, he doesn’t really engage. Just scan, beep, green. He’s not here for conversation. Then he stops. Looks around. Like he just remembered something important. And then he leaves. The football guys immediately start speculating. “Inspection upstairs maybe” “No chance, they always mess up the train numbers” “I’m telling you, this IR is cursed” I ignore them. Try to work. Five minutes later, the trainee comes back. But now he looks different. Slightly rattled. Like something went wrong somewhere else on the train and it followed him here. He stands in the aisle for a second. Doesn’t scan anyone. Just… stands there. One of the football guys goes, “Alles gut?” The trainee nods, but it’s the kind of nod that means absolutely nothing is gut. Then the door to the next carriage opens. Older conductor walks in halfway, doesn’t even fully step inside. “You good?” The trainee leans in. They talk quietly but not quietly enough. “I think I made a mistake” “Did you issue it” “Yes but” “Then it’s issued” You could hear a pin drop if these guys weren’t cracking open another beer. “I’ve got drunk football fans in carriage 4” That part lands. All three of them look at each other like, fair enough, that checks out. The older guy disappears again instantly. Mission accomplished. Now the trainee is just standing there, holding that little ticket machine like it betrayed him. You can almost see the thoughts running. Third week. Trust the system. Don’t run to Brunner. Don’t show uncertainty. And somewhere between all of that, he absolutely nuked someone in another carriage. One of the football guys raises his beer slightly toward him. “First fine gone wrong?” The trainee hesitates. Then just gives a small nod. They all laugh. Not in a mean way. More like, welcome to the job. “Don’t worry,” one of them says. “SBB will refund it. Eventually. Maybe before the next timetable change.” That actually gets a small smile out of him. He scans their tickets again for no reason. Probably muscle memory at this point. Beep. Green. Beep. Green. Beep. Green. He leaves. And I sit there realizing two things. One, somewhere in carriage 2 there’s a guy currently drafting the most polite but devastating complaint email to the Revenue Service Center. Two, I chose the loudest carriage on the train and still somehow got front row seats to a completely different disaster happening two wagons away. Should’ve stayed home. Or at least picked carriage 1 like a normal person. submitted by /u/hatethissubreddit
Originally posted by u/hatethissubreddit on r/Switzerland