Back in the early 2000s, I worked on the Eurostar trains, running from London to Paris. I worked the first-class area, so I would bring pre-booked meals to customers in their seats.

I approach a woman travelling with her young child, likely no older than five.

Passenger: “Excuse me, when do we go under the sea?”

Me: “We’re in the tunnel now, ma’am. We should already be under the English Channel.”

Passenger: “Okay, but when are we out of the tunnel?”

Me: “We should be out on the French side in—”

Passenger: “—No, not in France. Under the sea?”

I’m confused for a second, but then the child asks a question that explains my confusion:

Child: “Mummy, when do we see the fish?”

Me: “Ma’am… do you think the train goes through the water?”

Passenger: “Yes! It goes under the sea! That’s what I was told!”

Both mother and child are looking up at me expectantly. I decide to answer in a way that will save me time, and them some dignity.

Me: “Uh… It’s nighttime, so it’s too dark to see anything, I’m afraid.”

Passenger: “Really? Oh, bother.” *To her child.* “Sorry, love. It’s too dark to see the fish. But on the day we come home, we’re taking the afternoon train, so we should see something on the way back!”

Am I kicking the problem down the line? Sure? Will I be working that afternoon train? I will not. I apologise to whoever ended up with my problem!

I was on an eastbound train from Colorado two days before Christmas. There was some kind of incident in another car around 11:00 that night — a dude got wasted and started threatening other passengers — and we had to make a stop so the local police could come and collect him.

After the delay, the conductor came over the speakers and announced that if anyone was feeling upset or shaken by the incident, one of the passengers had offered to play his guitar in the snack car, and anyone who was awake was welcome to come down and join in for a singalong. I’m always down for weird train activities, so I decided to grab my harmonica from my bag and head down.

There were about fifteen of us in the car, ranging in age from sixteen to mid-seventies and from all over the country. We sang every song we could think of that even kind of referenced a train. We were somewhere in rural Nebraska at that point, and nobody had cell service to look up lyrics, so at times I was pretty sure that we were making up more of the words than we actually remembered. The conductor came through after a while and offered to play a few songs, so the guy with the guitar handed it off and pulled out a mandolin, and my harmonica got passed around the group while one guy drummed along on his backpack.

After a while, the conductor got up and left, and then he came back with a copy of The Polar Express. He read it out loud to our absolutely captivated group of mostly adult travelers while the snow flew all around us in the night, and I swear that for a few minutes, our trip felt every bit as magical as the visit to Santa Claus in the story.

Sometime well after the snack car was supposed to have been vacated for the night, we capped things off with the most ridiculously earnest rendition of Don’t Stop Believing that has ever been performed and went our separate ways. I never saw anyone from our little makeshift band again, but I’ll always remember that weird, wonderful late-night celebration of Journey and the magic of winter travel that came about because some guy was a jacka** on a train.

I’m taking a commuter train to a rock concert in downtown Salt Lake. Just before I board, I see an email from Discover Card saying my replacement credit card was on its way because it has been reported lost/stolen.

I think, “That’s strange, I don’t remember doing that. Is this a phishing email?”

But then I look in my wallet, and sure enough, my card is gone. I call Discover, and as it turns out, it fell out of my wallet when I tapped the fare payment card against the reader. I didn’t see it happen, but someone found it at the station. Rather than go out on a spending spree (because no one EVER checks ID or signature here), they called it in and reported it.

There are still plenty of good people in this world. They just don’t make very many headlines.

The train is getting packed, so I decide to deal with a customer who has had his little dog taking up a seat.

Me: “Excuse me, may I have that seat?”

Passenger: “That’s for my dog.”

Me: “Yes, but the train is getting packed, so it needs to be given to a human. Your dog is small and can go on your lap.”

Passenger: “I need him next to me. He’s my emotional support dog.”

Me: “Then I hope he’s trained to handle disappointment. My bum is going on that seat in the next five seconds, whether that dog is there or not.”

The passenger scoffs and quickly scoops up his (admittedly cute) little fluffball as I come down and take my seat. He’s angry at me the entire journey, which is exacerbated by his cute dog wanting to be friends with me every thirty seconds. Every time he had to pull the dog back and admonish him with a “we don’t make friends with people like him” it felt like another victory.

I overheard this after a passenger bought a ticket from the conductor.

Passenger: “I envy you. I must pay for the ticket, but you ride for free!”

Conductor: “I hope not, madam.”

Passenger: “What?”

Conductor: “I expect that the railways will pay me for doing that.”